Chapter 10 Asha
ASHA
As I made my way to McHottie, I questioned every single life choice that had brought me to this moment.
I should’ve taken a tequila shot first. Or ten. Then maybe this wouldn’t feel like jumping out of an airplane with no parachute.
Why had I thought this was a good idea? Maybe I should walk straight past him and…what? Pretend I was going to look at the curtain of ivy along the back wall?
Yeah. Walk past the sexiest guy in the bar to stare at greenery. That’ll fool everyone.
Brace for humiliation in three…two…
But as I drew nearer, his gaze never left mine, and against my better judgment, I stopped at his table.
“Hi,” I blurted out.
“Hello,” he replied with a hint of a foreign accent.
“Just so you know, I’m only here because my ex–best friends forced me to come talk to you.”
He arched one brow while a barely perceptible smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Did they?”
“Unfortunately. I’d really appreciate it if you could minimize my embarrassment by telling me you’re not interested as quickly as possible so I can leave you in peace.”
“What if I want you to stay?”
“You do?” I blinked rapidly, hoping it’d stop my world from spinning. It didn’t.
He gestured to the spot opposite him. “Sit, pet. I don’t bite.”
I sat before I got cold feet, and not knowing what to do with my hands, placed them in my lap. His cologne hit me, rich and woodsy with a hint of smoke. Damn, even his scent was unfairly attractive.
“Are you Irish?” I asked.
“Aye.”
That accent sounded like sex dipped in honey. I couldn’t remember the last time someone’s voice made my toes curl.
“Visiting?” I asked, just to keep him talking. I was greedy to hear more of that delicious brogue.
“Started that way. Been living here two years now.”
No empty glasses were at the table to indicate anyone else had sat with him. Perhaps whomever he was meeting hadn’t arrived yet.
“Are you waiting for someone?” I asked.
“No.”
“You just came here to drink on your own?”
“Not exactly. Can I be honest with you?”
“Of course.”
“I was across the street and saw you walk in here. You caught my attention, and I couldn’t help myself. Had to come in for a closer look.”
He couldn’t be serious. “Really?”
“Did you notice me staring at any other women?”
And I was officially deceased. McHottie had come in here because of me? Surely I was living in some alternate universe where my dreams turned into reality.
“Do you make a habit of stalking women?”
“No. Only you.”
“I admire a stalker who’s faithful.” I glanced over my shoulder at Daisy and Beth, unsurprised to find them watching and not trying to hide it. When I faced McHottie again, I scrunched my nose. “I don’t normally do this sort of thing.”
“Have a drink with your stalker?”
“Pfft.” I waved him off. “I do that all the time. I mean approach men in bars.”
“Why not?”
“Are you kidding me? It’s terrifying. It’s much easier to arrange a date online, where there’s no threat of someone taking one look at me and telling me to beat it.”
He lifted his glass, and the movement drew my attention to the ink sprawled across his hand and forearm. Blocky letters, bold and unapologetic, spanned his knuckles. CROI on the right, DUBH on the left. I didn’t need a translation to know it meant something deeply personal.
On the back of his right hand, a black raven unfurled its wings, clutching a dagger in its talons. Curling around his wrist, nearly lost in shadow, was a tattooed string of worn rosary beads. The cracked crucifix resting over his pulse looked like it was dipped in blood.
The artwork was beautiful in a brutal sort of way.
Intricate. Meaningful. Dark.
“Only a stupid shite would turn you down.” His words drew my eyes back to his.
“That’s what my friends said. Turns out, this city is full of them.”
“Not tonight.” He held my gaze, the silence a tangible thread between us while the impact of his statement caused my belly to stir. “So your friends sent you over here as, what? A dare?”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
He waited for me to continue, although I didn’t want to.
“By complicated, I mean embarrassing.”
Still nothing. Great. This was getting uncomfortable, but I recognized what he was doing. It was that annoying power play intelligent people used when they wanted to see how much their victim would blab.
Hot, Irish, and smart. I was in so much trouble.
“Fine. They sent me over here because they think you can rectify a situation.”
He cocked his head. “What situation is that?”
Nope. I couldn’t look this guy dead in the eye and tell him I wanted him to turn me into a human pretzel while reminding my vagina what it was put on this earth for.
“Well, this has been fun, but I really have to get back to my friends. Nice meeting you.” I went to shimmy out of the booth.
“Wait,” he said, and reached for my wrist, halting my escape. His hand was unyielding yet gentle. It was also scorching hot and so much bigger than mine. Those tattoos were even more alluring up close and wrapped around my skin. “Leaving would be a mistake.”
“Why?”
“Because then I’d have to chase after you.”
An unhelpful image filled my mind of him hunting me down like a wolf right before it pounced on its prey. It wasn’t unappealing.
Not at all.
I returned to my seat, and McHottie, seemingly satisfied I wasn’t going to bolt, relaxed back into his. The loss of his touch left my wrist cool.
This was insane. One look at him had fried my common sense like a bug in a zapper. I didn’t know this man. For all I knew, he was a total jerk who kicked puppies for fun. But something about him—his voice, his confidence, those blue eyes—was magnetic in a way I couldn’t explain.
“Your situation.” He jerked his stubble-coated chin toward me. “Tell me about it.”
Okay. I could do this. After all, I’d already plucked up the courage to talk to a random, hot, and apparently interested stranger. Why make it this far without attempting to seal the deal?
Here went nothing. “I’m experiencing a dry spell that stretches back to the Dark Ages.”
“Well now, that’s tragic.” He pursed his full lips. “Are we talking the start or the end of the Dark Ages?”
“It’s quite a dry spell. Let’s go with the start.”
“So you haven’t slept with anyone since 476 CE?”
“Feels like it.” I sighed. “Your knowledge of the Dark Ages seems oddly specific. Do you know a lot about history?”
“I know a lot of things about a lot of things.”
“Like what?”
“Nothing comes to mind right now because I can’t stop thinking about how much I’d like to solve your problem.”
My pulse throbbed everywhere it shouldn’t. My panties were already damp. I tried to think of something to say, but all that came out was “Wow. Okay.”
“Not what you were expecting to hear?” he asked.
“Nope. Definitely thought you’d hit me with a random fact about the Roman Empire.”
“What’s your name?”
Right. How had we not exchanged names yet? “Asha. What’s yours?”
“My friends call me Rook.”
“And what should I call you?”
He leaned forward and braced his veined forearms on the table. “I don’t care, but I have a feeling you’ll be screaming it before midnight.”
My breath hitched. For a second, I forgot how to move, how to think. Rook’s voice oozed with the kind of promise that drove good girls to make bad decisions. My common sense screamed Run, but the heat pooling between my thighs begged me to hear him out.
I blinked once. Twice. “That’s a bold assumption.”
“If you say so. But I think your friends approve of you coming home with me tonight.” When I turned to Daisy and Beth, they each gave me an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
I checked the clock behind the bar and turned back to Rook. “You do realize there’re only thirty-four minutes until midnight.”
“My statement stands.”
This guy was killing me.
I shook my head and smiled. “Is your unflappable confidence an Irish thing?”
“It’s a me thing.”
“Yeah. I’m getting that.” I watched him for a beat and tapped my fingers on the table. “Look, you seem nice, and you’re saying all the right words. But I have to ask: You’re not playing games with me, are you?”
“Why would I be playing games?”
“Because lately, as soon as I show a guy an ounce of interest, he ghosts me. It’s hard on the ego and makes me think there’s something wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“You just met me. How can you know that?”
“I’m your stalker, remember? I already know everything about you.”
And now I had to add funny to his list of attractive qualities. This guy wasn’t trouble; he was utterly lethal.
I clicked my tongue. “How silly of me to forget that I’m the object of your twisted obsession.”
Rook hailed a passing server and borrowed a pen. He placed it on top of a napkin and slid both across the table. “Make a list.”
“Of what?”
“Every man who’s hurt you.”
“Why? So you can pay them all a visit and make them sorry they made me cry?”
He didn’t even blink when he replied, “Yes.”
There was an awkward silence while we held each other’s stares. Something tightened in my gut. Maybe it was his serious expression or how easy it was to imagine him doing exactly what he’d said, which was ridiculous. No one was that irrational over a person they’d just met.
I burst into laughter at the absurdity of it. Rook grinned like he knew a juicy secret and was dying to tell me.
As my giggles died down, I pointed at him. “You’re good. I haven’t laughed this hard in ages.”
He seemed too perfect to be true. Charismatic, quick-witted, and somehow into me. I couldn’t help but wait for the other shoe to drop. Any moment now, he’d give me his crypto sales pitch or tell me his mom still did his laundry.
Maybe this wasn’t a setup. Maybe it was simply my turn to catch a break. I needed to stop second-guessing this stroke of good luck and take the win for once.
“What’s happening here?” I asked, because this felt different from two strangers hooking up in a bar for a night of meaningless sex. It felt like a spark that could ignite something bigger, something dangerous.
“You’re about to break your dry spell. That’s what’s happening.”
I shifted in my seat. “All right. Let’s say I’m considering leaving here with you. You still have to answer some questions to convince me you’re not a serial killer. If you lie, I’ll know.”
“I believe you. Go ahead.”
“Wife or girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Been in prison?”
“Never.”
“Still live with your parents?”
“No. They’ve passed.”
Foot, meet mouth. I understood how much it sucked to talk about a dead parent with someone you hardly knew, so I just said, “I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.” He gestured across the table. “Please, continue.”
“Your place, mine, or rent a hotel room for an hour?”
“We’re going to need a lot longer than an hour. We can go to my apartment at the Lynch Continental.”
Thank God, because there was no way I was taking a man like Rook to my shitty digs. You could hardly swing a hamster in the one-bedroom I’d downgraded to after losing my job.
“The fancy hotel?”
He nodded. “Penthouse. The top floors are residences.”
The Lynch Continental was one of the most prestigious buildings in the city. Rook must be loaded. Which begged the next question. “What do you do for a job?”
“Business owner.”
“I’m gonna need more than that. What kind of business?”
He grinned wickedly and lowered his chin. “Murder.”
I almost gasped with delight and blurted out Me too! before I checked myself and kept my podcast alter ego under wraps.
It took me half a second longer to register that Rook’s response was odd, at least to anyone who wasn’t in the true-crime game. But then he plucked a dog-eared business card from his wallet and handed it to me.
I laughed when I read it. “Rodent Wranglers. We make pests disappear.” I arched one brow. “You’re an exterminator?”
I liked a man with a dark sense of humor.
There was no website or street address on the card. Just the business name and a phone number with so many repeated digits that it didn’t even look real.
“I still get my hands dirty occasionally, but I have others to handle the grunt work. We’re multinational now.”
“You don’t say?” That explained the fancy apartment at the Lynch Continental. Who knew pest control was such big business? “And are there a lot of rodents to be wrangled in Philly?”
“You have no idea.” There was something cryptic about Rook’s comment, but he distracted me by moistening his lips, drawing my eyes to his mouth.
“Look, Asha, I’ll make this simple. You came over here looking for something from me, and I’m more than willing to deliver.
Come home with me, and I promise you a night you’ll never forget. ”
“You ever heard of setting the bar low to avoid disappointment?”
“I don’t need to do that.”
This guy’s machismo was off the charts.
Rook drained the rest of his whiskey and stood, offering me his hand. “Let’s get out of here. It’s almost midnight, and I plan to make good on my word.”
“Let me grab my purse.” I scurried back to the girls. Daisy was doing an in-seat happy dance, and Beth couldn’t wipe the giddy smile from her face.
“It’s happening. He invited me to his penthouse at the Lynch Continental.”
“Damn, girl,” said Beth. “He must be rolling in it.”
“Uh-huh. And so far out of my league it’s not funny.”
“Shut up.” Daisy shoved my shoulder. “You’re a total catch. He’s just smart enough to recognize it.”
Beth pulled out her phone. “Should I find him on the socials to make sure he’s not one of those guys holding a fish in his profile picture?”
“Don’t you dare. Let me cling to the illusion that he’s perfect for as long as possible. I’m spending one night with the guy. I don’t need to know who he really is.”
“Then go get your man, and text us tomorrow with all the details.” Daisy held her knuckles out for a fist bump, and I gave her one. “May his dick be huge and his tongue talented.”
One night with McHottie. That was all it could ever be. Right?
I just hoped it didn’t ruin me for all other men.