Page 30 of Fame and Obsession

“Oh, come on, Pheebs, you can’t tell me that—”

“I can tell you that all of my free time since moving here has been with you.” I gesture wildly while pacing the floor. “When have I had time to be between anyone’s sheets but yours?”

I pause mid-pace as Gage nervously glances from Parker, to me, and back to Parker. Shit. I meant his ability to calm me after a nightmare. However, as usual, my mouth shot off before my brain showed up to the party.

But this one’s on him too. My fears aren’t irrational, and he knows it.

Sighing, I slip the card into the pocket of my dress pants and begin to clean up. I assumed carrying half-eaten Chinese food cartons to the kitchen would’ve put an end to the Gage Harlow inquisition.

I should’ve known better.

“Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing here, baby doll,” he announces, his arms folded in a battle-ready stance. “You got caught with your panties down, and now you’re trying to backflip the walk of shame.”

“God, I want to shake you sometimes,” I mutter, scrubbing the spotless kitchen counter.

A calm voice drifts in from the other room. “Could this have anything to do with the guy who followed you outside, Phoebe?”

Turning a sharp gaze on him, I throw the wet towel in the garbage. “That guy was a total jerk. He wouldn’t send me anything but a restraining order.”

Parker shrugs. “Fair enough, but I was referring to the guy who kicked that guy’s ass for touching you.”

Why does everyone assume I need rescuing?

“What the hell, Parker? Were you hiding in the bushes?”

He stares at Gage. “The bar got too crowded, so I walked to the back of the club. I saw Heath Vaughn manhandle Phoebe, and I got up to kick his ass myself when Tall, Dark, and Deadly handled it.”

Gage glances from Parker to me. “Heath Vaughn tried to diddle you?”

Parker waits for me to respond. When I study the linoleum floor in detail, he sighs. “Vaughn thought it was all right to maul your BFF, so another guy at the bar handled him.”.

“You two have the attention span of fleas.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Can we focus here?” I plead, turning my attention back on Parker. “There’s some guy sending me stalker poems.”

Gage dismisses my concern. “Look, you’re a hot, single girl in New York City, Pheebs. Some guy probably saw your ID at the club when you got carded.”

Parker shoots him a heated look. “How would you know who looked at her? You were off grinding your dick on that redhead all night.”

Wounded pride clouds his face as Gage’s lips twist with all the right words to diffuse their brewing argument.

As they bicker, I use the distraction to my advantage and charge toward my bedroom. Impending panic claws at me as if I’ve free-fallen back in time.

After changing into sweats, I sit on my bed, staring at the black dress pants I’d thrown on the floor. The urge to reach into the pocket is strong, but fear of the unthinkable keeps me rooted on my mattress.

Pieces and fragments of truth swirl in my head, mixing together to form a volatile tornado: Gage’s refusal to acknowledge the card’s glaring similarity to my past, Chloe’s phone bomb, and Parker’s revelation about the guy at the bar.

Could he be right? I had a five-minute conversation with that guy, half of which I spent berating him and stumbling over my words like I’d never been in public before.

Running my hands through my hair, I exhale a rough breath.

No. There’s no way it could be him. He has no clue who I am or where I live.

“I don’t even know your name.”

“That’s because I didn’t give it to you, Fancy Pants.”

I flop backward, closing my eyes as my head hits the pillow. Gage is right—no man sends flowers without a purpose.

A shiver runs through me as I cocoon myself in my down comforter. Great, I have a stalker. Some things never change.

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