“What, you think she can scale a building?” Zeb asks off speaker.
“And cameras,” Mads says.
“You guys are ridiculous,” Bonnie tells them.
I slightly balk at the conversation happening in the background.
Are they worried about…me?
I hope to hell Zeb can’t hear me smiling when I say, “Ah… Zeb? What’s going on?”
A mix of nerves and pride about the conversation wiggles into my bones.
“Bon is too proud to admit it, but she really needs her door locks changed,” Zeb finally tells me.
I almost laugh.
Too cute.
“And a quick sweep of the apartment while she’s gone, too,” he adds. “Her stalker has been getting in, sending her pictures of things... I just want it checked out.”
I chuckle. “Big brother knows best, right?” I say, knowing it would piss him off. “Let me talk to Bonnie.”
There’s a pause on the other end. “Are you not taking this seriously?”
“I’m taking this very seriously, but as it’s Bonnie’s apartment, I’d like to talk to her before I start fucking with her private space,” I snap back. “Put her on and take me off speaker.”
A beat of silence passes, and the next thing I hear is a shuffle against the microphone, then Bonnie’s raspy voice says, “Hey, Gem. Excuse the bulldogs. They don’t normally bite.”
Chills rise on my arms at the sound of her over the phone. It’s somehow sexier like this, and I nearly lose my train of thought.
“I like a little nip every now and then. It keeps the blood flowing in all the right places,” I reply as I watch the movers load a few boxes on a cart. “Do me a favor, Bonnie, walk away from them and tell me what’s going on.”
“Yeah, give me a sec,” she replies.
She’s always been such a good little listener.
“Come on, Bon—”
“Aren’t you supposed to be in the booth?” she says to Zeb.
I hear the click of a door, and a few seconds later, she sighs out an audible breath. “They’re overreacting,” she says.
“James told me you were getting photos from her. Did you get more?” I ask.
“No, nothing. Zeb is just being extra. I haven’t heard from her since the festival,” she replies.
“Was she at the festival?” I ask.
“Ah… No, no she wasn’t there,” she says.
That’s my girl.
I love that she’s lying about it.
I bring my foot into the seat, hanging my arm over my knee. “Are you scared?” I ask.
Silence seems to press against the microphone for long enough that I almost think the call’s been dropped. I take the phone off my ear just to check that we’re still connected, then go on.
