When he caught the look on my face, he continued.
“Chill, baby. Not angry words. I’ve been so caught up in you, I haven’t been vigilant in looking for a tail. It could easily have been me that led him here.”
It was cool he held up his hand like that.
One lesson my father taught me that was worthwhile: you didn’t pass the buck. It was a supreme weakness to blame someone else. It took courage to admit you screwed up and take responsibility.
Of course, he often thought I’d screwed up when I didn’t. But that was beside the point.
“Are there other terms?” I pressed.
He shook his head. “No. He hasn’t gone off message. He just wants to keep tweaking you. Though, there’s a possibility he’s bi. But that’s irrelevant, unless we can get a lock on some kind of description and can start looking for him in earnest. And if he’s bi, that means he might be trolling for action in a number of lanes. And that opens the field of search, which always sucks because it’s a drag on time and resources.”
Well then, bad news, the creeper hadn’t lost interest.
Good news, he was still just a creeper and not a total, whackjob, “it puts the lotion on its skin” creeper.
Mixed bag.
Axl was clearly finished with this topic.
I knew this when he went back to the mail, put the picture and envelope on the counter, dumped the newspaper coupons in his recycle bin, and announced, “Time to make the sauce.”
“Can I help?” I offered.
“Yeah, top up my wine and take us into bummer-free zone. Tell me what we’re doin’ after dinner. You in the middle of bingeing something? Or you wanna stream a movie?”
Hanging with Axl in front of his TV sounded awesome.
Even so, I said, “Pac-Man.”
He turned his head my way. “Tourney?”
“Absolutely.”
He smiled and got out a saucepan.
I topped up his wine.
He made a roux, then he made the sauce. When the rice was done, he served up, we ate at his dining room table, and cleaned the kitchen together.
And he kicked my ass at Pac-Man.
Mental note: practice Pac-Man tomorrow.
Second way more important mental note: stop delaying in tackling things that terrify you.
Because you never know.
The spoils might be sweet.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Fireman’s Hold
HATTIE
I threw back the curtains, and on shiny, bronze, sky-high stiletto heels, I walked out to “oo’s” and “ah’s” and some clapping hands.
“Thank God, it fits you like a glove,” Lottie breathed in relief.
It was Saturday. We were at the bridal shop for my bridesmaid dress fitting.
And Lottie was right.
Thank God my dress fit like a glove because, when I called for a fitting, it took days to get an appointment, and they’d told me then that the wedding was so close, “if alterations are significant, you might have to find an outside seamstress.”
Since I’d delayed this way too long, I was down with that and paying extra if needed.
But fortunately, it didn’t seem to be needed.
“The hem is even perfect,” Lottie’s mom, Nancy, said, coming toward me.
“Jump up on the pedestal, babe, turn to the mirror, let’s have a look,” Lottie ordered.
I did as told and looked into the mirror.
My hair was piled up on my head in a curly-haired girl’s messy bun, wavy tendrils floating down.
The bronze heels were what I was wearing to the wedding.
Along with, obviously, the dress, which was the sexiest bridesmaid dress I’d ever seen.
A shiny, soft, light brown satin with spaghetti straps, cleavage cut down to the midriff, and a slightly overlapping side slit that went all the way up to the waist that made underwear nearly impossible.
Though, I was going to try to find something. I could do commando, but it unnerved me, especially with that slit and the need to be walking down an aisle. If the material shifted in a bad way, which it could because it had a small train that added weight, shit could get real … in a church.
That said, I was not surprised about Lottie’s choice.
She was openly sexual, she didn’t care what anyone thought about it, and before I started to avoid the girls, I’d been with her on her three Say Yes to the Dress appointments. Thus, I’d seen the wedding gown she selected, which might be the sexiest of all time.
Lottie was twitching the skirt of my gown, Nancy was standing a couple of feet away, tipping her head this way and that, looking me up and down, and my attention moved from my image in the mirror to the girls behind me who were sitting on couches, studying me.
Evie, Ryn, Pepper, and Lottie’s sister, Jet.
Since Axl was doing something for work, and doing it with Boone, and Mo wasn’t allowed to know anything wedding, my bodyguard for the day was Evie’s man, Mag.
We were having lunch after this.
And one could say, I needed girl time.