slipping out to tickle her apple cheeks.
Glossy lipstick, some kind of black shit artfully applied around
her eyes to make the hazel stand out, and dressed in some kind of
gauzy see-through jacket.
Jesus, was she
wearing anything underneath it? No sooner had the thought startled
him than he put a hand to his chest and blew out a relieved breath.
Underneath it she wore a flesh-coloured tank top. No bared titties
there for anyone to see, thank God.
He couldn’t see
what else she wore below the waist due to the desk she sat behind,
but it was enough. The chick was decently dressed. She’d sure as
shit be answering to someone if she hadn’t been, that someone being
him.
Now to see if
some pervert lothario was sniffing around her.
Marty nudged
him. “Seen enough?”
“No.”
“She’s not in
mortal danger.”
“Not that I can
spot right now, no.” Alan’s gaze scanned what he could see of the
room.
“So why are we
still here?”
“You can go if
you want. I’m staying put to keep an eye on her.”
“I think this
falls under the category of spying.”
“I’m not
spying.”
“My mistake.
Stalking.”
There were only
women in the bookshop. No drooling men with nefarious thoughts.
Good.
“And there’s a
law against stalking somewhere, I’m sure of it,” Marty said. “Hey,
you’re a cop. Isn’t there a law against this kind of thing?”
“What kind of
thing?”
“Stalking.”
Alan scowled at
him. “I’m not stalking her.”
“Then what are
you doing here?” Marty asked. “Protecting her from her fans?”
“I’m…”
“Yeah?”
Alan looked
back at Sophie. She was laughing at something a woman was saying,
her eyes bright, her face animated. Happy.
And here he
was, sneaking around behind bookshelves watching her.
Marty was
right, there was a law against this kind of thing.
“You’re
obsessed with her,” Marty stated bluntly.
“Obsessed?”
That made him sound like a crazed stalker. “I am not obsessed!”
Several women
glanced towards the bookshelves, one whispering to another as an
alarmed expression crossed her face.
“If you want
any hope of keeping your career, not to mention your stalker face
out of the newspapers, I suggest we leave,” Marty said.
Now he was
feeling a little foolish. For the benefit of the watching women,
Alan held up the book, pretended to read the back cover, then shook
his head and replaced the book with an air of disappointment.
“What are you
doing?” Marty hissed.
“Throwing them
off the track.”
“Seriously?”
Marty rolled his eyes. “Alan, you’d make a piss-poor stalker. Come
on.”
More than aware
that several pairs of eyes followed them, Alan retraced his steps
quickly to where they’d first come in, sliding behind the women to
make his escape out the door, Marty leading the way.
Once outside on
the footpath, his friend punched him on his arm. “What the hell was
that all about?”
Rubbing his
arm, Alan glared. “Nothing.”
“Man, there is
something seriously wrong with you, and I mean more than normal.
You’re reading erotic romances, you’re stalking the author, I mean,
what’s going on in that head of yours? Anyone would think - “ Marty
stopped, his eyes widening. “Oh. Oh! Ohhhh…”
Irritated, Alan
planted his hands on his hips. “What?”
“You’re - I
don’t believe it.” Marty whipped out his mobile phone and started
to dial a number.
“Who are you
calling?”
“Satan.”
“Satan?” Had
his friend lost his mind?
“Yeah. It’s
snowing in Hell. He needs a heads up to buy a winter coat.”
“Smart arse.”
Thrusting his hands into his pockets, Alan started walking back
towards the panel van. “I don’t know why you’re making such a thing
out of this.”
“ Me? ”
Falling into step beside him, Marty looked incredulously at Alan.
“I’m not the one stalking a woman!”
“I’m not
stalking her.” When Marty opened his mouth, Alan held up a hand. “I
don’t know where you get
Glossy lipstick, some kind of black shit artfully applied around
her eyes to make the hazel stand out, and dressed in some kind of
gauzy see-through jacket.
Jesus, was she
wearing anything underneath it? No sooner had the thought startled
him than he put a hand to his chest and blew out a relieved breath.
Underneath it she wore a flesh-coloured tank top. No bared titties
there for anyone to see, thank God.
He couldn’t see
what else she wore below the waist due to the desk she sat behind,
but it was enough. The chick was decently dressed. She’d sure as
shit be answering to someone if she hadn’t been, that someone being
him.
Now to see if
some pervert lothario was sniffing around her.
Marty nudged
him. “Seen enough?”
“No.”
“She’s not in
mortal danger.”
“Not that I can
spot right now, no.” Alan’s gaze scanned what he could see of the
room.
“So why are we
still here?”
“You can go if
you want. I’m staying put to keep an eye on her.”
“I think this
falls under the category of spying.”
“I’m not
spying.”
“My mistake.
Stalking.”
There were only
women in the bookshop. No drooling men with nefarious thoughts.
Good.
“And there’s a
law against stalking somewhere, I’m sure of it,” Marty said. “Hey,
you’re a cop. Isn’t there a law against this kind of thing?”
“What kind of
thing?”
“Stalking.”
Alan scowled at
him. “I’m not stalking her.”
“Then what are
you doing here?” Marty asked. “Protecting her from her fans?”
“I’m…”
“Yeah?”
Alan looked
back at Sophie. She was laughing at something a woman was saying,
her eyes bright, her face animated. Happy.
And here he
was, sneaking around behind bookshelves watching her.
Marty was
right, there was a law against this kind of thing.
“You’re
obsessed with her,” Marty stated bluntly.
“Obsessed?”
That made him sound like a crazed stalker. “I am not obsessed!”
Several women
glanced towards the bookshelves, one whispering to another as an
alarmed expression crossed her face.
“If you want
any hope of keeping your career, not to mention your stalker face
out of the newspapers, I suggest we leave,” Marty said.
Now he was
feeling a little foolish. For the benefit of the watching women,
Alan held up the book, pretended to read the back cover, then shook
his head and replaced the book with an air of disappointment.
“What are you
doing?” Marty hissed.
“Throwing them
off the track.”
“Seriously?”
Marty rolled his eyes. “Alan, you’d make a piss-poor stalker. Come
on.”
More than aware
that several pairs of eyes followed them, Alan retraced his steps
quickly to where they’d first come in, sliding behind the women to
make his escape out the door, Marty leading the way.
Once outside on
the footpath, his friend punched him on his arm. “What the hell was
that all about?”
Rubbing his
arm, Alan glared. “Nothing.”
“Man, there is
something seriously wrong with you, and I mean more than normal.
You’re reading erotic romances, you’re stalking the author, I mean,
what’s going on in that head of yours? Anyone would think - “ Marty
stopped, his eyes widening. “Oh. Oh! Ohhhh…”
Irritated, Alan
planted his hands on his hips. “What?”
“You’re - I
don’t believe it.” Marty whipped out his mobile phone and started
to dial a number.
“Who are you
calling?”
“Satan.”
“Satan?” Had
his friend lost his mind?
“Yeah. It’s
snowing in Hell. He needs a heads up to buy a winter coat.”
“Smart arse.”
Thrusting his hands into his pockets, Alan started walking back
towards the panel van. “I don’t know why you’re making such a thing
out of this.”
“ Me? ”
Falling into step beside him, Marty looked incredulously at Alan.
“I’m not the one stalking a woman!”
“I’m not
stalking her.” When Marty opened his mouth, Alan held up a hand. “I
don’t know where you get
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