Tripping on a Halo: A Romantic Comedy Page 5

  “And you wondered why we thought she was imaginary.”

  Declan sighed. “Try not to be a giant douche about this. I need your honest opinion on whether or not she’s going to hunt me down and kill me.”

  Nate barked out a laugh.

  “Seriously.” Declan leveled him with a stare. “Women do this. They obsess. They stalk. And when they don’t get the guy, they kill.”

  Nate smirked. “We’re talking about the same girl, right?” He leaned back in his seat and stretched out his legs, digging in his front pants pocket for his phone. “This chick.” He tapped on the screen a few times, then turned it around to face Declan.

  Autumn Jones’s sunny smile was displayed, right next to the pig.

  “Yeah, her,” Declan growled.

  “She’s freaking adorable. She’s…” he zoomed in on the photo. “Look. She’s wearing a candy necklace. And she’s with a pig. She’s not killing you. I bet she doesn’t even eat meat.”

  Declan pushed at the phone, shoving the image away. “It doesn’t matter what she looks like. She’s insane.”

  “I bet she tutors handicapped kids,” Nate continued. “Volunteers for Meals on Wheels.” He clapped his hands together. “She could even help your cause.”

  “What cause?”

  Nate’s grin widened. “The Get Declan Laid cause.” He slapped the table hard enough that the table behind them turned around.

  Declan sighed.

  “Come on, man. It’s been six months for you. SIX MONTHS.” He leaned forward. “I heard crazy girls are amazing in bed. Something about all that energy, that passion…” He closed his eyes in reverence.

  “Please stop.”

  “I can’t. It’s a good thing I love you, because I would be all over her otherwise.”

  “So, you don’t think she’s going to kill me.”

  “Eh.” He tilted his head from one side to the other as if weighing the probabilities. “Probably not.”

  “That’s comforting.”

  Nate leaned forward, his face sobering. “I do have to tell you something though.”

  “What’s that?” Declan asked dryly.

  “I hadn’t considered the possibility that she is violent. I mean, I didn’t think she even existed, prior to you pulling her damn calling card out of the trash. And I think you’re being a total pussy in terms of being scared of a woman. All that being said, you might want to keep your distance from her.” He shrugged. “Just to be safe.”

  “What are you talking about? I am keeping my distance from her. I practically sprint in the opposite direction every time I see her.”

  “Yeah, but…” he tilted his head with a wince. “Sending her a Facebook friend request… it might have sent her the wrong message.”

  Declan shook his head. “I didn’t send her a friend request.”

  “You did.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Well, technically you didn’t.” Nate turned his head, watching a girl walk by in yoga pants that showed every dimple in her ass.

  “What does that fucking mean?”

  Nate’s attention returned to him. “It means I may have sent the request for you. After you went to bed.”

  Dread stabbed at Declan’s gut, his breath shortening. “Shut the fuck up.”

  Nate leaned back, a wise move since he was a half second away from being punched in the middle of that pretty boy face. “I was drunk. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “To invite the crazy stalker with no boundaries to be my Facebook friend?” Declan half rose in his chair, his voice rising.

  “Chill.” Nate raised his hands. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  Declan stared at him and couldn’t even formulate a reply.

  10

  “He invited you to be his friend?” Ansley stared at me over the top of Paige’s head, her hands busy with a second French braid.

  “Yep.” I stared at my phone. “It’s right here. You have a friend invite from Declan Moss.” He has a cute Facebook photo. It’s him in a suit, standing in front of the Reinhart Theatre, which he designed. He’s all serious in the photo, as if he’s far too busy counting corbels to smile.

  Every other part of his profile is private, only available to friends. It’s a good safety measure, one easily thwarted by me three months ago, when my fake profile of Olivia Sanchez was accepted by Nate, his business partner. It didn’t take much to break into Nate’s good graces—Olivia’s big boobs and Seminole jersey got her right in, her friend request accepted within four minutes. Olivia then sent friend requests to Nate’s sister and four of his female friends, all whom accepted and who—combined with 72 other complete strangers interested in Olivia’s big boobs—gave her enough validity to seem like an acceptance possibility for Declan. I sent Olivia’s friend request off with a prayer and celebrated with mimosas and a pedicure when it was accepted.

  It had been a gigantic waste of effort. Declan’s Facebook page was the most boring place on the internet. He posted about his opinions on sports and architecture—nothing that could help me save his life. No posts about allergies, or health conditions, or plans to try skydiving or eat fugu which, by the way, is twelve hundred times more deadly than cyanide if it isn’t cooked exactly right.

  And now, that super boring page is asking me—Autumn Jones—someone with absolutely zero friends in common and a no-cleavage photo—to be his friend.

  “This is bad, right?” Ansley asked. “I mean, how does he know who you are?”

  An excellent question. How had he found me? And why, once he did, would he ask me to be his friend?

  I stared at the request for several minutes, weighing over my options. And then, before I had the chance to second-guess myself, I declined the request and then hit the next button that appeared.

  BLOCK THIS PERSON

  I let out a hard breath, the screen changing, Declan Moss’s adorable scowl replaced by a picture of a poodle with lipstick on.

  Ansley was right. This was bad.

  11

  “It’s really not that big of a deal.” Nate munched on a cinnamon-dipped breadstick, one he’d sweet-talked the cashier into on their way out.

  Declan ignored Nate, his irritation at a nuclear level. It took a lot to piss him off. When they’d lost the Huntington Park deal due to Nate screwing Mrs. Huntington, he’d gotten over it. When Nate dropped their master set of property keys somewhere on Bourbon Street, he’d shrugged it off. When Nate picked a fight with two steroid-enhanced bikers, he’d joined in with a curse and a scowl. But now? Nate had opened a door with this nut job, a door that could jeopardize their business and Declan’s safety. Hell, maybe even their friendship.

  “Bridget says you can undo it. She said it takes two minutes.”

  That possibility was the only thing keeping him from yanking Nate out of the Jeep and swinging a punch. Nate turned into Bridget’s complex and Declan reached for the door handle, grateful to see Bridget’s bright yellow convertible parked in front of her townhouse.

  Her front door was unlocked, music playing, and they walked through the house to find her on the back porch, sunglasses on, toes tapping to the beat, a paperback in hand. She looked up with a smile. “Hey, guys.”

  Declan shoved his phone forward without preamble. “Here. Fix it.”

  “Oh…kay.” She swung her feet off the railing and stood, ignoring Declan’s phone and grabbing her frosted glass. “Let’s go inside and do it.”

  “Nate said you can fix it.” Declan followed her closely, irritated when she went to the fridge and opened the door, pulling out a two-liter of soda and unscrewing the lid.

  “Yep. I’ve done it before. Sent a friend request to that bitch next door. I had chatted with her down by the mailboxes, and she seemed pretty cool, you know. But then…” she lowered her voice as if she was about to share secrets of national security.

  “I really don’t care,” Declan interrupted. “I need this fixed. Immediately. It is, lite
rally, more important than your soda refill.”

  She blew out an irritated breath and set down the bottle. “Fine. I was going to tell a story involving three dicks and a blow-up doll, but whatever.”

  “Wait, what?” Nate stood up from the couch. “Is this the brunette? The one with the great ass?”

  Bridget ignored him, flipping through screens on Declan’s phone. “What’s this girl’s name?”

  “Autumn Jones.”

  “Shit.” She mumbled. “I don’t see her in your friend requests list. How long ago did you invite her?”

  Declan turned his head, glaring at Nate.

  “Ummm… like two in the morning? Maybe three?” Nate shrugged. “Something like that.”

  Declan closed his eyes, calculating the time that had passed. Almost twelve hours.

  “But, we just saw it at lunch,” Nate protested. “So, if she accepted it, she must have just done it.”

  “Shit,” Declan rubbed his hands over his face. By now, she could have downloaded his entire friend list. Every photo, every post. Thank God he didn’t put personal shit on there.

  “Calm down.” Bridget held up a finger. “She’s not in your friend list. And I just scrolled through all of your notifications and she didn’t accept your request. In fact…” She peered up at him. “I just searched for her, and unless she’s a bright pink haired mother in Idaho, I think she blocked you.”

  “What?” Declan moved around the counter, getting to a place where he could see the screen. From the couch, Nate barked out a laugh.

  “I’m serious.” She reached for her own phone and pulled up Facebook, tapping and scrolling around the app. “Look.” She turned her screen to him, Autumn’s smile familiar, the same image as last night. “When I search for her, she comes right up. But when I do it from your account, nothing.” She smirked at him. “Without a doubt, you’re blocked. Creepy ass.”

  “I’m blocked?” He repeated. “That’s bullshit. I’m not the creepy one. She’s the stalker—”

  “Ha. Bridget called you a creepy ass.” Nate settled into the red couch, his feet kicking up and resting on a stack of magazines on Bridget’s glass coffee table.

  Declan felt his irritation return. “Right. Says the guy who invited her to be my friend.” He turned back to Bridget. “So, what do I do? Can I block her back?”

  She set down her phone and lifted the two-liter of soda back up, her attention returning to her drink. “I don’t think you can block someone you can’t view. Just…” she shrugged. “Leave her alone.”

  “Leave her alone?” This was fucking ridiculous. Nate was laughing at him, Bridget was acting as if he was the stalker and Autumn—the stealer of trash, watcher of lunches, screamer of ridiculous things in the middle of the street—she was blocking HIM. “I’d love to leave her alone. I’d love to never see her face again.”

  “Right.” Bridget capped the bottle and placed it back in the fridge. “Because you think she’s stalking you.”

  He didn’t even bother with a response. He grabbed his phone and pushed away from the counter. “I’ve got to get home. Nate?” He needed to be alone, away from his phone and Bridget and Nate’s amusement with this entire situation. He needed to get in the gym, to sweat and push his body, to think about something else, anything else, other than her.

  He shoved open the front door and jogged down the steps, moving toward the Jeep and wanting to kill someone.

  12

  My phone rang in my hand, startling me. I looked down, breathing a sigh of relief at the veterinarian’s phone number. Twenty-four hours had passed since the rhubarb incident, but I still hadn’t been cleared to pick up Mr. Oinks. “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Jones, this is Adam Diablo, the veterinarian for Mr. Oinks.”

  “Yes. It’s Miss. Not Mrs. I’m not married. Single, actually.” Why was I telling him this? Mr. Oinks could be dying, his chest seizing, legs flopping, eyes wide, and I’m yammering on about my dating status like a crazy person.

  “I understand. Ms. Jones, I just wanted to let you know that Mr. Oinks has made it through with flying colors. He’s sleeping now. Lots of flatulence, but I believe you said that that was normal?”

  I laughed. “Yes, it is. Can I come and get him?”

  “He’s ready, whenever you are.”

  I smiled. “Awesome. And thanks for having the nurses call me last night with updates. That was really kind.” I caught the curious look that Ansley gave me and turned away, busying myself with reorganizing the cookbooks on her counter.

  The vet spent a few minutes going over medicine I needed to pick up and Mr. Oinks’ dietary restrictions for the next few days. I nodded, scribbling down a few notes in the margin of a piece of Ansley’s junk mail. “Great. And again, thank you.”

  “No problem, Ms. Jones.”

  “It’s Autumn. Please.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you when you come in to pick him up.”

  I was smiling when I hung up the phone. Ansley watched me as she tied off the second braid. “Who was that?”

  “The vet. He said Mr. Oinks is going to survive your terrible pie.”

  “Ah. Lots of giggling over my pie.” She patted Paige on the back. “Go get your brother and tell him we’re ready to go.”

  I sat down on the closest stool and watched as Paige tore by and up the stairs. “He may be slightly good-looking.”

  “Interesting.” She raised a brow. “And I assume he finds you slightly good looking?”

  I lifted both palms upward in a duh fashion. “Well, obviously.”

  She smiled, coming to sit beside me. “I’m sorry about the pie.”

  “You didn’t know.”

  She sighed. “It’s just … you don’t have anything in your life except for us and Mr. Oinks. If something had happened to him, I never would have forgiven myself.” She reached out and grabbed my hand. “You know that I act like I don’t like him, but I want you to know, if something ever happened to you, he would always have a place…” her voice broke and she sniffed, holding up a hand to stop me from talking. “He would always have a place at the local animal shelter. I already called and they said they take pigs, as long as he isn’t over fifty pounds. So it’s going to be really important for you to keep him under that weight.”

  I shoved her away. “Oh my gosh! Go jump off a bridge. I hate you.”

  She came up behind me and wrestled me into a hug. “You know I’m kidding.” She pressed a kiss to my cheek. “But seriously, you are in danger of turning into an old lonely weird woman who stalks strangers. Be nice to this vet. Maybe he could be the one.” She whispered the final words as if they were dusted in sparkly gold.

  “I’m nice to everyone,” I informed her, prying her hands off me. “Case in point, me taking your two demons to the park.”

  “We aren’t demons.” Paige bounced into the room. “We are humans.”

  “No!” Caleb interjected, following his big sister into the room. “I’m a ninja.” He twirled and came to a stop, hands extended as if he was karate chopping someone.

  “Yeah,” I deadpanned. “Demons.” I pocketed my phone and grabbed my purse. “Now, come on. Let’s go let Mommy and Daddy have some happy time. After the park, we’re going to pick up Mr. Oinks!”

  The kids cheered and Ansley glared at me. “You’re welcome,” I mouthed.

  She rolled her eyes and tossed me her keys. “Shut up and take the minivan.”

  13

  On their way back into the neighborhood, he swore he saw her behind the wheel of a minivan, a child bouncing in the backseat. It wasn’t her, of course. He knew that minivan, it was the cute mom from a few houses down, the one who overdid it each year with Christmas decorations and had a husband who looked like the type who irons his underwear.

  “She’s getting under your skin.” Nate shifted gears, his to-go cup gripped in his left hand while he steered with his forearm. “You’re seeing her everywhere.”

  It was true. It was getting hard to kno
w when she was actually following him and when he was being paranoid. He’d scared the hell out of a woman in Target the other day, turning around and yelling at her to “go follow someone else” before he realized it wasn’t her.

  “I know the perfect thing to get your mind off it.” Nate slowed, making the sharp turn into his driveway. Declan peered up at the security cameras, reassured when his phone hummed, a notification popping up. “Tinder.”

  MOTION DETECTED!

  Press here to see the live video!

  Declan pressed on the screen and watched as a clear image popped up, showing Nate getting out of the Jeep. Declan followed suit and caught up to his partner, holding out the phone. “Look.”

  The man examined it, then glanced up, waving at the camera. “Pretty cool. It capture anything while we were gone?”

  “No.” He shut down the feed and put the phone in his pocket, pulling out his keys and approaching the front door. It was stupid to feel disappointed that she hadn’t returned. He should be happy. Maybe his Facebook invite hadn’t been an entirely bad thing. Maybe it had scared her off.

  “So, you in?”

  “In for what?” He worked the key in the lock.

  “Trying Tinder. To get your mind off Autumn.”

  It irritated him that they now knew her name, a new level of intimacy slapped on the relationship. “I’m not getting on Tinder.”

  “Come on.” He followed Declan inside. “I found this chick on there last week who sucked my balls like that vacuum at the car place. And then she left. Straight walked out the door and got in her car. No cuddles, no talking, nothing.”

  “That sounds terrible.”