Starting with the Unexpected (16 page)

It wasn’t as bad as I thought. By the time we came up with something we both agreed to, Kat ended up just mentioning what happened, commenting about how it was all kinds of fucked up that someone would follow up a confession of love by destroying property, and making a thinly veiled threat in regard to fans taking things too far. The nice part was that, by the time the show was over, we were getting calls from listeners who expressed complete horror over what had happened.

Even with the support, though, I was glad when we went off the air. The whole fucking thing was stressful, and I didn’t want to deal with it.

Which meant that when the brick went through the glass doors at the front of our studio, I was less than thrilled.

Kat and I were about to head for lunch—I didn’t bring one and, of course, I hadn’t thought of that when Marcus asked me not to walk anywhere—when the glass burst in and the brick slid across the floor to rest at our feet.

“What the fucking fuck?” I yelled and waved my arms in a futile gesture of rage as Kat darted out the door, presumably to try to catch the guy. The rest of the studio came running. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, you psycho son of a bitch.”

“Better call for delivery,” my boss said. “You’ll need to be here when the cops arrive.”

“Of course.” Yeah, I was still yelling. “Of fucking course. I can’t have a fucking normal life anymore because my boyfriend’s fucking ex-boyfriend is a fucking fuckhead.”

“Again with the oral sex,” Kat chastised me. “So much fucking.” She shrugged and motioned toward the door. “Your secret admirer was gone by the time I got out there.”

Unlike the last time, I was not soothed by humor. “I’m calling my fucking boyfriend and asking him to stay the fuck home,” I said, pointing at her. “And you’re driving me the fuck home after work, since telling the fucking world what happened was your fucking idea.”

She saluted me, which made me grit my teeth. “Yes sir. Now tell me what you want for lunch, so I can go order it.”

W
HEN
I
got home, Marcus was waiting on the front step of the house, and I had to bite back the urge to roll down the window and tell him to get the fuck back inside. He probably wouldn’t have appreciated being yelled at. Instead, I grunted a good-bye to Kat and stormed to the front steps. Marcus stood as I approached, shoved open the front door, and pulled me inside. The moment he had the door shut and bolted, he had me in his arms, and that’s when I realized he was shaking.

“I’m all right,” I mumbled into his neck as I hugged him tightly.

“You could have been hurt,” he whispered against my hair. “This is getting worse. It has to stop.”

“I know.” And I did know. If things had escalated overnight from threatening messages spray-painted on my car to having bricks thrown at me, even indirectly, that wasn’t a good sign. Things would quite likely move up to actual physical harm.

I didn’t bring that up, though. Instead, I deflected. “Come on,” I said, nuzzling against his ear. “Let’s go curl up in my bed for a while and watch a movie or something.” Because God knew I needed to be held right then. That was certain. I needed to know we were both fine.

Marcus nodded and pulled away to take my hand. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, that sounds good.” He led me down the hall to my bedroom, and for a few hours, everything was right in the world.

“H
UH
,
IT
matches.”

I looked to the back of our booth at the arts festival to see Marcus staring at his cotton candy and plucking pieces of it. He’d pretty much been in his own private heaven since the moment we got there, what with all the sugary fair food.

“What matches?” I asked, smiling at him. God, he was so adorable when he was like that.

He stood up and sauntered across the space, the cotton candy in his hand. When he got up next to me, he held it up, and eyed it and then my hair. “Yeah. It matches.”

He plucked another piece off, and this time, offered it to me. I opened my mouth and let him feed me with his sticky fingers. “I guess it does,” I agreed as the sugar melted in my mouth. “Think I should change the color?”

“Nah,” Marcus said. He gave me a teasing grin as he flicked a lock of my hair. I’d probably have to wash sugar out of it when we got home, but that was okay. “Suits your sweet personality.”

“Oh gag me,” Kat said with a snort. “You two turn my stomach sometimes.”

“Come on. It’s cute,” her boyfriend, Erik said. “And it’s nice to see Zach so happy.”

“It’s weird,” Kat countered.

“You’re weird,” I shot back as Marcus fed me another bit of fluff.

“He’s got you there,” Erik said with a grin.

“No nookie for you tonight,” Kat told him and pointed a finger.

“Truth hurts,” Marcus stage-whispered to me. Then he ducked out of Kat’s reach and hid behind Erik. “Erik, your girlfriend’s trying to beat me. Make her stop,” he whined.

I was glad to see him comfortable around Kat’s boyfriend. When we showed up that morning, Marcus hadn’t known what to make of him. Erik is built kind of like my father—tall, wide, and sort of scary. When Marcus found out that Erik worked at his mother’s quilt shop, however, he relaxed visibly. I couldn’t really blame him for that. It was admittedly difficult to picture a bad guy voluntarily selling fabric all day.

“You know,” I said as Marcus continued to peek out at Kat from behind her boyfriend, “they’ve got a Ferris wheel set up.”

Marcus stopped dodging Kat and looked at me. “Yeah?” he asked hopefully. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting we lock Kat in one of the cars for the duration of the day,” I said and laughed when she glared at me. “I’m kidding. I was actually suggesting that you and I check it out later, if you’d like.”

Marcus grinned and abandoned Erik to wrap an arm around my waist. “I like that idea,” he said and kissed my cheek. His lips were just as sticky as his fingers, and I wondered how much sugar I was going to have to scrub off by the end of the day. “But for now, I suppose I’d better let you get to work.”

I looked at my watch and nodded. “We’ve got fifteen minutes,” I told Kat.

“You know what to do,” she told Erik. “Take Marcus with you. Keep him out of trouble.”

“Wait. What?” Marcus asked. “What’s going on?”

“We’re going to go take a look at what’s out there, find the vendors we think are particularly interesting, and bring back pictures so they know what they’re describing,” Erik explained.

“Pick me up a funnel cake on your way back,” I instructed Marcus.

That got his attention. “There’s a funnel cake vendor?” he asked and grabbed Erik’s arm. “Come on, man. We have a mission to complete.”

Erik winked at me—reassurance that he’d keep an eye on my boyfriend—and let himself be dragged off.

When our fifteen minutes were up, Kat and I jumped into action, and the morning progressed smoothly. Broadcasting at a live event is kind of like a weird, chaotic dance. I can’t tell you if that’s normal for any live broadcast, but it’s normal for us, so we roll with it. We have it down to a well-choreographed act, but it’s a production that allows for all the weird shit that happens during the day.

Like the guy who propositioned me in front of Marcus during the music break two hours into the program. Kid couldn’t have been more than eighteen, and I thought Marcus was going to detach my would-be suitor’s head from his neck, if the death glare was anything to go by. To his credit, the kid apologized, claimed he didn’t realize he was stepping on any toes—and then asked if we’d be interested in a threesome.

“I don’t share him,” Marcus growled at the poor kid. “Mine.”

I’d say that I thought the caveman act was crude and totally beneath him, but I’d be lying. When he announced his claim on me like that, all I wanted to do was drop to my knees and make him find God (or at least call for him) right there in front of everyone. Fuck, but it was hot to witness.

And that was when Kat kicked him out of the booth. I love the bitch, but she’s such a fucking cockblock sometimes. Granted, it was probably for the best, considering we had work to do, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. On the plus side, we were only on air for four hours. By the time we’d given over the booth to the afternoon DJ, I was more than ready to spend some quality time with Marcus.

So I walked away from the booth after a good-bye to Kat, and went in search of my boyfriend. I put on the ancient hat I’d brought with me as I left. I was glad I’d remembered it, because the sun was beating on me like it wanted me to call it Sir, and ghostly pale skin doesn’t tend to play well with that. My scalp burns, and when it peels, it comes off in massive flakes that make me look like I have yeti dandruff, which is gross. Thus, the hat.

Marcus and I played a little Marco Polo with our phones until I finally just told him to meet me at the Ferris wheel. It was a large enough landmark that even I couldn’t get lost trying to find it.

I was across the square from the ride when we saw each other. He grinned and waved at me. In his other hand he held firmly to something deep fried on a stick. I gave him an amused look and waved back, then started to cross the square to reach him.

And that was when I felt two hands push me. Hard. I was halfway into stepping off the curb when it happened, and I landed hard on the foot I was already moving. I felt something in my ankle do something it really wasn’t supposed to do, and I crumpled to the ground. Fuck, but that hurt, and that had
not
felt like an accidental push.

Marcus was next to me in what seemed like half a second. “Are you okay?” he asked, worried, as he reached to help me stand.

“Did you see what happened?” I asked, not wanting to alarm him.

He shook his head. “No. Too many people crowding around. Why?”

“Just curious,” I mumbled, letting Marcus help me up. I hissed as I put weight on my right ankle, and quickly shifted so my left took the brunt of it.

Marcus muttered curses as he pulled my right arm over his shoulders. “Lean on me,” he commanded. “We’re getting you to the first-aid tent.”

“It’s just twisted,” I demurred. It wasn’t, but this was supposed to be a fun day, not another episode of the soap opera my life seemed to be recently. I looked at the heart attack on a stick he was holding and narrowed my eyes at it. “Is that a deep-fried Twinkie?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny the existence of a Twinkie-like substance,” Marcus said. He gave me a grin that I could tell he really wasn’t feeling. “However, I
can
tell you that I know where we can get some for Jordan later.”

“I can’t believe you’re eating that,” I said, my nose wrinkling. “I may never kiss you again.”

“You will,” Marcus said. “You like me too much not to. Now, am I helping you to the first-aid tent?”

I gave the Ferris wheel a look of longing, then turned the look at Marcus. Hey, we all need the opportunity to let our inner five-year-old out. I just did it with carnival rides, instead of deep-fried nastiness.

Marcus sighed. “If we go on the Ferris wheel, will you let me take you to the first-aid tent afterward?”

“I’m fine,” I protested. “Really.”

“Right,” Marcus said. It was obvious he didn’t believe me, but he helped me to the ride anyway.

Once we were safely seated, we pressed in close to each other. “This is nice,” I said. “We should do things like this more often.”

“Without the drama of you tripping over your own feet in a crowd,” Marcus said pointedly, though he was more relaxed than he’d been when he picked me up off the ground.

Which is why I didn’t tell him I’d been pushed. He didn’t need more to worry about, right? At least, that was how I tried to justify it to myself. I ignored the guilt that started tap-dancing in my gut and gave him a grin. “Well, you know me,” I said. “If I can trip over it, I will.”

He snorted and let the comment go as the ride started to move.

When we disembarked a couple of minutes later, it was to me hissing again as I tried to stand. Yeah, the pain was definitely getting worse. It felt like my ankle was trying to impersonate a balloon, though I couldn’t tell if it was really swelling or if I was imagining that.

“All right. That’s it,” Marcus said fiercely as he helped me hobble away. “First-aid tent or emergency room. Your choice.”

Well, at least he was giving me a choice. “First-aid tent,” I grumbled. “Dammit, we’re supposed to be having fun today.”

Marcus gave me a squeeze with the arm he had around my waist. “And we will,” he promised. “If it really is just a twisted ankle, we can let them wrap it and loan you some crutches before we head out to see everything else.”

“And if it’s not?” I asked. Because it wasn’t just a twisted ankle. Not for this level of pain.

Marcus stopped in his tracks, and I nearly fell over. He gave me a searching look, his face grim. “If it’s not, we have a discussion on why getting your ankle checked out is more important than a carnival ride, take you to the emergency room, and go home.”

“That doesn’t sound like fun to me,” I said warily.

“I’d have to send you to bed,” Marcus said as we started walking again. “And in interest of making sure you were going to stay there, I’d have to send myself to bed with you.”

That sounded a whole lot more fun than spending the day in a crowd of people, and I let him help me to where the group of EMTs who had volunteered their time were stationed.

“Oh God,” I muttered when we stepped inside. “Just what I needed.”

“What?” Marcus asked, confused.

His question was answered by the tall, stocky Italian who stepped up to us. “Long time, no see, Zachy. What’d you do this time?”

I winced. Of all the guys to be working that day, one of them had to be an ex. Of course. Just what I needed. “Don’t call me Zachy, Enzo.”

“I could call you some of the things I used to call you, if you prefer,” he told me with a leer.