No Longer Lost: Secrets Of Stone: Book Nine Page 8
That was wrong.
There was plenty I could do.
And would.
I just couldn’t decide what to do first. Go to the police station? Call Mac? Dial one of the girls? The somewhat normal human I’d lunched with had become a stage-five stalker in the span of sixteen phone calls. I checked the call log and did some quick math. John had left all sixteen messages within the two hours I had been with Mac in his office.
Two beautiful hours—getting my brains fucked out by the actual man I loved, not this loser. True as that was, and as desperately as I yearned to, Mac couldn’t be my first phone call. The man was going to lose his mind when I told him what was going on, and I didn’t want the man I loved being tossed in the slammer for murder.
I needed to calm down. Then I needed to decide the best course of action. That would only happen by calling in some backup.
I put my earbuds in and dialed Margaux’s cell phone. I checked the passing traffic and eased back onto the freeway while her phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Mary Stone. How’s your day?”
A heavy huff through the line. “Don’t think I don’t realize you only call me that when I can’t physically harm you.”
“Nice to hear your voice too.” I laughed, but it was shaky and weak—not that I expected that to fly under the woman’s radar. Margaux Asher-Stone-Pearson had mutant-level instincts when it came to hearing weakness in people, acquired while being raised by a woman who’d honed it into an art form. Thankfully for all of us, she’d chosen to use her superpower for good.
“Uh-oh,” she muttered at once. “All right. What’s going on, girl? Is it the doctor again? I’m seriously going to have a sit-down with that man, and—”
“No. No. It’s not Mac. He’s…well, he’s great, actually.” I sucked in a huge breath. “But that’s not why I’m calling.”
“Well then, tell me what I can do for you.” She paused for a second, giving away her contemplation. “It’s not like you to call for a chat when you’re doing okay.”
I sighed, attempting to add a laugh as well. I should’ve known better. “You know me too well.”
“You’re not as complicated as you think you are.” Her tone was dry and honest, and that succeeded in getting me back to the realm of pissed-off. When did I become so transparent?
“Well…I saw Mac today.”
“And?” Though her tone kicked up with worldly assurance at the end, practically voiding the question mark altogether.
“And we, uh…well…” Why was I beating around the bush with the world’s most forward woman? “We spent some time together.”
“Okay.” There was distinct rustling, and I envisioned the woman in her office, leaning back and elegantly crossing her legs. “So you were fucking, and…?”
I laughed out loud. “You have such a way with words.”
“It’s a gift. What can I say?” I could picture her proud shrug now as well.
“So, when I got back in my car after leaving the hospital—”
“Okay, hold up.”
“What?”
“You fucked him at the hospital?”
“Well, not in the lobby or anything.”
“In an exam room?” I’d have to be sleeping to miss the hopeful lilt to her voice.
“Oh, God. No!” I spurted before even thinking to stop myself. “In his office, if you really need to know.”
“Niiiiiiccce.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. While I loved bantering with my dazzling friend—and would’ve loved nothing more than detailing her eager ears with another episode of Sexcapades With Dr. Clown—the issue at hand was too serious to brush off for another day.
“Okay, so after we…uumm—”
“Fucked in his office.” She could have been standing at a coffee counter ordering her daily latte with the casual tone she used.
“Yeah, okay…so, when I checked my voicemail, I had sixteen messages.”
“Whoa. Sister!” And just like that, the drawl was replaced by a yippy whoop. “Sixteen? After just leaving him?”
“Margaux.”
“You totally have him by the balls. You must have done all the tricks I’ve taught you over the years!”
“Margaux.”
“What?”
“They weren’t from Mac.”
“Huh?”
“They were from this guy John who works at the blood bank.”
She rustled again. It was more a playing-with-her-hair thing this time. “John. Yeah, you’ve mentioned him. The nice one who gives you extra cookies after you donate.”
“Right. Nice.” I snorted.
“Well, that doesn’t sound good.”
“I had a moment of lonely weakness and gave in to a lunch invite from him.”
“Before or after you bonked the clown in his office?”
“Before,” I clarified. “It wasn’t planned. Just a last-minute, friendly thing, you know? But he must have gotten the wrong idea—and sixteen messages later…”
What more did I need to say after the gravity of that doozy sank in? Fortunately, nothing. Margaux’s heavy whoosh conveyed she’d gotten the message, loud and clear.
“Okay, so that’s crazy with a capital C, but what is it that has you so upset? Did Mac find out? Is he mad?”
“No. No, it’s not that. The guy—the messages—they started out all normal, friendly and all, and by the last one, he was acting psycho, telling me he loves me and can’t wait to have sex with me.”
“What the living fuck?”
“I know for sure I did not lead him on. But honestly, the whole thing is creeping me out.” My voice cracked as I finished my sentence. Saying it out loud made it all sound even worse.
Her voice grew concerned. “I don’t blame you. Where is Mac now?”
“At work. He wants to come over tonight, and I was going to hold him off, but honestly, I don’t think I want to be alone after hearing this guy do a Play Misty for Me.”
“A what for who?”
“Never mind.” How could I forget that Margaux mentally jettisoned any film, TV, or pop-culture reference more than six months old? “To be honest, Margaux, my shit’s getting more flipped about this by the second. If John pulled my phone number from my records at the blood bank, he’d be able to get my address too.”
“So, not only is this creepy, I’m pretty sure it’s a HIPAA violation on the blood bank’s part.” Her agreement, such a fast and unusual return to somberness, only torqued my tension higher. “Do you want me to come over until Mac gets there?” she offered.
Yes!
“No,” I compelled myself to say. “I’ll be fine. My neighbors are super nosy.” After her hmph of disbelief, I assured her, “If something bad were to happen, they’d know it in a heartbeat.”
“Fine,” she relented. “But promise you’ll call the second something seems weird. Promise me, Taylor.”
“Settle down, mama bear. I’ll call you, I promise.”
She still didn’t sound convinced—which again didn’t help one shred of my mounting anxiety. I knew her concern was meant to comfort me, but it was accomplishing the exact opposite. “So does Mac know you were out with this John guy?” she pressed.
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“And what do you think?”
“I think the clown probably turns into a caged lion when he’s jealous.”
I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel to at least take the edge off my nerves. “Oh, nice image,” I attempted to snark.
“But damn accurate, yes?”
“He…has a wide lion streak, yes.”
“Well, he is a Stone,” she drawled—which I cut off with a long groan.
“God,” I muttered. “He was furious when he saw me come back with the guy.”
“Holy shit.” A fresh rustle, followed by distinct high heel clacks. I’d driven Mary Stone to her feet in shock. “He was there when you got back?”
“Ohhhh!” From concerned to lewd inside three seconds. That had to be a record, even for Margaux. “Dirty hot jealousy sex. That’s almost my favorite kind!”
“Stop.” I slapped my forehead.
“Yes! I’m right, aren’t I?” Satisfaction filled the phone line.
“Are you ever wrong?” I mumbled.
“Not often. But it does happen on occasion, and my sexy husband is usually the one to call me out when it—” A wail threatened to pierce my eardrum through the line. “Shit,” Margaux spat. “It’s Iris.”
“No kidding.” The excuse for a laugh felt damn good right now.
“She was down for a nap. Guess that’s done now. So sorry, hon. I need to go. Remember, you promised to call if you need help.”
“I did and I will. Give Iris a kiss from her favorite auntie.”
My chuckling continued as we disconnected the call. Couldn’t be helped, since I now imagined my friend rushing off to love on her baby girl—in the heels she’d never give up. If anyone was capable of the feat, it was definitely Margaux Pearson.
God, how I wished I was there at her and Michael’s place. How I longed to be out on their patio holding that sweet baby instead of heading home to my quiet apartment. Still, the call had calmed me a great deal. I was feeling a little lonely, but I definitely wasn’t alone.
I turned into my apartment complex and then circled around the back to my parking space. I took particular care to notice everything around me as I walked to my apartment, deciding I was acting ridiculous and paranoid by the time I got inside. I always locked the door when I was home and quickly did that—both the deadbolt and the lock below it—before heading to my room for a shower.
I froze halfway across the floor when my phone dinged—signaling a text message.
Slowly, I lowered myself to the bed. I pulled a deep breath in and then out and then looked at the screen.
I miss you already.
Mac.
“Thank you, Jesus,” I rasped, letting a stupidly teary smile spread across my lips. Suddenly, I yearned for the ability to fast-forward time. I wanted him—fuck it, I needed him—here, as in five minutes ago. The sensation wasn’t just about the bullshit with John. Something was changing between Mac and me—something significant and special. I wanted to embrace every second of it with him. I wasn’t sure where the usual me was hiding, but it was refreshing to simply feel the emotions as soon as they hit, no matter how scary and new they were.
I quickly texted him back.
What time will you be here tonight?
His response came immediately, and my heart beat a little faster.
Should be around seven. Hope that’s okay?
Yes, fine. It’ll give me time to rest up from our earlier activities.
He texted back the little devil emoji, and I giggled. Yeah. Giggled. What the hell was he doing to me? I was acting like every other silly girl I knew, yet nothing about it felt wrong. Just the opposite.
Everything about Maclain Stone felt amazingly, incredibly right.
After quickly showering, I got into bed for some much-needed downtime. I pulled the covers up to my waist and then grabbed my e-reader for some old-fashioned escape fiction. I had tons of chores I could do around the apartment, but I just wanted to exist in the happy little place that had formed in my heart. It was peaceful and comfortable, and I wanted to enjoy the beautiful dream while it lasted.
Because beautiful dreams were never the lasting kind.
Life had made sure I knew that one real well.
The sound of my phone woke me from a dead sleep. Judging by the size of the drool mark on my pillow, I’d been asleep for hours. The sun was low on the horizon when I peeked out my window, and I realized I had slept close to three hours. I felt around in the covers and found my phone, trying to clear my sleepy eyes to see the screen.
“Shit.”
More messages from John. Four voicemails, to be exact. But I also had two texts, from Margaux and Mac respectively, balancing out the panic that wanted to take root in my gut again. Margaux was in full mama-hen mode—for which I was truly grateful—checking in to make sure I was okay and that Mac was still coming over. And speak of the devil—or in this case, my sexy-as-hell guardian angel… Mac wanted to know if I was up for takeout or venturing up to Hillcrest to find something new we hadn’t tried.
I sent a reply to him first. Shrimp and lobster sauce sounded like paradise in paper boxes, and best of all, the local Chinese place delivered. He wouldn’t have to make an extra stop—and he’d be back here in my arms that much sooner.
I refused to listen to the voicemails from John. With a determined set of my shoulders, I decided to tell Mac what was going on here. All of it. He’d likely go über-scary clown on me, complete with red eyes and raging teeth, but after that, he’d have some practical advice on how to handle this guy—and my own whirling feelings around the whole thing.
Like every good little codependent, I mentally scoured my memories of the lunch with John, wondering if I’d said or done a single thing to lead him on. The answer was a huge, fat no. Even my clothes were modest, since I’d been ready to head out to the beach for the afternoon.
Another quick text, to Margaux this time. I assured her I was fine and that Mac would be at my place in a couple of hours. I received a thumbs-up and a kissy-face in response.
There was still time to kill before my man got here, so I freshened up before finding a cute little sundress in the deep recesses of my closet. After ironing out the wrinkles from it, I put on some eyeliner and lipstick. Mac would be leaving work any minute, so I sat down to play a few turns of chess while I waited.
I had no idea how much time had passed, I was so deep into my game. When Mac knocked on my door, I was so engrossed in my strategy, it was a complete surprise. I didn’t even hear his car pull into the complex. That little white number of his had a very distinctive purr, and I used to know the moment he was near.
Just to be safe, I looked through the peephole before opening the door.
And almost fainted.
It wasn’t Mac.
John. He was here, waiting expectantly on the other side of my door. He was dressed in a white button-down shirt and a shockingly trendy sport coat, and he carried a huge bouquet of flowers.
“Shit!” I hissed. “Shit, shit, shiiiiit!”
What the hell now? Ignoring him wouldn’t solve the problem. The lunatic had probably left his chainsaw in the back seat of his car. He’d buzz his way in if he had to—literally.
I could dash and grab my phone, either texting Margaux or even dialing the police, but again—chainsaw. My door would be particle board sushi by the time any help arrived.
I stepped back, flattening my hands into vertical push-ups on the air. “You’ve got to get a fucking grip,” I ordered myself. “And you’ve got to handle this whack job like the piece of crap he really is.”
After forcing down one more long breath, I opened the door to the point where the metal chain stopped the progress. And yeah, I knew I was all but asking to be made into a Stephen King teaser blurb with the move, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
“What are you doing here?” My tone was complete ice.
“Hello to you too, beautiful.”
At once, I wanted to smack the boyish smile off his face.
“That’s not my name, John.”
He dipped his head a little, looking at me over the top of the flowers. “It is now.”
I was sure I left grooves in the wood from where I clutched it. “Listen. I’m not sure where our wires got crossed, but you have to leave. I don’t want to see you again. All those messages? That was creepy, dude.”
His face crunched into angles I’d never seen on it before. Angry, ugly angles. “I like it better when you call me my real name, Taylor.”
“You really need to leave. Now. My boyfriend will be
here any minute, and he won’t take kindly to you on my doorstep.”
“I thought you said he wasn’t your boyfriend?” Even in the dim porch light, I could tell he was getting flushed. Whether from anger or embarrassment, I wasn’t sure.
“Well, things changed. He’s definitely my boyfriend again.”
“No.” His skin got darker, and the kind gaze faded. “You don’t know what you want!” His tone was already shifting back to borderline John Hinckley Jr., and I dashed a glance to my phone on the table, thinking the 9-1-1 idea might have been the smarter way to go here. “You need a good man like me.”
“What I need is for you to leave.” I pronounced all of it at extra-loud volume, hoping the next-door neighbor was peeking through her curtains like the dutiful busybody she was.
“Is there a problem here?”
As soon as the low, sexy rumble of my own white knight came from beyond the light of the overhead bulb, I almost lost my emotional shit. I had no idea how thoroughly I’d been pretending to be brave…until I no longer had to be. Now I was just tempted to be a whimpering fool, but I held composure as Mac sauntered up, having quietly come up the walk and finally overhearing our exchange.
“Oh, hey. You’re that fuckstick from the Bloodmobile, right?” He chuckled his insult, clueless to John’s reddening face.
“And you’re the infamous Dr. Stone.” John glared at Mac, challenging him already.
Mac just shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. But how do you know my name?”
“I work in the lab at the hospital when I’m not volunteering at the blood bank. Everyone there knows who the new cocky asshole in Neuro is. And these days, I only volunteer out at the van on the days Taylor has an appointment—so guess who’s at the hospital as often as you are?”
“Ursula at the lobby coffee stand?” Mac rejoined. “Because really, she’s one of the few I give half a fuck about.” He paused for half a second to let John get in a good fume over that before cocking his brows and stating, “Now, I’m only going to say this once, junior.” With the deliberation of the lion Margaux had compared him to, he shifted into John’s personal space. Not far, but just enough. “I distinctly heard Miss Mathews ask you to leave—and I suggest you do just that.”