on the floor, painting Day’s toenails a coral color. He hadn’t asked him to. They had just shown up out of the blue with face masks and nail polish and told him they were there for a self-care night. Day suspected Jackson had called them, but Day couldn’t even be mad about it. Even though a few days had passed since he’d opened up to Jackson, the truth was, he felt like somebody had skinned him alive, like he was one big open wound.
“So, do you? Have a stalker, I mean?” Charlie asked just before she plucked another hair from between Day’s brows.
“Ouch. Yes. I mean, I think so anyway.”
“That’s so cool,” Charlie said before attacking his brows with far more force than Day deemed necessary.
“Charlie,” Wyatt admonished.
“What? You know what I mean. I’m not saying I’d want somebody dead, but having a stalker is, like, A-list celebrity type status. I want to get to a level of fame where some crazy loser, who sits in his mother’s basement, jerks off to my movies and imagines us in a fictitious relationship until it drives him mad. But, you know, without being murdered and becoming another Hollywood cautionary tale.”
Day’s eyes went wide, but Wyatt just shook his head. “Ignore her. She was dropped on her head as a baby. She was super excited to find out our friend Robby grew up in a creepy cult, and she almost wet her pants when we learned our friend Elijah’s husband is a card carrying sociopath, who we’re almost positive has literally killed somebody. Maybe more than one somebody.”
“Who are you people?” Day managed. “Ouch! I think my brows are plucked enough. I’m going to look like Joan Crawford in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane.”
“That might be the gayest thing I’ve ever heard somebody say and I’m surrounded by them every day,” Charlie said, delighted.
“Do you know how offensive that is?” Wyatt asked, shaking his head.
Charlie snorted. “I’m a card carrying family member, boo. I put the B in LGBT, baby.”
“You do know the B doesn’t stand for bitch, right?” Day asked.
Charlie gaped at him, and Wyatt howled with laughter. She held Day down and tweezed another hair, so he reached up and pinched her. She slapped him on the forehead, and then they all dissolved into fits of laughter.
When they finally settled, Wyatt asked, “What are you going to do? Just live with Jackson forever?”
“Not like he’d mind. You’ve got him wrapped around your little…finger,” Charlie added with a smirk. “You must have a magical ass. Jackson hasn’t so much as dated since we’ve known him and you’ve got him two seconds away from proposing in a little over a week.”
“Shut up,” Day said, even though his heart was doing cartwheels behind his ribcage.
Wyatt threw a pack of cotton balls at Charlie before directing his questions at Day. “Do you think this guy will come after you? Do they have any leads about who he is?”
“No. Whoever it is seems to know enough about computers to hide their tracks, or maybe they’re just lucky. I honestly just can’t imagine anybody giving that much of a shit about me. It doesn’t make sense. Like, it’s all just fantasy, and he never even talked to me. He would just keep the screen black, which was hella creepy and made it really awkward for performances.”
“Maybe he was afraid you’d recognize his voice?” Wyatt said, shaking the clear nail polish in his hand.
Day froze. Could that be it? “Maybe… Do you think? But I don’t really know anybody. You’re the closest thing I’ve had to friends in four years.”
“It doesn’t have to be a friend,” Charlie said. “It could be anybody who sees you on the regular. If binge-watching Discovery Investigates has taught me nothing else, it’s that danger lurks around every corner and being married is a hazard to a woman’s health.” Wyatt scoffed, but Charlie didn’t back down. “What? It’s true. Marriage makes men stabby. The husband always did it.”
“So, you think my stalker could be anybody I’ve ever met?” Day said, disappointment seeping into his voice.
“I mean, yeah, kind of. At least, every man you’ve ever met. A bank teller? Your yoga teacher? The guy who sells you your weed?” Charlie said.
“Who exactly do you think I am in this scenario? I can’t afford a yoga teacher or weed, and my bank is PayPal and CashApp,” Day said, shaking his head.
“I’m just saying, everybody is a suspect until proven otherwise. But, if I were