Chapter Eight
Emily
My alarm went off for the fifth time. I reached, patted, failed to find it, and groaned in sleepy woe. Lifting my head with a grumble, I located the horrible thing and smashed the stop button on the screen.
Ten a.m.
My eyes snapped open wider. “Shit.”
Scrambling, I spirited around my bedroom for nearly five minutes before remembering one very important detail. No more job. No more hauling ass into the office. No more asshole partners blowing up my phone to demand I work on another case with my caseload already overwhelmed.
“Fuck yeah,” I said, pumping my arm in triumph. “New Emily rocks!”
I took my sweet-ass time getting ready—a luxury I hadn’t been given with my nine-to-five bullshit responsibility. After ensuring I didn’t look like the gremlin that lurked in the shadows, I made coffee and lounged in the kitchen for nearly an hour, pondering my new life.
Should I take up reading? Asha seemed to go gaga over the fictional boyfriends she collected in those spicy books she always read. Maybe I could find me a saucy little sub in one of them.
My finger hovered over our text chat, tempted to ask for what books I should start with, but I refrained from messaging her.
My girl was off having ridiculous amounts of sex with her criminally hot beau.
I wouldn’t bother her. I’d figure this shit out and shock my bestie the minute she came back to the new person I was.
I stared at the stove, contemplating a hobby of cooking. With a firm nod, I set out to do just that, until the billow of smoke and burnt eggs had me pivoting.
Maybe chef wasn’t in the cards for me.
With my head still in the clouds, I scrubbed the pot with a little too much gusto and set it on the drying rack. The ache between my hips was still there after having my world rocked by a gorgeous singer, and it brought the next thought careening into my head.
Shit.
Plan B.
Testing.
Bastard probably collected STIs like they were baseball cards—or whatever it was boys posing as men collected these days.
The clinic wasn’t far from our apartment, so maybe I’d walk there. I could totally be a person who walked. Asha did, and she seemed to like it well enough.
I didn’t even need to wear heels, the shitty patriarchy’s design for torturing women. With my flats and a simple pair of jeans, I’d practically be my bestie in the flesh. Comfy and totally ready to walk into my new life.
I’d go grab myself some much-needed oops pills and test for whatever I’d unintentionally gotten from a pretty rocker before taking on the task of discovering my new lot in life.
Vigor returned, I rushed off to dress. After, I tripped on the rug in honor of Asha and grabbed my favorite purse on the way out, only to slam into someone two steps outside my front door.
“Fuck!” I murmured, rubbing my burning nose. “Sorry about—” My eyes tracked up, and an eerily familiar set of yellow ones stared back. “What the actual fuck?”
Songbird’s thousand-watt smile was disgustingly pretty with the light of day hitting his flawless complexion. How did this guy look as dangerous in the day as he did at night? That didn’t even make sense.
“Fancy seeing you so soon, pet.”
Scowling, I tensed up and cycled through possible responses that didn’t accuse him of stalking, but nothing came to mind. Better to go right for the throat in this case. “I told you to lose my address.”
He shrugged. “Bit hard to do when it’s my address, too.”
My mouth fell open in a way I’d later bemoan and cringe about. “That’s not—you’re only—what?”
“Happy little coincidence, wouldn’t you say?” he remarked coolly, leaning his thick tattooed arm against my doorframe and boxing me into it. “Fate, some might say.”
My head was doing overtime to dodge the bullet flying straight at me. “Right,” was all it managed to come up with. “Fucking fantastic.”
I never once thought we’d be neighbors, and awkward wasn’t a strong enough word. Was the world really this small? How did I evade someone who lived in my own building? Old Emily had some fucking luck, and now it was New Emily’s problem. I knew last night was a mistake.
My lips smacked together in disgust before I locked my apartment door, dodged under his arm, and started to take the stairs with a little too much enthusiasm. I nearly threw my head back and cursed the heavens when I heard the asshole follow.
“Off somewhere?”
I ignored him, checking for my keys. I’d definitely avoid walking now.
Good thing my car wasn’t parked too far from here.
Might still have to talk myself out of that vehicular assault charge if he followed me to it.
My flats slapped the metal the whole way down, but his military boots barely made any sound at all.
“Oh? Is it a guessing game? I’m proper good at those,” he went on as I jerked open the building entrance door and stepped out into the sunlight. Before I could take another step, the slithery asshole was in front of me, blocking the way.
“Move,” I told him, adopting the angry tone from the club hallway.
It didn’t have the desired effect I’d aimed for. His smile only grew obnoxiously sultry. “I’ve only recently moved here and I’m still not familiar with the area. How about you show me the best place to get a nibble and I’ll buy your breakfast as thanks.”
A sassy scoff left my mouth before I could stop it. “You really don’t give up.”
“Not my style, no,” he answered with an unapologetic shrug. “Especially not when I’m intent on someone.”
I sighed long and hard, exasperated in ways words would never express. “Then you’ve gone from well-meant stalking to just outright stalking and harassment, birdie.”
“Oi, I live here. Is it a crime to want to get to know one’s neighbors?”
My eyes sliced up to his in accusation. “Fourth floor, was it?”
His beaming smile answered before he did. “Who’s the stalker now, Not Interested?”
I kept my smug grin to myself and folded my arms, letting my eyes take a leisure stroll down his body.
He’d worn another one of his rocker-boy outfits like he’d taken inspiration directly from an early 80s punk singer to style the entire look. He might not appear any older than his late-twenties or early thirties, but something about him gave the impression of older. Much, much older.
“That apartment, as of two days ago, was vacant.” I watched him closely, but nothing about his expression gave his game away. “I’d know. I was the whole reason they got in touch with a good lawyer when their eviction hit a snag.”
“Never said I’d lived there long.”
My lips twitched. “And yet, I never saw anyone move shit into it.”
A key came out of his pocket, and he twirled it around his finger, grinning. “Fancy seeing the place?”
My lips thinned. “Excuse me?”
“If you’re so skeptical, bird, I don’t mind showing it.” He sauntered a step closer, his size obnoxiously difficult to ignore as he leaned in. “You’ve been kind enough to give me the grand tour of yours. What sort of bloke would I be not to return the favor?”
Panic needled at my throat as I tried to stay calm and unaffected. “No need.”
His hand captured mine. “No, no, I insist. I wouldn’t want you to think I’d be daft enough to stalk a woman I just met. I reserve that sort of thing for the ones I’ve known at least a month or two. I do have standards, love.”
This asshole thought he was so damn funny. Remind me never to sleep with a singer again. Clearly, they were a new kind of obnoxious.
I tugged my hand out of his and growled a low threat, “I said no, and you’re headed directly for a knee to the crotch if you touch me again.”
When his head snapped my way, the glint of reptilian pupils caught the sunlight before they were gone. “Suit yourself, love.” His eyes dropped to my mouth. “Maybe another time. I’ve seen the things you can do with my crotch. I’m more than a little bit intrigued.”
For the love of all that was fucking holy!
Despite his grandiose playboy airs, the lethality this guy wore in a single glance had my teeth on edge. I might need to get Dom looped in if I had to be around him more than I planned. I itched to text my beefy friend, but then the asshole spoke again.
His hands were up in mock surrender, as if approaching a skittish animal. “Just a meal.” My stomach chose that exact moment to gurgle, and despite my hope he hadn’t heard it, his smile said otherwise. “I’ll buy.”
My jaw worked as I weighed my options. I’d dealt with annoying men at my job every day. Granted, none of those assholes had seen me naked, but having one meal wouldn’t kill me. And whether or not I wanted to admit it, the singer intrigued me as much as he annoyed me.
Maybe I could wait a day before turning over a new leaf and humor him. He was likely to disappoint me before the day was over. I’d give him that long, and then make it very clear how little interest I had in pursuing anything with him.
Fixing the shoulder strap of my purse, I rose an eyebrow in outright defiance. “I won’t play nice, but I’ll agree to one meal.”
Victory practically radiated off him. “You wouldn’t be the saucy bird I met last night if you did.” With more pep than fit his hulking form, Songbird swept over and guided my arm into the crook of his. “Where to, Not Interested?”
“It’s Emily.”
The way his eyes twinkled made it feel as though I’d done something I shouldn’t have. As if I’d lost a game I didn’t even know we were playing.
“Zelus,” he responded with a little too much husk in his voice. “But I’d love it if you called me Z, Emily.”
I was meeting too many guys with weird-ass names lately.
“There’s a café around the corner,” I told him, ignoring the sudden rush of my pulse. “They have good quiche.”