“Gemma.”
Kade’s voice is harsh, harsher than I’ve heard him use on me for a long time. It prompts me to sit on one of her barstools, put the phone on speaker, and sink my head into my hands.
She’s okay.
She’s safe.
Just find out who it is. It could be anyone—not just the trackstar guy. He’s one suspect.
“Yeah,” I concede, finally sighing. “Yeah, okay. I’m breathing.”
Silence staggers on the line for a beat before Kade finally says, “It could be a regular burglar, Gem. ”
When I don’t answer, he sighs heavily into the mic.
“Yeah. Right. Stay there. I’m coming,” he gives in. “One hallway camera coming up.”
“Thank you.”
It’s all I can manage as I steeple my fingers beneath my chin and stare around the quiet room.
Everything looks fine. It looks just as it did a few hours earlier.
And something about that makes this even worse.
Because now I have no clue where to even fucking start with figuring out who might also have an interest in getting to her, or why.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BONNIE
shesatrackstar1988
Hey sexy ;-)
I miss you.
I tossmy phone onto the couch and rub my fingers over my eyes. It isn’t the first time I’ve forgotten about someone entirely. I should text her back. At least end it properly.
I don’t know if my attention span can cover three interests.
Shit. Am I really thinking about my stalker as if she’s alove interest?
I sink my head into my hands as the smell of coffee drifts through the air. This is so fucking unhealthy. All of it. Fucking my stalker and stupidly thinking it was just some masked stranger. Texting her back. Flirting with Gemma. And then letting my stalker fuck meagainlast night because I can’t seem to get her out of my goddamn head.
Ugh.
Did last night even happen?
I’d question my own sanity for dreaming something like that up, except the glove tucked under my thigh is proof enough—not to mention the purple hickey on my shoulder or the fucking wetspot on the couch that I’ve been trying to figure out how to go about cleaning without letting anyone else know what happened for the lastthree hours.
I’d leaned into her even after waking up and realizing it wasn’t just a wet dream. I’d leaned into it like a damn teenager begging to be fucked under the covers at a sleepover.
Why did it feel so damn good?
“Hey, Sunshine, do you want coffee?” Zeb throatily asks from the kitchen.
Shit.
