5
" I’m just really glad to hear that things are going well.”
“Wait, you’re not getting ready to hang up on me, are you?” he asks. “We’ve only been talking for a couple minutes.”
“Well, I don’t really have much else to say.”
“Are you kidding? The possibilities are endless. For starters, you could tell me that you’ll call me again. Or, better yet, you could ask me out for coffee or a slice of pizza. Of course, letting me know that I can call you whenever I want is always a good possibility. Or, if you’re feeling really generous, you could tell me that you miss me, too. I mean, I wouldn’t even care if it was a lie. "
― Laurie Faria Stolarz , Deadly Little Games (Touch, #3)
6
" I’m serious,” I say. “I don’t want to lose him.”
“Then maybe you should go away for a little bit. After all, absence makes the heart grow horny, right?”
“That’s not exactly how the saying goes.”
“But it should, because you know it’s true. If you go away for a couple of days, Ben won’t know what to do with himself.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I say, tossing more candy corn into my mouth (therapy in a bag).
“Damn straight, I am. Now, the biggest question: Can I fit into your suitcase? Because I really don’t feel like staying here by myself. "
― Laurie Faria Stolarz , Deadly Little Games (Touch, #3)
7
" To my complete and utter surprise, the writing on his door is gone.
Vanished.
“What happened?” I ask.
It takes him a second before he realizes what I’m asking. “I washed it off,” he explains.
“You what?”
“I wasn’t going to, but I didn’t want the super to give me a hard time. Plus, I thought it might freak out some of my neighbors. You have to admit, death threats on doors can be pretty offensive, generally speaking. Not to mention the sheer fact that it made me look like a total asshole—like some old girlfriend was trying to get even.”
“Did you take pictures at least?”
“Actually, no.” He cringes. “That probably would’ve been a good idea.”
“But Tray saw the writing, right?”
“Um . . .” He nibbles his lip, clearly reading my angst.
“You told me he was with you last night. You said you called him.”
“I tried, but he didn’t pick up, and I didn’t want you to worry.”
“So, you lied?” I snap.
“I didn’t want you to worry,” he repeats. “Please, don’t be upset.”
“How can I not be? We’re talking about your life here. You can’t go erasing evidence off your door. And you can’t be lying to me, either. How am I supposed to help you if you don’t tell me the truth?”
“Why are you helping me?” he asks, taking a step closer. “I mean, I’m grateful and all, and you know I love spending time with you, be it death-threat missions or pizza and a movie. It’s just . . . what do you get out of it? What’s this sudden interest in my life?”
My mouth drops open, but I manage a shrug, almost forgetting the fact that he knows nothing about my premonitions. "
― Laurie Faria Stolarz , Deadly Little Games (Touch, #3)
8
" P.S.” Kimmie continues, nodding toward my sculptor of Adam’s lips, the assignment was to sculpt something exotic, not erotic. Are you sure you weren’t so busy wishing me dead that you just didn’t hear right? Plus, if it was eroticism you were going for, how come there’s no tongue wagging out of his mouth?”
“And what’s exotic about your piece?”
“Seriously, it doesn’t get more exotic than leopard, particularly if that leopard is in the form of a swanky pair of kitten heels . . . but I thought I’d start out small.”
“Right,” I say, looking at her oblong ball of clay with what appears to be four legs, a golf-ball-sized head, and a long, skinny tail attached.
“And, from the looks of your sculpture,” she continues, adjusting the lace bandana in her pixie-cut dark hair, “I presume your hankering for a Ben Burger right about now. The question is, will that burger come with a pickle on the side or between the buns?”
“You’re so sick,” I say, failing to mention that my sculptor isn’t of Ben’s mouth at all.
“Seriously? You’re the one who’s wishing me dead whilst fantasizing about your boyfriend’s mouth. Tell me that doesn’t rank high up on the sik-o-meter.”
“I have to go,” I say, throwing a plastic tarp over my work board.
“Should I be worried?”
“About what?”
“Acting manic and chanting about death?”
“I didn’t chant.”
“Are you kidding? For a second there I thought you were singing the jingle to a commercial for roach killer: You deserve to die! You deserve to die! You deserve to die! "
― Laurie Faria Stolarz , Deadly Little Games (Touch, #3)
13
" Hey,” I say, taking a seat on an island stool. “Did anyone call for me?”
“Your dad and I had a great day; thanks for asking.” Mom smirks.
“How was your day? Did anyone call for me?” I smile.
She dumps a gob of coconut oil into her raw-ful mixture. “Anyone meaning Ben?”
“Am I that transparent?”
“It’s just that I was sixteen once, too.”
“Right,” I say, shuddering even to think of her pre-forty, pre-me, pre-Dad, when it was just her hippie self, burning incense, going braless, and dating poets. "
― Laurie Faria Stolarz , Deadly Little Games (Touch, #3)
14
" Oh, and because I don’t have a dating history as big as your mouth, it doesn’t quite measure up?” he asks.
“I hate to break this to you, but that isn’t the only thing of yours that doesn’t measure up.” She waggles her pinkie at him.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He grins.
“I think I’m all set,” I interrupt, zipping up my bag.
“Don’t forget this.” Still cuddling my sweater, Wes purrs a couple of times before tossing it my way.
“Yeah, I can’t imagine why your dad thinks of you as feminine,” Kimmie mocks. "
― Laurie Faria Stolarz , Deadly Little Games (Touch, #3)
15
" I clear my throat, realizing how little I’ve accomplished during this conversation. “So, everything with you is great?” I say in a final attempt to get some scoop. “No problems? No demons in your closet? Nothing weird going on?”
“What’s up with you?” he asks, double-dipping a fry. “You were like this on the phone the other day, too.”
“Just making conversation.”
“Psycho conversation, maybe.”
“Speaking of psychos,” I half joke. “Anyone in your life I should know about?”
“Just one,” he says, giving me a pointed look. "
― Laurie Faria Stolarz , Deadly Little Games (Touch, #3)
17
" What’s the verdict?” Kimmie asks, peering back at me.
I stare down at the jumble of words. “I can’t quite tell yet.”
“Give us a clue,” Wes says. “I love puzzles.”
“That’s because you are one,” Kimmie jokes.
I read them the list of words: ARE, ALONE, YOU, NEVER, EYE, WATCHING, ALWAYS, AM.
Not five seconds later, Wes has the whole thing figured out. “YOU ARE NEVER ALONE. EYE AM ALWAYS WATCHING!” he says, making his voice all deep and throaty.
“Wait, seriously?” I ask, completely bewildered by the idea that he’d be able to unravel the message so quickly. I look at the individual words, making sure they’re all included, and that he didn’t add any extra.
“What can I say? I’m good at puzzles.”
“Are you good at making them, too?” Kimmie asks. “Because it’s a little scary how you were able to figure that out so fast.”
“Do you think it matters that the “eye” in the puzzle is the noun and not the pronoun?” I ask them.
“Since when is it a requirement for psychos to be good in English?” Wes asks.
“Only you would know.” Kimmie glares at him.
“Plus, it’s a puzzle,” he says, ignoring her comment. “You have to expect a few quirks.”
“I don’t know,” I say, still staring at the words. “Maybe there’s some other message here. Maybe we need to try unscrambling it another way.”
“Such as ‘EYE AM NEVER ALONE. YOU ARE ALWAYS WATCHING,’” he suggests. “Or perhaps the ever-favorite. ‘YOU ARE NEVER WATCHING. EYE AM ALWAYS ALONE.’”
Kimmie scoots farther away from him in her seat. “Okay, you really are starting to scare me. "
― Laurie Faria Stolarz , Deadly Little Games (Touch, #3)
