Gemma smiles softly when she sees me looking. It triggers an ache in my heart, and I have to shake it, to look away and smile at the ground instead of her.
Because it reminds me of the way Kelsey used to look at me.
I’ve been able to hold the shit memories of the night I lost her at bay for so long, but something about Gemma… something about the way she looks at me… it’s bringing the feelings back, the visions, and the absolute dread I experienced in those moments.
It’s more terrifying than my stalker could ever be.
Those feelings are what got Kelsey killed, what tipped the social drinking into an addiction—anything to numb me from her, from my mom, even from my stalker on occasion.
Experiencing that all over… I can’t go through it again. Feeling anything seems like a trap. Like my mind is looking for a way to trick me into thinking I’m worthy of something as good as that again when I know one little fall within that bubble could send me down the rabbit hole again.
Maybe that’s why I’m latching onto my stalker so hard.
Because as much as I like to think I’d be able to crawl out of that hole again, as much as I’d like to think I’m strong enough to fight that battle, it’s fucking terrifying to think about having to do it all over.
I quickly turn my attention back to the message, noticing my stalker has sent a link. I hesitantly tap it, and Reed’s social media pops up on my screen. It’s a video of him showing off Liam and Kade setting up the gaming room, followed by him telling our followers about the livestream and urging them to jump on.
“I wondered if he’d make one of those or if it’d be a surprise,” Zeb says over my shoulder.
“Honestly, same,” I say, putting my phone away.
“What is it?” Gemma asks.
“Reed posted about the livestream tonight,” I answer. “Telling people to join and watch.”
“I’m more surprised that he didn’t ask us to do the video with him,” I say.
Gemma parks the SUV, and Zeb exits to greet our instructor, Pasha, who’s standing outside chatting with friends.
“Still time to back out,” I taunt her. “Zeb takes this very seriously.”
She smiles, unhooking her seat belt. “I’ll never turn down an excuse that gets you on your back without crossing a line,” she says.
I blink at the unexpected phrasing, at how close she suddenly is, our fingers brushing atop the console. She draws her bottom lip behind her teeth, gaze darting to my mouth and then back to my eyes, and when a little giggle escapes her, I realize I’ve stopped breathing.
“I love saying shit that makes you go blank,” Gemma says, opening her door. “Do women never flirt with you?”
She’s out of the seat so quickly that I only have a couple of seconds to collect myself. “Ah, no—I mean, they do, but normally, I’m the one doing most of the flirting,” I say.
“Hm…” she presses her hands to her hips. “This will be a nice change of pace for you, then.”
Pasha comes up to introduce himself to Gemma before I can attempt to respond. I close my eyes for a half-second and blow out a breath, then exit the car with a grin as if I’m not in a complete stupor over her.
Pasha greets me quickly as he holds open the door for us and resumes chatting away with Gemma while Zeb lets me go in front of him.
“Are you going to be able to concentrate today, or…”
I elbow him in the gut.
And I hate that he’s right.
Because I’m a fucking mess.
I need blinders so I can’t watch her in my peripherals. I need headphones so I can’t hear her laughing every time she gets Zeb or Pasha on the ground. And sparring with me? I’m useless. Another hopeless blob. A poor excuse for a human because of a new crush. She surprises me over and over, sweeping me off of my feet with ease. She’s sexy as hell with that look on her face—the confident concentration, sly smirk, danger in her eyes…
Each time she instructs me in my stance, moves my arms and legs where they should be, I find myself slipping. Were this a real fight, I’d be in the back of their van by now, hands voluntarily tied behind my back.
“Wait, pause right there,” Gemma says, pausing Zeb and I mid-fight. She glances at Pasha, asking for permission to correct my form. Pasha waves a hand and grins.
