Page 7 of SapphicLover69
I laid my hand on my purse, thinking I should go after her and apologize for something, when I felt my phone vibrate. Curious about who would want to talk to me, not present at this table, I took out my cell and checked the notifications. An incoming text message from an unknown number. Probably someone trying to sell me something, but, needing a distraction from feeling guilty, I opened it.
The blood drained from my face. My mouth went dry, and my palms began to sweat. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be!
“Honey, what’s wrong?” came Tammy’s concerned voice.
The text read simply,I’m here.It was followed by another.I see you, bitch.
Chapter 5
Who Can It Be Now?
Ididn’t realize my hand was shaking until Beth laid hers over mine to still it. I swallowed and glanced at Tammy while my heartbeat thundered against my chest. A barely audible squeak escaped my lips in Mary’s timorous manner. “She’s here.”
Tearing my gaze from my friends, I started scanning the lounge. There had to be over a hundred customers, most of them women here for the conference. I looked for anyone with their phones out. A good half were either holding their cell or had it lying on the table near their hand. Some were taking selfies or showing pictures to their tablemates while others scrolled or typed away, updating their social media accounts, no doubt. Everyone seemed to be laughing and having a good time except this one girl lurking just inside the door.
Focusing my attention, I made a mental note of the lone stranger. Draped in all black—a long-sleeved button shirt and cargo pants—with her hands stuffed into her pockets, sheappeared to be staring right at me. Long, ebony hair half covered her face, making it hard to distinguish details. All I could tell was she was lanky and not African-American before she noticed me staring back. In a blink, she bolted through the exit.
My brain ticked, firing hundreds of neurons at once. I wanted to chase after her and I didn’t. I thought it could be her when truly it could be any of the hundred women in the bar. Fear froze my body while rage fueled it to move, and I hovered in a vortex of indecision.What if she’s dangerous? What if I make a fool of myself chasing the wrong person? What if she makes my life a living hell? How did she get my phone number?
I vaguely detected Tammy’s twanging tenor and Beth’s quaint English voice beneath the pulse pounding in my ears. It was too late to follow her now. I blinked to clear my double vision and shook my head to merge two of everything back into one.
“What’s wrong, Aspen? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The concern in Winter’s tone as she rejoined the table drew me to glance over as she plopped into her chair. Though her brows shot up and the corners of her mouth drooped—lips parted as if in dismay—it dawned on me she hadn’t been in the room when the text came through. There were only two people I knew for a fact hadn’t sent the notes, only two I could trust—Tammy and Beth. Anyone else could be my nemesis. And what did she want, anyway? Revenge? For what? I didn’t do anything.
I couldn’t face the nightmare. The walls closed in and I couldn’t breathe. I just needed some air. “SapphicLover69,” I rasped out as I stood and shoved the phone back in my purse. “She’s here. I’ll be back in a minute,” I said, hoping it would satisfy everyone. Tammy could explain. I had to get out of there, so I bolted from the room like my tail was on fire.
On shaky legs, I headed for the nearest exit without the word “Emergency” inscribed over it. It took me past some vending machines and through another door onto a small, secluded, tiledpatio surrounded by ornamental trees and planters bursting with flora. Soft lights illuminated the courtyard as it had finally grown dark outside. While avoiding the heat of the sun, moisture permeated the air, void of any breeze at all. It still felt cooler than being in the same room as my unknown stalker.
Worried I might collapse, I took the nearest wrought-iron chair, rested my elbows on the matching table, and dropped my head into my hands in hopes it would stop spinning. This was ridiculous! Who was she, and why was she harassing me? Taking slow, deep breaths, I tried to steady myself.Aspen Wolfe doesn’t run away like a scared fawn,I chastised myself.She would shake this off like it was nothing, take it in stride as the price for being famous, and laugh at it all. Why can’t I do that? Why can’t I just be her on the inside?
I fought back tears, swearing I wouldn’t let that vengeful woman reduce me to a blubbering little girl. No. I would find out who she was, confront her, and that would be the end of it. But who was she and how the hell did she get my cell phone number? The only person at the conference who had my number was Tammy, and she wouldn’t have given it to another soul.
Raising my chin, I propped it on my folded hands and stared at a crepe myrtle bloom.When I checked in at the front desk, I had to write my phone number on the papers,I considered.Could SapphicLover69 be a hotel employee? Maybe she walked by and saw it. That woman with her cadre of admirers who I thought might be Selina Fowlerton.She writes mystery/thrillersand crime stories; you’d think she’d be adept at spy work. In fact, a character did something similar in her book,Envious Espionage.
Hearing uneven footsteps approach from behind raised the hairs on the back of my neck, and I stiffened. I summoned Aspen Wolfe’s courage, inhaled sharply, and glanced over my shoulder,expecting to see the snarling, menacing face of SapphicLover69. Instead, I was greeted with a dazzling smile.
“You found it too loud and crowded in there too?” chirped a cheerful voice.
Before me stood an odd, apple-shaped woman with honey-blonde hair stringing down in waves from a head that was too big, golden wire-rimmed glasses framing eyes that were too small, and an asymmetrical face painted with freckles. She stood with her shoulders at a slant, and a quick scan showed her shoe had a built-up sole to compensate for one leg being shorter than the other. Despite obviously living with some sort of disability, the woman who appeared to be around my age beamed as brightly as a noon sun reflecting off the waters of the Gulf. Intuition told me she was not SapphicLover69.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked with a hand on the back of the chair next to mine.
My only desire was to crawl into a corner and wallow in my misery, not to be cheered up by a good faerie, yet I found her presence so compelling I couldn’t say no.
“Sure.” I donned my social façade and pretended I wasn’t the target of a psychotic’s vindictive wrath. “Yeah, I needed some air. Aspen Wolfe,” I introduced myself pleasantly and extended a hand.
What her pudgy grip lacked in strength it made up for in electromagnetism. Maybe my faerie analogy hadn’t been so far-fetched after all.
“Elaine Parker. Nice to meet you.”
I recognized the name. She wrote small-town and urban fantasies featuring witches and magic users of all varieties. Her books were especially popular with the YA crowd and received mostly positive reviews.
“It’s a pleasure meeting you too,” I responded before returning my hand to the table in front of me. “So, where are you from?”
“Bedford, Pennsylvania,” she answered, her cheery expression remaining in place. “It’s about halfway between Harrisburg and Pittsburgh, so, naturally, I’m a Steelers and Pirates fan. What about you?”
“Gulfport, Florida, which would be fabulous if not for the insanity that is Florida politics. Isn’t one of your books a finalist?”
If it were possible, her smile increased in brilliance. “Yes!The Magic We Makeis up for the Young Adult category. I’m surprised you noticed.”
