“Excuse me?”
“You insulted me earlier,” I say. “You told me that I don’t think.”
“Well, darling,” he says the term of endearment like it’s a curse word, “you kind of proved my point with the pepper spray.”
“I was protecting myself!” I yell. “You could have been a killer.”
“I was enteringmyown room,” he says, looking up at me.
His eyes are red and clearly irritated, and I would feel worse about it except he’s irritating me, so something might as well irritate him.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admit, but the way I say it is accusatory. “This isn’t my life. I don’t know what to do with fans. I don’t know what to do with threats. My life has always been small and safe to the point it has suffocated me. I’m not going to apologize for trying to figure out what this is supposed to be like.”
Evan lets out a long breath, and for once, it’s not a grunt. “Then maybe you should’ve stayed in your small, safe life.”
The words land like a slap. I can practically feel the sting on my cheek.
I blink. Once. Twice.
“Well,” I say, my voice cold, like I’ve flipped a switch, “don’t worry. I plan to go back to it as soon as this stupid tour is over. And you can go back to being a grump in peace.”
I turn on my bare heel before I can say something truly regrettable, then walk out of the bathroom.
Six weeks. I can do six weeks of this.
I don’t look back at him when I say, “Next time, knock.”
Then I close the bathroom door behind me. Hard.
Chapter 19
Rachel
Ipracticallystompallthe way from Evan’s room to the elevator, down four floors, until my bare feet make it into the safety of my own room, but as soon as I flip on the lights, I realize it’s not safe at all.
There’s a package on my bed that was not there when I left.
I slowly walk toward it, staring at the box wrapped in bright blue, realizing it’s wrapped in a shirt. Thesameshirt KillerPlotTwist had been wearing.
I don’t want to touch it. I don’t want to know what’s inside. I don’t want to read the note I see peeking out of the shirt pocket.
I pull my phone out, and it feels like someone else’s fingers are scrolling through the names. Like I’m not myself or I’m floating outside my body. Because how can I have a stalker? And how did he get past all the extra security? And how did he get in my room and…
Is he still in my room?
I quickly back away from the bed, moving toward the hallway.
I put the phone up to my ear after I push on Lily’s name.
“Rachel? Is something wrong?” she asks immediately when she answers.
“He’s been here,” I say, my voice soft.
“What?” Her voice is firm and loud.
“KillerPlotTwist,” I say. “He’s been in my room.”
“Where are you now?” she asks.
