My breath hitched. For a split second, I didn’t want to move. My heart was thudding, fast and full against his chest. I could feel his heat through both our clothes, and for one dizzying second, I wondered if he felt it too.
“Slow down,” I murmured, the words escaping before I could control them. My voice was soft. Shaky. Embarrassed.
I pushed out of his arms, too aware of every inch of where we’d touched.
He let me go, but not without hesitation.
And not without leaving the air between us absolutely electric.
“Answer the question,” he said, heat lacing his voice.
I swallowed deeply, trying to get a damn hold of myself. “No, I haven’t gotten any creepy mail or messages.”
We started walking again, this time at a slower pace.
“I want access to your social media.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“No.Listen, this is my life?—”
“Yeah, and someone is obsessed with it, Rose.”
“It’s ridiculous.”
“It’s serious. I know about stalkers. I’d say half thefemale cases at Steele Shadows Security involve some sort of stalking, and let me tell you, it’s more than a weird obsession.”
“OLD.”
“Old what?”
“No, O-L-D. It’s an actual disorder. Obsessive Love Disorder. It’s an attachment disorder that’s commonly associated with another mental illness, like Borderline Personality Disorder.”
“Didn’t Jeffrey Dahmer have Borderline Personality Disorder?”
“Yes. It’s actually common with a lot of serial killers.”
“What else causes OLD, specifically?”
“Low self-esteem is most common. Neglect, abuse. Usually there’s some tipping point to the obsession. A trigger. Something happens in the person’s life, whether it be monumental or something small like a birthday or something, and it sets them off.”
“Something that makes them go off the rails, so to speak?”
“Right. A trigger.”
We walked a moment in silence.
“You got a boyfriend, Rose?”
The question caught me off guard. “No.”
“When was your last relationship?”
“Months ago.”
“Before that?”
