15. Cherry Smash & A Chaser #2
What if he is?
My heart rate picks up at the thought of him watching me in plain sight.
My curiosity piques as I swivel on the stool to search the crowded room for a similar build but come up short.
If I can’t even get a day off from being stalked on my birthday , I will be livid.
There’s no way he’d risk being seen without his mask.
Or would he?
Of course I wonder what he looks like beneath his mask, even going as far as wondering what’s underneath his clothes. I won’t pretend that I haven’t dreamt about him or what those muscles would feel like on top of me. Because I have, many times since the break-in.
His gruff voice in my ear, pained and desperately encouraging me to let go, is a frequent thought, which I’m not ashamed to admit…
to myself. I’ll attribute that to my recent audio erotica and audiobook interests.
Adding in the fact that it’s been a while since I’ve enjoyed any type of attention from a man, and it’s a recipe for lusting after my stalker.
Toys are amazing, but sometimes you just need rough, calloused hands on your body and piercing eyes staring into your soul as you succumb to their every grip, lick, and thrust.
Whew. These are not thoughts I should be having here or about him.
A melodic drawl yanks me from my fantasy as the bartender speaks, sliding a tumbler across the counter to me.
“A cherry smash. For you, ma’am.”
“Huh?” I ask with knitted brows. I’ve been drinking amaretto sours all night.
I didn’t order anything. Did I?
“From the gentleman over there,” she adds, pointing to a now empty stool to her left. “Oh, well, he was there a moment ago.”
She chews on her lip as she eyes me and leans in close, as if she means to tell me a secret. “Between you and I, that man was fine as hell. A face I’ll never forget.”
I stifle a laugh at her enthusiasm before responding, “If he was fine like that, I hope I see him too.”
“You’ll know when you do. Enjoy yourself, hun! Holler if you run into any trouble.”
“Will do. Thank you,” I add with a smile, returning to my friends gathered around a cocktail table.
“Girl. That man has been looking at you all night,” Alora says into my ear, tilting her head toward a group of men seated in a VIP section.
Back in Brooklyn, when I’d go out with my girls, I wasn’t usually the center of attention. However, since I’ve moved to Texas, my full curves are greatly admired and appreciated. It’s taking some getting used to, though, not that I mind it.
“Who?” I ask, whipping my head in that direction.
“Don’t make it obvious, shit. Ol’ boy over there.” Skye jerks her head, looking even more obvious than I did.
When we lock eyes, he flashes a devious grin, and to make matters worse, he has dimples. He is fine, but I can tell by his build that he’s not Scar, which leaves me slightly disappointed. He’s tall and broad, but Scar is larger in stature and without a question could toss me around.
Nope. Let’s unpack that later.
Another thought crosses my mind, a dangerous one. But it could be fun. If Scar is here tonight, a dance with this guy could bring him out of hiding, giving me a chance to see the man behind the mask.
Confidence swells in my chest, causing me to crook a finger and invite him over. I’m not sure where the bravery came from, but I’ll blame it on dark liquor.
His brows shoot up, and his grin widens. My heart is racing in my chest as the velvet rope lifts and he starts toward me. My skin heats, likely from the alcohol or from the possibility of two sets of eyes on me.
As he makes his way across the dance floor, the girls squeal in unison, and I stifle a laugh because they’re so damn silly. He greets me with a mischievous grin, closing the distance, and suddenly my phone vibrates in my clutch bag.
Could it be?
I ignore it, keeping my focus on him as he introduces himself.
“Hi. I’m Xavier,” he leans in to say, speaking over the music.
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Dee.”
His infectious smile widens, and I mirror it, peering up at him expectantly.
Skye shouts loudly enough for him to hear, “The birthday girl needs to dance.”
“Does she now?” he asks in a smooth drawl, tilting his head toward me with a look that makes my cheeks heat. He leans in closer so I can hear him better.
“Would you like to dance, birthday girl?”
“Yes,” I say, giggling in his ear.
He takes my hand as he leads me to the center of the dance floor. I tuck the clutch under my arm and steal a peek at my girls, wearing knowing looks as they sip their drinks.
The song switches to an upbeat track with sultry lyrics, and Xavier’s palm splays across my lower back, gently inching me closer to him as I take his free hand. He leads this song, and every time I meet his hungry gaze, I consider if a one-night stand is a good use of my time tonight.
When my thoughts become too loud, I turn around to press my ass against him, winding my hips to the beat as I scan the venue for any sign of my stalker. No luck, but the inkling of his presence intensifies alongside the buzzing phone beneath my arm.
A few songs later, we head toward the bar for him to grab himself another drink and a water for me.
I’m having fun and he’s sweet, but I’m now in the mood to climb into my bed.
It’s obvious we’re not in college anymore, but it’s even more apparent when I start yawning, and last time I checked my phone it was only ten at night.
Desperate to rest my feet in these heels, I grab a free seat at the end of the bar as he orders our drinks. One of his friends approaches, distracting him, and I search my clutch for my phone. But I’m interrupted when the bartender spots me, a knowing grin stretches across her freckled face.
“The guy from earlier came back and said to put whatever you want on his tab.”
“You’re serious? I ask, staring incredulously.
She nods assuredly. “Friends too, he said. Another cherry smash?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Coming right up,” she shouts, turning away to grab a new glass and a bottle of Divin whiskey off the shelf.
“Some guy, huh?” Xavier asks in a hesitant voice as he reemerges.
“I have no idea. I’m just the birthday girl,” I say with a shrug.
He smirks and meets my gaze, leaning in close. “That you are. How are you feeling? Would you like to head back to my spot?”
He’s cute, but I just want to go home.
I shake my head. “I came with my girls, and I’m leaving with them.”
“I respect that. Can I give you my number?”
“Of course,” I answer, retrieving my phone from my clutch. I unlock it to find a number of notifications, and I rapidly swipe them out of view before handing it over to him.
He enters his number and saves it as Xave, flipping it to show proof.
“I hope to hear from you soon,” he says, placing the phone back in my hands and holding onto my gaze.
“You will. Have a good night.”
“You, too, beautiful.” He winks and parts with a wave, returning to the section where his friends are seated.
Alora and Skye join me at the bar right as the bartender slides the cherry smash across the counter, and I tell my girls if they want something, it’s on me.
“You’re not paying for anything on your birthday,” Skye argues.
“Someone said whatever we’d like to drink is on their tab. So, technically, I am not paying. My secret admirer is.”
Alora raises a brow but proceeds to order a root beer anyway.
Skye excuses herself to the restroom, but we follow. The buddy system is an unspoken rule between us, like texting when you’ve made it safely to your destination. I’m itching to check my notifications in hopes that my suspicions were right.
I trail them down the dark hallway, and they step inside when a recognizable scent captures me. Followed by a large hand gripping my waist, their touch resembles an open flame igniting my dress. I yelp as an erection presses against my ass, heat pools in my lower belly at the sudden intrusion.
I bite my lip as that familiar voice warns, “Doe. Don’t make me chase you, ’cause you can’t outrun me.”
Fuck.
I still, my core clenching in response. As quickly as he appeared, he’s gone, a cool rush in his wake.
Lust overtakes me, intwining with fear and stolen breaths. I imagine that grip on my throat, goading me to climax as he gambles with my life. I’d beg him to tap dance on my grave for that euphoric reward, and he’d oblige, anxious to redeem himself as a worthy partner in our dance with death.
The lion thinks he’s won, but we’re just getting started.