Geekerella (Starfield #1)(52)

I open the passenger door for her and toss the keys to Lonny, who’s squeezing himself into the driver’s seat to go park. I wrap my arm around Jess’s waist and start for the hotel lobby, paparazzi following like a swarm of bees. Between the constant barrage of flashbulbs and questions, I’d take my fans over this any day.

“Are you two dating?” a paparazzo barks at us.

“What’s she like? How about your old costar?”

“Jess! Hey, Jess! What about Carla? Cheating on her now?”

Jess falters a step, but I think only I can tell. Carla?

“How do you feel about the other girl he’s texting right under your nose?” someone else asks. I whirl around, but Jess yanks me by the arm to the end of the lobby, where they barrage us with questions at the elevator. After an eon, the doors open to reveal a strawberry blonde bouncing on her toes—Gail, because of course she can sniff out trouble like a bloodhound.

I corral Jess into the elevator as Lonny catches up, pushing through the paparazzi like butter.

“Dare!” Gail says, squeezing into the elevator with Lonny. He towers in the corner like a great imposing shadow. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. There’s messages at the front desk—”

I ignore her and turn to Jess. “Carla?”

Jess jabs the button to her floor, staring straight ahead into the shiny brass doors, her jaw set. “Please don’t ask. Please.”

“Darien.” Gail touches my elbow. She looks agitated. “There’s this guy calling you. He keeps leaving messages with the front desk.”

“A guy?” Jess asks. “What guy?”

Lonny tenses. “Is he a security threat?”

“An ex-boyfriend?” Jess adds.

“No, no,” Gail says. “It’s just someone talking about the con—”

The elevator doors ding open and I make a break down the hallway before Gail can answer. Jess and Lonny follow, but they don’t keep pace. Gail, however, does.

I swipe open my door with the magnetic key and faceplant onto my bed.

“Dare, I know you don’t want to handle this right now but—”

“Isn’t handling things your job?” I say into my pillow.

“You know what I mean.”

I roll over, staring at the popcorn ceiling. “Okay. Messages. What did they say?”

“Just that—” Gail falters, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Just that you should look out for him—whoever this guy is. At ExcelsiCon. And that you should want to talk to him.”

“That’s it?” I sit up. “Gail, honestly, it’s probably just this angry blogger. They’ve been posting for weeks about how terrible I am as Carmindor.”

“But how did he find the hotel?”

“Well…dunno,” I admit. “I mean, how did the fangirls find the set? These internet people are crazy. They’re probably swapping location info on Tumblr right now. Here.” I pull up Rebelgunner on my phone. “This is what I’m talking about. These people are pretty ruthless—well, Jess thinks this girl has a crush on me but—”

“Girl?” Gail looks up from the blog.

“Or guy,” I amend. “I mean, I don’t know who writes it. But I bet you they’re just some bitter fan with an ax to grind. So he’ll come and tell me off. Big deal.”

She hands back my phone. “So you don’t think it’s someone you know?”

I give her a blank look, waiting for her to clarify.

“You don’t think it’s Brian?”

I blink. I haven’t heard that name in months, too busy with training and the shoot and all of the tabloid stuff and…Elle. Elle helped me forget. “Nah. He wouldn’t dare show his face around here. Besides, what would he be doing in Atlanta?”

“You’re right,” she agrees quickly, and paces. “Well, maybe it’s best if you don’t do the contest. You’ll be right there with all those fans. Something can easily go wrong.””

“Wrong?” I echo. “Like what?”

“We don’t know who left those messages. It could be any crazy person. After what happened on the roof…we can beef up security. We can make sure you feel safe and—”

“I’ll be fine, Gail,” I interrupt. “I don’t want to be some aloof star in this fandom.”

“But this is your life, Darien.”

“You really think I’m in danger?”

She throws up her hands, turning on her heels to pace the other way—but then she stops and falls with a thunk onto the bed beside me. She heaves out a long sigh. “I don’t know. I should tell Mark—”

“No.”

Gail goes silent, and I study her. The way she fidgets with her hands, digging the dirt out from under her bitten fingernails. Her plaid shirt is half-untucked from the waistband of her washed-out boyfriend jeans, about as put together as she normally looks but she’s missing her earrings. Purple studs. She gets scatterbrained when she’s under pressure.

“What if this guy really wants to hurt you, Dare?” she asks softly. “You can’t be just a fan anymore.”

She’s right. I don’t know what these people are capable of. Jess’s joking about the blogger is all fun and games until one of those fans starts to use more than just words to hurt me. Who knows what the guy on the roof would do if he cornered me again. Take more than just a few bad photos?