“I already texted Darcy,” I say, referring to my sponsor.
“Yeah? Did you tell them you’re looking for sabotage out here?” he asks.
I scoff and glance sideways at him. “I’m not looking for sabotage.”
“Bed, you don’t know what your stalker wants,” he argues. “It might be to lure you into a white van so she can have you all to herself.”
“Listen, as long as she feeds me,” I say.
I meet Zeb’s flat gaze over the top of his glasses, and the look makes me laugh.
Those dark eyes are entirely too telling.
“I get it. I know it could be dangerous. I won’t do it again.”
“Is she here?” he asks, looking around us.
“Ah… no,” I lie.
Because I know he won’t let me out of his sight today if he knows she’s here.
“No, she sent another picture from inside of my apartment,” I go on. “Said she missed me last night.”
“You’vegotto change those fucking locks,” he says.
“Top of my list when we get home,” I reply.
He pulls his knees into his chest, his white tee creasing around his muscled arms, and I offer him the rest of the cigarette that I’m done with.
“I think you need to let the new security check out your apartment,” Zeb says. “Maybe get a new place—It’s been what, five years almost?”
“As long as I’ve been sober,” I say about the place I’m staying in. “It was my gift to myself after the long stay at rehab.”
“Yeah, you need a new place, Bed,” he says. “Upgrades. Security. Sunlight. You have the money. I thought there was a place open in Mads’ building. You don’t want to live closer to Andi?”
“It isn’t a big deal,” I tell him. “You think my stalker would leave me alone if I moved? That she wouldn’t figure out where I am?”
“I mean at least Mads would be there,” he says. “You know he notices everything.”
It’s true.
Years of hiding behind that mask of his has his senses on high alert twenty-four-seven.
“And,” Zeb goes on, “it might be easier for security to watch for your stalker if they were also keeping an eye on Reed and Mads. Someone is always posted up because of Wren’s shit anyway. Protecting you is literally their job. It isn’t just on the tour,” he says. “What, you don’t want Gemma knowing about this?”
I pick the petals off of the wildflower between my fingers. “I’m sure she already knows,” I say begrudgingly. “Fucking embarrassing.”
“What is?”
“You know I hate that overprotective shit,” I groan. “You’re bulldog enough. The last thing I want is more people in my private life dictating where I can go, who I can meet up with…” I throw the bare wildflower stem on the ground. “It’s maddening, dude.”
“I think we’ve been confined just because the record label is dying for the new album,” he says.
“True. Surprised they let us out to come fuck off here.”
“Good publicity.” He jerks his chin toward a photographer taking photos of the groups scattered around the open field. “How much do you think this guy gets paid?”
“Probably not enough,” I reply. I take my phone out and flip to the front camera, then hold it up in front of us. Zeb leans in close, his tawny skin glowing in the sunrise, and he holds up twofingers to make the horns sign, and I stick my tongue out and do the same.
