Lucky Me (12 page)

“And don't forget the creepy phone calls,” Mike added.

“Right,” Dad said, as I shot Mike a death glare. “And she's been getting suspicious phone calls.”

“Gia, honey!” Mom said. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” I said.

“No,” Dad said at the same time.

“So what happened?” Mom asked, crossing a perfectly toned leg over the other.

I rolled my eyes and said, “Brendan got poisoned and Jack and I went to the place that supplied the food. At the restaurant, I snuck into a room that had a picture of me lying on the table, so I took it. Along with a nametag of one of the employees.”

“That's badass!” Mom said.

“No!” Dad shot back. “It was
wildly
dangerous!”

“But still helpful!” I argued.

“Is that why you were dressed like a weirdo?” Mike asked me. “Anya said you looked ridiculous.”

“Okay,” Mom cut in before I could reply, clearly trying to calm us all down. “So what are we going to do about it now?”

“Gia wants to go to the police tomorrow,” Jack replied for me, finally speaking up during the argument. “We'll give them the nametag and the picture, and hopefully they can do something about it.”

“Well alright then,” Mom said, shrugging. “So it's settled. Jack and Gia will go to the police tomorrow.”

“I'm not going to le—” Dad started, but Mom cut him off.

“This isn't your problem, Harry. You can trust our daughter enough to go to the police station and responsibly deal with this whole thing. She's practically an adult now! Besides, she has Jack.”

“Yes, bu—”

“Here!” Mom said, reaching for the wine bottle. “Have some more wine. Take a chill pill.”

Dad sighed but didn't argue anymore, even though he was mumbling under his breath. Mom winked at me, and I gave her a relieved sigh. I really missed having one fun parent, as frustratingly attractive, busy and, at times, inappropriate as she was.

Mike, after noticing that Dad was in fact not getting mad at me, got bored and left the room. My parents began talking about the bodyguards, a conversation Jack and I politely stayed and listened to for about two minutes before we too left the room.

“Well that went well,” I said sarcastically, climbing onto the first step of the stairs.

“Could have been worse,” Jack said. “At least your mom helped.”

“Yeah, about that,” I said, taking a seat on one of the marble steps. I looked up at Jack, who was still standing in front of me. “She can be a little . . .”

“What?” Jack said, but he was smiling so I knew he knew what I meant.

“Forward,” I finished lamely. “I'd watch out for that one.”

My phone buzzed in my hand before Jack could reply. The screen told me I had a new text message from an unknown number. It was either Dr. D, or Channing Tatum was messaging me to let me know he had left his wife for me. Unfortunately, the first option seemed to be more likely.

“Who's it from?” Jack asked, watching me expectantly.

“It doesn't say.”

“Well,” Jack said, eyeing the screen. “Go on. Open it.”

I obediently opened the message, biting my lip. It read:

I spy with my little eye, something beginning with T.

Okay, so it wasn't terrible. I still had a chance with my Channing Tatum fantasy. I mean, he could have been talking about anything really. Like tacos, or Tiffany and Co. Jack leaned in close and read the message, while I focused on not inhaling too much of his cologne. He smelled amazing, as usual. Seriously, I needed to sneak into his room when he was asleep and just spray that scent all over me.

“This one isn't signed off,” Jack said. “Maybe it isn't him.”

As if perfectly timed, the phone buzzed again as a picture message sent through.

It was a photo of me at the Dumpling Hospital, the suspicious photograph in my hand, along with the nametag. The picture was terrible quality and if I hadn't been in it, I would never have been able to tell what was going on. It was as if someone had paused security camera footage of me in the room and taken a photo of it on their phone, which was most likely what had happened. A few seconds later, the word
THIEF
appeared in capitals underneath the picture.

“Oh crap,” Jack said.

“I told you the homie outfits weren't good disguises!”

“Hey! Don't hate on the outfits. The outfits were great.”

“Yeah, clearly!”

“This guy's good, I'm not going to lie,” Jack said to me, handing me the phone.

“So now what, genius?” I snapped. “My dad is going to kill me!”

“Gia, none of this is your fault!” Jack said, shaking his head. “Sure, you're annoying as hell and you clearly have issues with obedience, but it's not
your
fault you're getting stalked.”

“Obedience issues?” I echoed. “Excuse me? You were there too!”

“Yeah! Because we made a deal, remember? This is a good thing, Gia. The more we have on this guy, the better.”

“Well, that's all well and good. But what do we do now?”

“We do exactly what we told your parents. We'll go to the police tomorrow morning, sort this whole thing out, and make it back in time for the last few periods of class. Everyone wins.”

Yeah, except me. I had to be stalked
and
I had to deal with school? No, thank you.

“Fine,” I said, blowing out another frustrated sigh. “Whatever. Let's just finish this.”

“You're so worked up all the time!” Jack said. “Just relax.”

I stared back at him blankly. “I'm going to hit you soon.”

Jack smiled and said, “Wouldn't that involve breaking one of your rules? I thought we couldn't touch.”

“I'm willing to make some amendments.”

It would come in handy in the future, no doubt.

Chapter Eight

Now I know I made a big deal about talking to the cops, but I'm not so big on police stations. I mean, aside from the fact that police officers always make you want to admit to murders you didn't even commit, and there are public urinators being booked everywhere, I've had my personal share of bad experiences with the LAPD. And very conveniently, I may or may not have chosen the exact moment we arrived at the station to let Jack in on that little secret.

“I cannot believe you,” Jack said, shaking his head. “Yesterday, you made the hugest thing out of going and talking to the police, we finally convinced your dad to let you skip school and now we're standing outside the station and you're telling me I have to do the talking?”

“What?” I said defensively. “Cops make me nervous and guns make me queasy. All I asked you to do was talk. That really shouldn't be a problem since you can't shut up around me!”

We were standing right outside the police station, eyes narrowed at each other in steely glares. Every time one of us would take a step, the glass automatic doors parted to allow us to enter, then closed again when we didn't. Jack looked at me like he wanted to strangle me, to which I replied with a lot of hair flipping.

“They're just cops! What's your problem?”

“Jack, I don't want to talk about it, okay?”

“I highly doubt it was any worse than a speeding ticket. You're the furthest thing from a badass,” Jack said, and I scowled. “You may as well just tell me.”

I did some haughty sighing before finally giving in. “Oh, alright!” I snapped. “When I was fifteen I had a little run-in with the police and I got into crazy amounts of trouble. Ever since then I've been kind of freaked, okay?”

“Wait,” Jack said, furrowing his eyebrows as if he were trying to make sense of da Vinci's code. “Define
run-in.
”

“Well,” I began reluctantly, fiddling with the belt loops of my skinny jeans. “There was this stupid bet and my friend stole some alcohol from her dad's bar and we ended up getting super drunk, even though it tasted gross.”

“And?”

I rolled my eyes. “And then she went kind of psycho hyper and we found this abandoned shopping cart and she got in it and we were rolling around on the streets. And then we hit a bump and the cart fell over and she went rolling out, and I freaked out and we didn't realize there was an LAPD car
right
there, and then they took us to the station because we were super drunk and they called our parents and my dad
flipped.
”

I sucked in a huge amount of air, allowing my lungs to recompose themselves after the mini story-time session they had just endured. Jack looked at me as if contemplating whether or not the story was ridiculous enough to be true, opening his mouth and then closing it again.

“Um . . .”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “I was grounded for, like, a year after that.”

Jack looked at me curiously and said, “Who was the friend? Aria? I bet it was Aria.”

“I really can't say.”

Jack smiled excitedly, as if I were giving him the biggest Hollywood scoop of the year. “It was someone famous, wasn't it?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny if—”

“Whose kid was it?”

I shook my head and said, “I
really
can't say.”

And I couldn't. There was a contract and everything.

Jack looked at me suspiciously but he was smiling a little. “I'll get it out of you eventually.”

Yeah, good luck with that, buddy.

“Alright, fine. I'll do the talking,” Jack told me, giving a defeated sigh. “But can we actually go in now? I'd like to still be in my twenties by the time we finish.”

“You really should be nicer to me. I can have you thrown out of the house any time I want.”

“Actually,” Jack replied, “I'm pretty sure your dad likes me better than he likes you. So . . .”

“Excuse me? My dad doesn't like
you
better than he likes me!”

“It's okay, Gia,” Jack said, in the most condescending voice imaginable. “There's no need to deny it. I know you have strong feelings for me.”

“Yeah,
hatred.
”

“But sadly, you're not my type.”

Jack moved to the right a little, causing the automatic doors to open once more. The people inside were probably getting super annoyed, but I stood rooted to the spot.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“What?”

Shut up, Gia. Shut up!

“I'm not your type? What does that mean?”

Jack's smug smile didn't falter once. “Let's go talk to some cops,” was all he said.

Fine. As if I cared what Jack's type was. I didn't need him; I had Brendan. I was his type. Please, I was
everyone's
type. Oh gosh, maybe he didn't mean specifically me. Maybe he meant women in general weren't his type. No, probably not. He wasn't giving off any of those vibes.

Awkwardness still hanging in the air, we walked through the glass doors. Inside the police station was far less chaotic than the cogs turning in my mind. In fact, the police station looked like the entrance to any corporate building, complete with a receptionist and waiting chairs near the front door. There, closed rooms running along the right of the station were pretty daunting, but I was still far more relaxed than my last run in with LAPD, three years ago. The left side of the building had an elevator and a set of stairs, leading to an upstairs level. There were police officers everywhere, and some very tired, run-down looking people sitting on the chairs, half asleep by the looks of it.

I glanced at Jack, who looked completely at ease, and took a deep breath. Alright, so it wasn't as terrifying as I remembered it to be. I didn't need Jack to fight my battles. I was Gia Winters, fabulous and proud. Sticking my chin out, I stalked up to the front desk just as the thirty-something receptionist replaced the phone on the receiver.

“Excuse me,” I began, flipping my hair behind my shoulder. “I have a stalker.”

Jack came up next to me with a light sigh and mumbled something I couldn't quite make out. It was probably something to do with needing therapy.

The receptionist looked at Jack skeptically and then turned to me. “Is . . . that him?”

I gave Jack a glance and shrugged. “No, but feel free to arrest him anyway.”

“Uh,” Jack cut in quickly, shooting me a glower. “We'd like to speak to an officer please.”

The lady looked at Jack and then back at me, eyeing me up and down with disapproval. Clearly she wasn't big on jokes. I looked away awkwardly, glancing at the officer behind Jack with his back to me, leaning on the front desk filling out what I guessed was a police report.

“I'm sorry, Miss . . .?” The receptionist asked, obviously unaware of who I was. I snapped my attention back.

“Miss Winters,” I finished for her. “Daughter of Harry Winters.”

Jack glanced at me and suppressed a smile. No harm in throwing in the family name. What use was it going to come to otherwise?

“Miss Winters,” she repeated, clearly unfazed by my father's fame. “You say you're being stalked?”

“Yes.”

“We get a lot of people claiming they're being stalked, Miss Winters, and most of the time there's nothing we can do about it because there aren't actually any laws being broken. Are you sure the behavior of this person can actually be classified as stalking? Could you describe what's been happening?”

I gave her my most unimpressed look and sighed impatiently. “You know,” I said. “That's a really stupid question. That's like asking someone with a gaping bullet wound if they
actually
got shot. I mean, of course they got shot! They didn't poke a hole through their body for fun!”

The receptionist raised her eyebrows and said, “Milo?”

I gave her a frustrated look, glancing at Jack who was as usual, expressionless. Milo? Like Milo chocolate milk? “Thanks,” I replied. “But I'm really not thirsty. Besides, I don't see how chocolate milk is going to solve my problems.”

“What if chocolate milk was a police officer?” said a voice to my right.

“Excuse me?” I spun around to face the police officer who had his back to me before.

Okay, I'll be the first to admit it. Maybe I had been a tiny bit in denial about my obviously raging attraction toward Jack. But Mystery Police Officer standing a few feet away was freaking beautiful, and I was ready to shout it from the rooftops. There was no chocolate involved, but he was definitely hot.

“Milo Fells.” He introduced himself, his smile revealing a set of perfect dimples.

Jack introduced himself and shook Officer Fells's hand. When he extended it to me, I clasped my hands together and let out a nervous laugh. There was no way I was going to touch him. I would never have let go, and then he would have arrested me.

“So you're being stalked?” he asked, lowering his hand awkwardly.

“Yes, yeah,” I said softly, proud that I could form even one word.

The receptionist rolled her eyes and answered the phone that had been ringing for the past minute. Milo moved away from the desk a little to escape the noise, and Jack and I following close behind. As we walked to one side, I took the quick opportunity to evaluate what we were dealing with.

Milo Fells looked to be in his early twenties. He was fairly tall; about the same height as Jack. He was, of course, dressed head to toe in his uniform. There was no gun holstered to his hip, but my heart was still racing. His hair was dark brown and, like Jack's, a little messy. It was somewhere between just-got-out-of-bed and I-should-probably-comb-this-someday. His eyes were dark brown and soft and his teeth were perfect. If Jack had ever decided to transfer his perfection into a brunette form, Milo Fells would be the result.

“So do you want to tell me a little more about this?” he asked, breaking into my thoughts.

“Oh, you know!” I exclaimed, waving my hand as if to tell him that it really wasn't a big deal. “Some random guy has been freaking me out. Harassing me a little. It happens!”

“I'm Gia's bodyguard,” Jack intervened, and I gave a sigh of relief. Screw it; he could do all the talking he wanted. “And last week she received a threatening text message from an unknown number, from a person who calls himself Dr. D. Neither of us, nor anyone she knows, has ever heard of anyone by that alias. There have also been a number of phone of calls, but they're always anonymous.”

Milo nodded and said, “What did the text messages say?”

“That they were ‘watching' Gia, and that they were close by.”

“And did they send you any other messages?” Milo asked me, his eyes burning right through mine.

I gave another nervous laugh and patted Jack encouragingly on the back, like he had just scored a goal in a soccer match.

“Oh that's a good story, you tell it Jack.”

Jack looked like he wanted to half laugh and half yell at me, but continued to tell Officer Fells about Brendan's food poisoning, the Dumpling Hospital, all the creepy phone calls and last night's text message. I watched Milo closely, examining every nod and shift from one leg to another. How was it possible that in eighteen years I had never come across someone who made my heart want to explode, who wasn't one of the Hemsworth brothers, and in just over a week I had come across two!

“Miss Winters?”

“Yeah!” I snapped out of my lust session and focused my eyes on Milo, who had clearly said something that I had missed. “Gia. It's just Gia.”

“Gia,” he repeated with a small nod. “I just asked for the photograph and the nametag from the restaurant.”

“Oh, right.”

I pulled the photo and the tag out from my bag, handing it to Officer Fells. I practically thrust it at him like I hated him, which was really not helping my already faltering reputation with this guy. He examined the picture for a few seconds and then looked at the nametag.

“And can you show me the photo he sent you last night?” he asked.

My eyes widened as they flickered toward Jack, who was watching me questioningly. The picture Dr. D had sent me had been pretty bad quality, but you could still see me in my ridiculous disguise! I had kind of been hoping no one would ever have to see me in that homie get-up, and I was practically handing Milo that opportunity on a gold-plated iPhone. Reluctantly pulling the photo up on the screen, I handed my phone over to Milo. I watched him in anticipation as he looked at the picture, the corners of his lips twitching into a small smile.

“This is you in the picture?” he clarified, looking up at me.

“It was his idea,” I replied quickly, pointing at Jack.

“Do you think we have a case?” Jack asked.

“Well I'm actually just a cadet,” Milo said. “But if you wait here for a second I can get someone who'll be able to better help you.”

He handed my phone back to me and I clutched it to my chest as if he had handed me a love letter. He walked behind us toward an older man in a suit, his police badge holstered on his belt. He motioned toward us and the two began talking.

“Hey, Gia?” Jack said.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you could maybe not make a fool of yourself for like two minutes?”

I turned to Jack with the most offended look I could muster. “How dare you? I'm not doing anything!”

“What's wrong with you?” Jack asked. “You sound like you're mentally challenged.”

“Uh, that is extremely insensitive, and I do not appreciate it.”

“Oh you're right, sorry,” Jack said, looking completely unapologetic. “You would give mentally challenged people a bad name.”

I decided to ignore Jack's little remark and instead gaze longingly at Milo, who was still immersed in his conversation with the older man.