“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.
Gavin is quiet for so long, I begin to think he’s not going to respond.
“I don’t see that I have a choice,” he whispers. “I’ll be down when they get here.” He heads for the stairs and disappears.
Exhausted, I slump into a kitchen chair, leaning over the table with my head in my hands.
Way to go, Mitch. You really know how to fuck things up.
* * *
“Mitch?”
A gentle touch on my shoulder wakes me up. I turn over to see Gavin, wearing only a bright red pair of boxer briefs standing next to the bed.
“Gavin? Is something wrong?” I sit up, about to throw the covers off when I realize I’d be exposing significant morning wood. Morning wood that is slowly turning into a genuine hard-on thanks to the perfect, golden torso, complete with a faint blonde treasure trail and pierced nipples, right at my eye-level.
“Someone’s at the door,” he whispers. “I didn’t know if I should answer it.”
I glance up at his face. Gavin is frightened. Truly frightened. I suppose I would be too if I had a stalker leaving dead animals in my bed.
What am I talking about? I have a stalker! One that destroyed my home. But I’m the one who fixes things. I’m supposed to keep Gavin safe.
My hard-on vanishes when I see Gavin’s fear. Hell, I can practically taste it. It’s radiating off of him in waves.
I jump out of bed and pull on a loose pair of sweats. Inside, my heart skips a beat when I notice Gavin sneak a peek at my crotch as I get dressed. I throw on a shirt and thrust a pair of shorts and a shirt at Gavin.
“Put these on. Hurry,” I urge.
For once, he does as I ask without a barrage of questions or complaints. While he dresses, I grab my Glock off the nightstand and double-check the clip. The sight of him wearing my clothes shouldn’t turn me on, but dammit, it does.
“Come with me,” I whisper. Loud pounding comes from the front door, accompanied by the chimes of the fancy doorbell.
Gavin jumps and grabs at the hem of my shirt. Without thinking, I reach back for his hand, clasping it in mine like I did last night at my townhouse. We creep down the stairs to the door.
Letting go of his hand, I hold a finger up to my mouth. Parting the curtain with the Glock so I can see the front step, I peek outside.
“Son of a bitch.” I move to
unlock the door.