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“Sure. Can I go back to bed?”
One-track mind. “Yes, go back to bed. Thanks, Jack.”
A grunt is the only response I get before the line goes dead.
“Where are you going?”
“Jesus, Gavin!” I fumble the phone and nearly drop it. When I turn around, I expect Gavin to be gloating at how he was able to sneak up on me. Instead, I’m face to face with a scowl. A beautiful scowl, but still a sco
wl.
When I realize he’s seriously angry, I become irrationally defensive.
“I have shit to do, that’s all,” I grumble.
“Fuck you, Mitch,” he spits. “I deserve to know what the hell is going on! He’s after me!”
“No he isn’t!” I shout. “He’s after me!”
Gavin’s expression waffles between furious and confused.
“What are you talking about? He doesn’t even know who you are.”
“Think about it, Gavin. I just stepped out as your ‘boyfriend’.” I make sure to emphasize the word boyfriend. “This guy writes you letters. They start out sweet in the beginning. Then they get more and more hostile, the focus turning to your sexuality.”
“So?” Gavin crosses his arms across his broad chest. The muscles in his biceps bulge, not that I’m looking. “What does that have to do with anything?”
I’m totally looking.
I huff in exasperation. “So…he’s a self-loathing, in-denial, psychopathic, closeted gay man with a serious fixation on you. He thinks he’s in love with you, Gavin, but he hates you for it. Seeing you with me set him off in a bad way. Just as I suspected.”
“Is that your official profile of the guy?” he asks. Entranced, I watch the corded muscles in his forearm flex.
“Yes. It is. It fits nearly all of the evidence I have.” My eyes wander up Gavin’s smooth, tan throat until they lock on his mouth. That sweet, full mouth that frustrates the hell out of me whenever he opens it.
“Nearly? You’re not sure?” Gavin’s eyes narrow, becoming gleaming blue slits set into an angular face that should grace the covers of magazines around the world.
“I don’t think I like your tone of voice,” I challenge.
“I don’t give a fuck,” he replies. “Why doesn’t it fit?”
“Jesus, Gavin. Different reasons, but mostly because some of the letters just don’t make sense.” Stepping back, I shove my hands in my pockets to tamp down the need to touch that lean, nearly hairless skin. “They’re not the letters of a fixated lover, they’re simply anti-gay hatred. They’re meant to intimidate, not impress you. The actual stalker wants to impress you with his ability to get to you, to get through your security and leave gifts where you’ll find them.”
“That’s supposed to impress me?” he shouts. Gavin shakes his head, his crossed arms dropping to his sides. One hand goes into his pocket.
“I didn’t say it made sense to normal-functioning people. But to someone like him it makes perfect sense. He resents you for living the life you live. He’s the victim in his mind, of you rejecting his love and affection even though he’ll never admit that’s what he wants.”
“You just said he’s in the closet, Mitch. Hell, I’m…I was in the closet until tonight!”
“That’s the source of his sudden anger towards me.” I shift from foot to foot, uncomfortable having a conversation with Gavin about a man refusing to acknowledge his sexuality. Irony. It kills me.
I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair. “He’s angry at himself for having sexual or romantic feelings for a man, which is why the letters are increasingly twisted. The love and hate are tied together.”
Gavin’s mouth twists until it looks like he bit a lemon. “Hmph. Seems to be a lot of that going around,” he murmurs as he turns his back to me.
Being the chicken-shit that I am, I ignore his comment. I can’t have that discussion now. Too much is going on that I need to take care of.
“I’m going to call the police. Are you up for answering their questions?” I palm my phone, waiting for an answer.
