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“You do suspect me, don’t you?” He stood up again. This time his face turned beet red. “I wasn’t even in Blue Creek. My family went on a beach vacation that week. Fuck!”
Damn it, I hit the vein.
I stood to meet his gaze, which wasn’t wavering. “Can you email me any tickets or hotel accommodation—”
“I’ll send you everything. Just get the fuck out.”
I had pushed too far but did manage to uncover some nuggets of information. Nothing overly promising. In fact, I was now being pulled back to square one with the prime suspect now pointing to a potentially solid alibi. If Walter wasn’t around when the CD was left, then he was either working with someone, which was extremely rare for a stalker, or he wasn’t the one we were looking for.
Fine. I’d leave before things escalated. “Thank you, Walter,” I said, hoping to end things on a good note.
The icy-cold glare he gave me might as well have left me filleted on the floor. I took that as my sign to go.
“If there’s anyone you need to talk to, it’s Kimmy,” Walter shouted at me as I left.
I froze, turning on a heel. “The drag king?”
“Yes, that one. I overheard him talking outside after a show. About how he needed to figure out how to take Elijah’s headlining spot. He said he admired the hell out of Elijah but that he wanted him gone.”
“Who else heard this?”
Walter narrowed his eyes, hands held in fists at his side. I could see him weighing whether or not it was worth it to keep talking to me.
Come on, come on.
“He was talking with Kimmy. Ask her.”
Elijah’s drag mom. That made sense, considering she was also the drag king’s mom. “Have you seen or heard anything else?”
Walter shook his head. His mom came storming out, door slamming behind her, glasses making the anger in her eyes even more magnified. I got in my car as she cursed me out, coming close to my window before I drove off.
Damn it.
I was really hoping I’d have good news for Elijah. Instead, I was texting him with a message that read, “I don’t think it’s Walter.”
Whoever it was, though, I knew I’d find them. It was only a matter of time.
Speaking of, I glanced at my watch and realized I only had about an hour to get ready for Elijah’s and my first date night. Hopefully, the surprises I had planned for us would ease the blow from the bad news.
And lead to other kinds of blows.
I almost drove myself off the road for that dumb caveman thought. Except that would mean not getting blown by Elijah, and that, caveman or not, would be the true tragedy.
18
Elijah King
Our first date night. The first date night I’d had in a while. And it happened to be with arguably the man of my dreams. Someone who had seemed to appear out of thin air like a hazy mirage in the middle of a barren desert, advertising a serene and peaceful escape into paradise. I still held a hard-worn wariness close to my chest like a protective blade, ready to cut the cord at the earliest sign of hurt or betrayal. I’d been burned before, I had, and I made myself as spiky as possible because of it. Like a human porcupine, I erected defenses and made myself content. Not happy—never happy—but content.
Until Ryan Diaz showed up at the bar, the spotlight shining on him as if he’d planned it with the tech girl. Sky-blue eyes overflowing with kindness paired with a heart-stopping smile ended up being the weak spots in my defenses. He barreled right through them.
Tonight, a private chef was cooking dinner for us in a rented cabin that overlooked the winding stretch of pristine water that was Blue Creek. He had taken care of all the arrangements, telling me to just worry about bringing a bathing suit for the hot tub. I teased him, saying the only suits we’d be needing were our birthday suits.
He agreed and left his swim trunks behind.
“Holy shit, Ry, this place is stunning,” I said, jaw dropping along with my bag on the freshly polished dark hardwood floors. Directly in front of me were two massive floor-to-ceiling windows that curved around the edges and framed a stunning view of the White Mountains being washed in a soft pink glow from the setting sun. The furniture was a mixture of cabin chic and California eclectic: wooden chairs with pop art pillows and a chandelier of antlers hanging above a stained glass coffee table. The mantle above the fireplace had a dozen different hand-sculpted wooden bears, smiling and waving, and one of them even appeared to be smoking a joint.
“He’s having a great time,” Ryan said, noticing the same blunt-loving bear as I had. His arm looped around my lower back, and I instinctively melted into his side, resting my head on his shoulder and laughing.
