“I didn’t really pin you as a smoker until the other day,” she says.
I smile and blow out an exhale. “I normally only do it at festivals or when something is stressing me out beyond the kit. You looked like you were about to tell me bad news, so I thought I’d take preventive measures,” I explain, trying not to let my gaze stagger too long on the way her hazel eyes are looking me over right now.
“So, what’s up?” I ask.
Gemma pulls out her phone and taps on it a couple of times to get to a picture. “This is your new knob and lock,” she says, turning the phone around to me. “Notice anything weird?”
I squint at the picture. Scratches and a dent catch my eye, and my stomach twists.
“What the hell?” I mumble. “Are those scratches on the door?” I ask, meeting her gaze. “Did someone try to break in?”
“Could be,” she says. “Or your stalker came over expecting to get in and couldn’t.”
My heart drops slightly, but I try to play it cool.
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, sitting back.
She can’t help you if she’s only looking for your stalker.
And you know it wasn’t your stalker.
“Except… No, that doesn’t… It wouldn’t have been her,” I say, backtracking.
“How are you so sure?” Gemma asks.
“Because she texted me yesterday that she knew I wasn’t home,” I reply, and I don’t know why I suddenly sound defensive. “Besides, she never damages anything. She wouldn’t do something that might leave behind a mark.”
Gemma lays her phone face-down on the table. “You seem to know your stalker pretty well.”
I take another hit on my smoke and avoid her gaze. “She is the longest relationship I’ve ever had,” I say, giving Gemma a flat smile as I hear my stalker whispering in my ear, biting my earlobe…
I’d know you in complete darkness.
I clear my throat and sit up. “So, what does that mean? Someone else is trying to get to me?”
“Seems that way,” she says. “I already chatted with maintenance again. They’re going to replace your entire door this time.”
“Oh. Oh, shit. Okay,” I say, realizing how serious she’s taking this.
“Can you think of anyone else I should know about? Any other creepers trying to get their hands on you? Anything from your past? From DeathFest? Random obsessed groupie who knows where you live?”
I smirk at her, using humor to try and brush off how serious this might be. “The only person who isn’t obsessed with me is you.”
Gemma appears as if she’s biting her tongue to keep from smiling. “You’re my client, Bonnie,” she says, and the way she says my name nearly makes me shift. “Obsessed with you doesn’t begin to cover it.”
It’s my turn to swallow.
The corners of her lips curl as she huffs amusedly at what I can only imagine is a deer-in-headlights expression on my face.
“You’re too cute,” she says, the words almost under her breath. “Seriously, though—”
“I’m cute now?” I ask, head tilting.
She gives me a flat look that makes me grin.
“Bonnie,” she says in a warning tone.
“Gemma,” I answer in the same way.
