Chapter 10
Chloe
Sunlight slices across my face like a hot blade. My head throbs in rhythm with my pulse, and a low, insistent drum beats behind my eyes. My mouth tastes like I fell asleep sucking on pennies.
Groaning, I roll over and press my face into the pillow.
Pillow?
I don’t remember going to bed. I don’t recall Kolya leaving either.
What happened? Did we…?
Cracking my eyes open, I find myself on the couch, covered by the throw blanket that lives on the back cushion and lying on the small pillow that I keep on the recliner.
He didn’t even venture into my bedroom. What a gentleman.
Memory fragments flash through my mind. That brief but intense kiss. His fingers moving inside me. “Good girl.”
Well, maybe not such a gentleman after all.
And I’m not sure I mind.
Heat envelops my body, followed immediately by a wave of disbelief.
I can’t believe I let that happen. Can’t believe I enjoyed it as much as I did.
His hands on me in the kitchen, steering me into the most powerful orgasm I’ve ever had in my life, and then…nothing. Blackness.
I cringe. How embarrassing. I must’ve passed out. Which is weird, because I never do that.
“It happened.” I test the reality of the words against my pillow. “He wanted me. Like that. No one’s ever wanted me that way before.”
Dragging myself upright, I wince as blood rushes to my head. The world tilts sideways before settling back into place. Bright morning sunshine continues to streak through the edges of the blinds, jacking my headache up to twenty out of ten on the pain scale.
My body feels hollow, as if someone scooped out my insides and replaced them with cotton. How could I have allowed a virtual stranger to do those things to me?
A one-night stand. Not even. We didn’t actually go on a date.
I tally up yesterday’s contributing factors. Too much wine after a stressful day. A reaction to my disappointing date with Greg. The flat tire. That creepy sedan. Events that, when stacked together, prompted me to behave out of character.
I stumble toward the bathroom, catching my reflection in the mirror. My hair’s a tangled nest, my mascara smudged around my eyes in a raccoon mask.
I look exactly like what I am.
A girl who got a little tipsy to smother her anxiety and let a dangerous man finger her against her kitchen counter.
The strike of shame I expect to feel never comes. Only dark, thrilling excitement surges through me.
Coffee. I require massive amounts of coffee before I can process any of this.
I stagger down the hall, the wood floor cool beneath my bare feet. The house feels different. The air seems heavier, the shadows deeper. Or maybe that’s just my hangover talking.
The kitchen stops me cold.
I find four beer cans scattered across the counter and an empty wine bottle.
Did we drink all that?
My stomach lurches at the thought. “No wonder I feel like death warmed over. Holy heck.” Shuffling along, I start gathering the empties, hands clasping on autopilot.
As I stagger toward the sink, my foot kicks cold, hard glass. A small vial rolls across the tile, catching the morning light. I bend down, my head protesting the movement, and pick it up. Empty. No label.
Weird. Maybe Kolya had this in his pocket? A shot glass? A mini bottle he brought with him? My brain is too fuzzy to figure out the details, so I set the vial and beer cans on the counter.
That’s when I notice my keys sitting beside the coffee maker. Did I leave them there after coming in with him? I always put my keys on the hook by the door. One of my many little routines that keeps life safe and predictable.
A note waits beneath them. The writer used neat, precise handwriting where all the letters are exactly the same size. So controlled. Just like Kolya.
Changed your tire. Swapped in your spare. Better get a new one.
I read the words twice, warmth spreading through my chest.
He changed my tire. After everything, he still took the time to fix my car before he left.
“Who does that? Good guys, right? Knights in shining armor? Men who care?”
But the image doesn’t match the man who stared down my date until he fled and broke a man’s arm and kneecap at the farmers market. Or the man who pushed me against my own counter and drove me to an explosive orgasm with ruthless efficiency.
Kolya entices me into behaving in unimaginable ways. That knowledge, though exciting and exhilarating, also frightens me.
He’s…risky.
My skull throbs harder. I can’t reconcile the different versions of Kolya that keep sliding around in my mind. The menacing stranger who triggers fear and a racing heart. The attentive man who carries my classroom supplies and changes my tire. The intense lover who knew exactly how to touch me.
Which version is real?
I switch on the coffee maker and trudge toward the shower, hoping hot water will wash away some of the confusion, along with last night’s sins.
Twenty minutes later, I’m wrapped in a towel and almost human again. The headache’s receded to a dull pressure rather than an active assault. I call Bree while dabbing concealer under my eyes in an attempt to hide the evidence of my wild night.
“Well, good morning, sunshine.” The loud, cheerful greeting is typical Bree.
Breanna Holsten, my best friend in the whole world, knows everything about me the same way I know her. She’s just finished her night shift at the ER, so she’s probably relaxing with a movie and glass of wine. “Spill. How was the big date?”
I wince and adjust the phone volume. “Greg was terrible. He wouldn’t stop going on about his fantasy football league and his lawnmower. Even dismissed the server when he tried to take our orders to keep yapping.”
“Yikes. Please tell me you escaped before dessert.”
“Actually…” I hesitate, unsure of how much to share. “He kind of ran away.”
“He what?” Her laughter garbles her words.
“It’s complicated.” I inhale through my nose. “Remember Kolya? The guy who helped me at the farmers market?”
“The guy who broke someone’s arm? Hard to forget.”
“He showed up at the restaurant. Just appeared. And kept staring at our table. Greg got super nervous and left.”
Her laughter evaporates. “What the actual hell, Chloe? That’s not normal. That’s stalking.”
I flinch. “No, it’s not like that. He just happened to be there.”
“At the same restaurant? On the same night? While you were on a date? That’s not a coincidence, that’s a crime documentary waiting to happen.”
“But then we just talked. And he walked me to my car. And found my phone when I dropped it. And changed my flat tire.” Each sentence sounds more ridiculous than the last. Crap. “He’s…nice. But intense.”
Bree remains silent for a moment. “Chloe Jane Davidson.” Uh-oh, she’s full-naming me. “Are you sleeping with this guy?”
Heat floods my face. “Um…not exactly.”
“What does ‘not exactly’ mean?” She uses the nurse voice she reserves for patients who withhold important health information.
“It means we didn’t have sex-sex.” I cannot believe I just uttered the term sex-sex. Also, hiding my embarrassment proves just as challenging as masking the glee I should not be experiencing. “But things happened.”
“You dirty girl.” We both giggle. Then Bree’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “Look, if you’re into him, fine. But play it cool. Make him work for it. Men like the chase.”
I stare at my reflection, mascara wand poised in mid-air. At this point, playing it cool is as likely as sprouting wings. The man’s hands have already been inside me. Coolness already exited the building. “Thanks for the advice.”
“And be careful. Seriously.”
We chat for a few more minutes before she yawns and we say goodbye. I hang up, frustrated by her useless clichés about dating. As if Kolya is just another Greg or Mark or Evan. As if anything about this situation fits into normal dating rules.
The memory of last night still causes me to flush, but a prickle of unease threads through the heat when I recall how his eyes stayed cold, even when he touched me. The way he kept guarding and assessing and wanting more than my body.
“Stop it, Chloe. That’s just called real chemistry. That’s what you wanted. Grown-up romance is hot, messy, and a little scary.” I nod for good measure. “You’re just being silly.”
I sound like I’m trying to convince myself. And I am. Because the alternative—that I’ve let someone untrustworthy into my life—is too frightening to consider.
Although, maybe the scariest thing of all is that after a single taste of Kolya’s darkness, I’m already craving more.
An hour later, I pull into the Hobby Hut parking lot, Fred coughing and spitting before sputtering to a stop. Just a quick trip to grab the supplies for Tuesday’s craft project after the fire trucks visit.
The “Stop, Drop, and Roll” dioramas require felt flames and cotton ball smoke. I’m already mentally organizing my shopping list when I spy him by the row of carts, a storm cloud of dark clothing and stillness in a sea of suburban minivans and motion.
Kolya. Again.
My stomach swoops, then plummets.
First Amalfi’s, and now Hobby Hut. Was Bree right about him stalking me?
My head spins, the remnants of last night swirling around and around.
Did he enjoy himself as much as I did? How could he have when he wouldn’t even let me reciprocate? Though he sure seemed like he was having a good time. Does he want a repeat? The idea infuses my chest with a hot thrill that pulses down to my belly.
I can’t believe he’s here. I’ve seen this guy four times in as many days, and I…don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Should I go? Stay? Confront him?
I sit frozen behind the wheel with my fingers wrapped around the keys. He hasn’t noticed me yet. I could pretend I forgot my purse at home and drive away.
Right as the thought crosses my mind, he pivots.
His dark gaze locks onto my car with unerring precision. Like he sensed me. Like he was waiting.
Or he simply recognized my car. Duh. He did change my tire. I need to stop acting like such a weirdo.