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“Excuse me,” she said, moving her basket between them. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him staring. He barely moved even when her basket banged into him.
“It really is you!” he said.
Lauren glanced just long enough to assess him. He was tall and heavyset with sagging jeans and a Yankees t-shirt. His hair looked uncombed, as if he’d just rolled out of bed, and the thinnest hint of a mustache shadowed his upper lip. She didn’t really care what he looked like. What annoyed her was the way he was looking at her. She’d seen that look before: the die-hard fan with no sense of personal space.
“Excuse me,” she said again.
“You’re Lauren from The Kingmakers,” he said, moving enough for her to reach the fruit display. “I’m Frank. I’m a huge fan. Like, your biggest fan!”
“That’s very kind of you. I’m glad you like the band’s music.” She kept a subtle eye on him while she picked a pineapple. She tugged on the leaves to see if it was ripe and added it to her basket. Normally she tried to be accommodating for fans, like all the times she stopped for pictures, but every now and then—like today—she just wanted a little privacy.
“I’ve been to all your shows. I can’t wait for the new album. Can you tell me about some of the songs? Just a hint? I won’t tell anyone else.”
Enthusiasm oozed out of him. Lauren demurred, stepping back and around him to continue her shopping. He pivoted to follow, continuing with his questions. The few answers she offered were polite but short. She knew his type. All questions and starstruck awe, but he wasn’t radiating that creepy, obsessive energy that marked him as dangerous—this guy wasn’t a threat, he was just clueless.
“Any tips for getting backstage passes for your next show?” His voice brimmed with zeal.
“Our manager handles that stuff. But it was nice to talk to you.” She turned to head to the register when he reached out and caught her elbow.
“Don’t go yet! Can I get a pic—”
“Hey!” She jerked her arm away, her voice sharp and scolding. Frank’s face crumbled. She didn’t like being snappish but putting his hands on her crossed a line. Before Lauren could say anything else, Danny barreled in, the force of his entrance knocking her to the side. Frank dropped his basket in surprise.
“Back off.” He pushed Frank back a step and flashed his badge. “You know I can arrest you on battery charges, right? For putting your hands on her like that?”
Sweat broke out on Frank’s forehead and upper lip. “B-battery? I just wanted—”
“Yeah, I know what you wanted—”
“—Danny—” Lauren started to say, but he talked over her.
“—I’m willing to let it go this time, but you need to step off. Pick up your basket and—”
“Danny! That’s enough!”
Danny’s head snapped to the side, his expression confused. Frank looked just as confounded.
“Lauren… ah, Miss Stone,” Frank said, “I didn’t mean… I just… I’m sorry.” His face was awash with contrition and a little fear. He picked up his basket and started to shuffle away. Lauren felt terrible.
“Wait,” Lauren said. “I’m sorry. This is a big misunderstanding. You said your name was Frank, right? Get your phone out.” When he didn’t move, she said it again. “Seriously, get your phone. You wanted a picture, right?”
He glanced at Danny, wary, but it was nothing compared to the glare she skewered Danny with.
“I don’t want to be a bother,” Frank mumbled as he looked at the floor.
“Really, it’s no bother.”
Lauren took a couple of quick selfies with him, picked up her basket, and walked to the register without a word to Danny. In the checkout line, she heard him say her name softly, but she didn’t turn around. She chatted pleasantly with the clerk and left with her bags. Danny had to hurry to catch up to her on the sidewalk.
“Why are you pissed at me?”
She paused long enough to stare him in the eye. “I’m not having this conversation in public.”
They walked in silence the rest of the way back to the Somerset, but the détente didn’t last once they got to the apartment.
“Who do you think you are?” Lauren asked as she put her bags on the counter.
“Why are you mad at me?”
