“What are you—” she slurs. “Where are you going?” She sits up, looking like a fucking sex slave there on the mattress. “Who are you?”
Has she seen it yet?
I don’t know. I don’t think so.
Do I leave it for her? Take it?
I don’t want her to see that.
She shouldn’t have to.
She’s blinking up at me.
“What—” Her eyes focus on the note. “Give me that.”
Her hand darts out.
I scuttle back.
I’m sober; she’s drunk on alcohol and sex.
I promptly trip over the dog in the doorway.
The note flutters, and Fidget snaps it in her mouth.
And walks backward to put herself between me and Winnie.
Dammit.
I need to get the hell out of here.
29
WINNIE
“You need to tell Fitz.”
“Fitz?” I stare at my friend.
“The police can’t do anything about this. This is beyond them. You think a restraining order is going to keep that murderer out of your house?” Carolina counters.
I feel sick as I stare at the note on the table in front of us. “Who does he think he saw me with?”
“Fitz, dummy.”
“I just kissed him,” I argue. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”
“So your stalker is delusional. Who would have thought?” Carolina scoffs.
“I just can’t believe he’d actually hurt me.”
“He had sex with you in an alley at night.” She grabs my arm. “He snuck in and started humping you while you wereasleep. He’s some sort of deranged sexual pervert, and you being with Fitz pushed him over the edge. He thinks he owns you, thinks you’re like his prized possession or something.”
“I’m not even with Fitz.”
“He said you’re dating, right?” Carolina is impatient. “So date him. Be his girlfriend. It’s a way better life decision than carrying on with this stalker. We’re sending Fitz some nudie pics to let him know that you’re very interested and that you’re sorry for being a dry-ass cunt last night—and yes, this will be a group activity. It’s going to be summer before we know it, and I need a friend with a boyfriend who has a yacht and a rooftop pool. So I hope you clipped the hair off your nips.”
The bell above the door chimes.
