“They’re the color of the Caribbean, Rami. They glow against your pretty skin like you’re some hot alien supermodel sent to torture the rest of us.”
“You like my eyes?”
“Would you focus?” I ask, crowding him against the wall between the sink and the hand dryer. “I’m telling you how terrible you are at stalking and I’m begging—begging—you to stop.”
“Okay, I heard you.” Red suffuses his features. “Anything else?”
“If you’re going to stalk me at nice restaurants, you should atleast have the decency to pay for my meals. Also, maybe learn a few more real-world skills before joining me on a volunteer jobsite. You have produced more work than help with your presence at the tiny house build, and you are a liability goddamn near everywhere you go.”
“I didn’t?—”
“I’m not finished,” I say over him. He clamps his mouth shut—good boy—and I continue, “I really thought someone with your pedigree would be better at this. But I can’t fucking stand it for a second longer. You have been stalking me forweeks. Either get better or find a new hobby.”
Yeah, I’m going to wake up with my entrails outside of my body.
Fuck it. In for a penny, in for a pound.
“Also, I’m pretty sure your dads are bugging the elevator in your building.”
“They would never do that,” he protests, so sure of himself.
During one of our video calls, Omar mentioned Rami’s cousin Silas likes to talk to his service dog in the elevator. When Anders asked him where he heard that, Omar told him he’d been on the phone with Rami. Since I’ve cloned Rami’s phone, I instantly knew it was a lie.
Also, who still talks on the phone these days? You’d think a serial killer would be a better liar.
Instead of saying any of that to Rami, I choose violence. “Okay then. The next time you’re in your elevator, say something outrageous. Say something they would never in a million years approve of you doing. Say something that would get them moving immediately. Maybe something to do with the Whitaker family.”
“Bullshit. They don’t even know how to do that.” He wrinkles his nose. “And what the hell do they have to do with the Whitakers?”
I ignore his question because I don’t have the fucking energy to explain that shit to him. Hell, even I don’t understand it—given what I know about the Bashes, I’m surprised they haven’t taken down Preston Whitaker for the bullshit he got away with a decade ago. Or why they would let Rami have such a close relationship with Brantley Whitaker in the first place.
Instead, I go for a softer target.
“Might I suggest Anders Fucking Bash and Omar Noorani Bash are slightly better at the stalker game than you are?”
Rami pulls his chin back, almost as if I’ve spoken an unknown language. “I’ve looked into my dads, and there’s nothing to suggest they would ever do that. Also, Baba hates his Noorani family.”
“That’s. Not. The. Point,” I say, what little patience I have evaporating like ethanol in the sun.
“What is the point then?” he asks, swallowing thickly.
“The point is”—I place my hand at the base of his throat for emphasis—“that if I know you’ve been stalking me, then your parents one hundred percent know you’ve been, quote, ‘looking into them.’”
Rami’s chest rises and falls rapidly, his pupils expanding.
“No,” he says, subtly pushing his throat into my palm. “I was very stealthy.”
“Like when you follow me in your neon-blue EV?” I tighten my grip. “That kind of stealthy?”
Rami opens his mouth, then closes it. Then opens it again, and I cut him off.
“And yes,” I say, running my nose along his jawline. Fuck, he smells like gunpowder and whatever delicious aftershave he’s wearing. “I know you borrowed your Aunt Scout’s truck because her business information is all across the side of it.”
“I’m not an idiot,” he protests, breathing heavily.
Using every ounce of willpower in my body, I step back and remove my hand from his throat. Rami looks as disappointed as I feel.
“Oh, I know you’re not an idiot,” I say, wishing I knew whatto do with my hands. “But not one single atom of your book smarts made its way over to the street side of things. You are the biggest nerd I have ever met in my entire life.”
