Page 72 of Texting Dr. Stalker

“Say what?” Christina frowned. “You’re seeing someone, Zan? I thought you’d chosen the monk lifestyle.”

“He’s definitelywatchingsomeone. Aren’t you, Zander?” Colin winked. “He’s very,verygood at watching.”

My fingers curled into a fist.

Would I be arrested if I punched my best friend’s face in the middle of a busy market?

Christina looked back and forth between us. “I don’t get it.” Rolling her eyes, she shrugged. “And I don’t wanna know. I’m off browsing. See ya.”

“Call me!” Colin yelled after her. His gaze tracked her as she weaved around other people. It was his fault she’d joined us in the first place. He’d spotted her as we’d headed into the market and practically begged her to tag along.

“And you say I need to get laid,” I huffed. “As your friend, I understand your interest in Christina. She’s smart, funny, and sensible. But as her brother, I’m warning you…she isn’t one-night stand material.”

“Who said anything about a one-night stand?” He scratched his jaw where a five o’clock shadow had come in. We’d both pulled an all-nighter. I’d been in the ER, and he’d had a patient who’d developed difficulties after amputation surgery. “I’m looking for the same thing you are.” He dropped a bit of his swagger. “I just want to have someone to care for and have them care about me, that’s all.”

As much as I appreciated him opening up to me—most likely running on exhaustion and craving the comfort of going home to someone—I had my own problems. With Christina gone, I could share them.

Shoving my phone in his face, I hissed, “She saw me. That’s why this is all your fault. All the progress Sailor has made today, thanks to X, has taken a flying leap out the goddamn window because of me. That’s how toxic I am to her. I should go over there right now and tell her who I am so I don’t destroy her even more.”

Colin skimmed my inbox, no doubt lingering on the slightly more suggestive messages. I still felt guilty for those. “You need to stop talking about yourself from X’s POV,” he said. “If the lies come toppling down, you don’t want her to have too many instances when you actively kept up the ruse. As long as you have a plausible reason for why you approached her this way, she can find a way to forgive you. But the more you back-stab yourself, the more explaining you’ll have to do.”

“Christ, this is getting completely out of hand.”

“I agree.” Grabbing my wrist, he dragged me through the crowd back the way we came. “Let’s go see if we can fix it.”

“Wait, what?” I yanked on his hold. “What are you doing?”

“Helping.” His fingers dug into me, pressing on the faded welts left behind by Sailor’s scratches when I’d slapped my hand over her screams.

Every time I thought about touching her, my body tightened in ways it shouldn’t. For four days—as we texted as casual friends about nonsense with the occasional check in on her mental health—I’d fought the very real, very awful craving that was becoming far too insistent to deny.

I wanted her.

I didn’t just want to protect her or keep her safe. Iwantedher. In my arms. My bed. My heart.

And while X existed, I couldn’t.

But while Zander existed, she would never talk to me the way she did with X.

It’d been a stroke of pure luck that I’d snapped a photo of her stirring her cauldron of whatever she’d been making when I’d been called into work yesterday. I knew she’d probably heard my car leaving, and if I stopped texting her as X the moment Zander left…that could connect a few dots that couldn’t be connected.

I’d sent her a photo that was only ever meant to be for me. A photo of her by the window that I’d taken a few minutes before I’d been summoned to work. I’d hoped she was still there in that exact position—still stirring and staring into the garden. If she was, then she’d assume I’d just taken the pic and would never wonder.

I liked to think I’d been pretty clever and she’d bought it, but who the hell knew for sure?

With anxiety bubbling in my gut, I tried to untangle Colin’s grip. “Let go of me.” I managed to pry his fingers off just as we almost bashed into the long table with its white runner, neat little pyramids of bottles, and numerous postcards listing old-fashioned remedies for different ailments.

“Zander!” Lily beamed. “Lovely to see you out and about. And who’s this?”

“This is Colin,” Colin said with an idiotic bow. “I work with Zan.”

“Oooo, another doctor. Be still my beating heart.” Lily’s laugh cut through the hum of passersby voices, whipping Sailor’s head to face us. She moved in slow motion—her sandy blonde hair flicking over her shoulder, her blue eyes widening with fear, her lips parting with shock.

I had a prime position to see her hard-won happiness bleed into the shadows of the past.

Goddamn you, Colin.

Colin ignored that Sailor looked as if she’d bolt out of the tent and waved. “Hey, Sailor. How’re things?” He reached across the display and held out his hand. “I’ve seen you around but never officially been introduced. I’m Colin Marx.”

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