Piper who tried to kill my dad.
Piper who killed her own fucking dog.
My breaths come faster as my heart slams against my rib cage.She’s my stalker. I walked right into this. I have to stay calm.
“Hey, do you mind if I snoop around a little first? I love these little places.”
“Go for it.”
I take a step toward the living room; I need to get to the door. My limbs are sluggish and heavy.There’s no way one glass would do this.
She spins around, holding the wine bottle. “Need a top-off?” she asks.
I flinch, pausing midstep, and blink at her—looking my stalker right in the eye. “I’m good, thanks,” I answer brightly, padding out of the room. I brace the wall for support. Oh fuck.
Focus. Just get out. One step in front of the other. I glimpse behind me to make sure she’s not watching before I wrap my hand around the door handle.
The door creaks like a banshee when I pull it open, and her footsteps have my insides plummeting.
“Where are you going?” she barks, suddenly much closer to me and still holding that fucking knife.
My stomach sinks, and I swallow. I wave her off. “Just needed some air, this wine is hitting me.” I can’t tell her I know, not while she’s holding that damn paring knife.
She sighs. “Look, I’m really sorry about the phone thing. Why don’t you just sit back down in the kitchen. You can video chat with him and let him know you’ll be home in an hour.” The cadence of her speech is strange, like she’s trying too hard to seem casual. “I didn’t mean to be all crazy about it.”Crazy? No, crazy is impulsively tattooing your forehead.She’s way beyond that. I’m waiting for this lady to turn into Kathy Bates andMiseryme.
“Okay.” I give her a tight smile and nod.
“Come on,” she says. “Come back and sit down.”
She wants me to contact him through video chat so she can listen to our conversation and make sure I don’t say anything I’m not supposed to.
I nod and follow her back to the kitchen, plucking a potted plant from one of the tables on my way. I set it on the counter in front of me and lean my phone against it. My hand shakes when I hit the video call icon near Logan’s name.
He answers immediately. “Jesus Christ! I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.”
Rosa leans against the countertop with her arms crossed as she watches me closely.
I clear my throat and drop my eyes to my phone screen. “Yeah, sorry I missed your calls. I’m just with Rosa at the house she’s renting. We’re having some wine.” I hold up the glass.
That must appease her because she turns her back to me and begins slicing through the Brie.
I blink and my body sways.Fuck.Keep it together. Then it hits me.
“Rosa is making us a snack, but what do you want for dinner tonight?” I ask while signing “help.”
He cocks an eyebrow, and I shake my head while placing my index finger over my lips.
“How does tofu sound?” he asks. I hate tofu. He knows I hate tofu.
“I’d love that. Maybe a stir-fry?” I nod to him.
“What do you want on the side?” he asks. My thoughts are already foggy and now I’m trying to speak two different languages at the same fucking time. I relax my shoulders. The more relaxed I am, the easier the words will come. Not to mention my dexterity is clumsier, thanks to whatever drug is coursing through my system.
“Carrots,” I say, while trying to remember the street name. The image of the sign flashes in my mind and I spell letters with my fingers “H-A-R-T-F-O-R-D.”
“What else?” he asks. I think I see his pulse ticcing through the phone.
“Zucchini.”It was Hartford and Third.I hold up my thumb, index, and middle finger, and twist my wrist for “Third.”
