Page 48 of Texting Dr. Stalker

She might one day look next door and put the pieces together.

Deleting my message, I retyped.

X:I’m thirty-four. Now stop asking personal questions.

Lori:Don’t you want to know how old I am?

I already know. Your birthday is on the 9thof May. You’re six years younger than me. Melody would bake you a lemon meringue cake each birthday with lemons from her own tree.

X:Let me guess, you’re sixteen, and I’m breaking yet another law just by talking to you.

Lori:Ha ha. It would serve you right if I was. But really? Do I look that young? That fragile?

I didn’t know how we’d become this familiar with each other so fast.

What was it about a screen and a keyboard that allowed an ease to form that never seemed to be this simple in person?

I just thanked every star in the galaxy that she’d never known my number as Zander because, thanks to the stupid decision to use my own details, she was far too close to the truth already.

Nausea suddenly filled me at the thought of never talking to her this way again.

Me:Fine. You look twenty-three.

Shit, unsend.Unsend!

Too late.

What was I thinking using her real age?

Lori:Have you been in my house?

Me:Why would you ask that?

Lori:Because you broke your rule about coming near me and gave me a blanket in the garden the other night.

Shit.

My hands shook.

Me:I couldn’t leave you uncovered. It just wasn’t possible.

Lori:I should follow through with my threat to make you regret coming near me.

Me:Will you?

Lori:I should be freaked out that you were close enough to touch me.

Me:But you’re not?

Lori:I shouldn’t admit this but no…I’m not.

Me:I would never touch you without your consent. I merely sheltered you.

Lori:I don’t know what this says about me but…I believe you. And thank you. And now, please answer my question. Have you broken another rule and been in my house? Because your answer about my age doesn’t feel like a lucky guess. Have you been snooping in my paperwork?

“Goddammit, Zan, you suck so badly at this—”

“Uh-oh, muttering to yourself is the first sign of insanity.” Colin chuckled as he barged through the door and filled the staff room with his blinding personality. Clipping over to me in his dress shoes, he eyed up my pasta, then swiped my phone straight out of my hand.

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