“I have no idea.”
“There’s a photo of you and Beckham, too.” Lettie turned the phone screen to me. She’d scrolled a bitfarther and found ones I hadn’t seen yet. As she swiped her thumb, another popped up of me and Beckham, with his arm around my shoulders and his lips on my temple.
“Could it be the guy who got you pregnant?” Oakley asked.
I shook my head. “No. He wouldn’t do this.” At least, I didn’t think he would. He wanted nothing to do with this baby. So why would he care to stalk me now?
I took the phone back from Lettie, quickly archiving the selfies of me and Beckham.
“Okay. That’s okay. We’ll figure it out,” Lettie said, but she didn’t sound very sure of herself, despite the courage she was mustering.
I, on the other hand, was about to pass out.
“I need to use the restroom,” I announced, shoving out of my chair. I’d deal with the rest of the old posts later.
“We’ll go with,” Oakley offered as Lettie started to stand.
“No, stay. You two have drinks here, and…” I stared at the ice in Lettie’s cup, bubbles sticking to them. “I need a minute.”
I offered the smallest flick of a smile before heading for the back hallway. My palms were sweaty, my breaths shallow. Pictures and posters lined the walls, but I barely saw them as I beelined for the women’s restroom.
I quickly peed, my shrinking bladder desperately needing a release with the adrenaline pumping through me. I washed my hands three times, splashing water on my cheeks and running my wrists under the faucet in anattempt to cool down. Then I hung my head, breathing deeply.
I was fine. Everything was fine. My baby was fine. Lettie and Beckham were fine. No one was coming to Bell Buckle to kill me.
Right?
Who the fuck would even want to do that?
When I’d started putting my life online and making money off it, I’d feared attracting a stalker could be a possibility one day. Some people took things too personally, thinking every post was for them, or believing they were meant to be with you. I never thought I would seriously run into this situation, but here I was, and I had no defenses. No safety, all because I hadn’t archived posts from my teenage years. I was much more open about my location then, and I should have fucking remembered.
I was an idiot.
But I’d fix this. There was no outcome where I would not get away from this.
With my spiraling thoughts shoved back into the box in my mind, I left the bathroom and headed for the bar to order a water.
As I watched the bartender scoop ice into a plastic cup, a swaying elbow bumped into mine.
I looked up to find none other than Dick staring down at me with a mischievous grin on his face.
“Now, how did I not see you here, little lady?” Dick slurred, looping an arm around my shoulders and tugging me into his side.
I tried to step away, but he held me close. “I’m with friends.” It was both an answer and a warning.
His smile cracked the barest amount as he leaned closer, mouth brushing my hair. “One of those friends named Beckham?”
I tried, and failed, to hide my disgust as I grabbed his hand and peeled it off me. His arm was heavy, laden with the weight of a drunk not wanting to be told what to do. “Yes.”
For some reason, that made his demeanor shift. Like all of a sudden, he was no longer flirting just to flirt but flirting to win a competition.
“I bet he likes it, doesn’t he?” His eyes dipped to my belly before lingering on my breasts.
I crossed my arms in an attempt to cover myself. “Likes what?”
He leaned closer to the point where I had to arch my neck backward so I wouldn’t get alcohol poisoning from his breath alone. “How he can come in you whenever he wants?”
I pressed my lips together until pain pinched them and subtly shook my head. “You’re disgusting.”
