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W hat am I doing?

Why am I flirting with this stranger after she nearly killed me with a door?

Millie .

The moment she appeared in front of me, not an ounce of remorse on her beautiful face, a zing of excitement shot throughout my body. One grumpy look from her and I was smitten.

There’s something… different about her.

She radiates power.

The way her eyes pierce through my soul—they’re the lightest shade of blue with dark specks throughout—cause my heart to thunder against my chest and my cock to push against the zipper of my jeans.

Her long black hair is styled in curls, cascading over her shoulders, and I want to wrap it around my wrist and tug her head back so I can devour her mouth.

Her pale skin begs to be reddened.

And that body. Her tight red dress clings to her large breasts, soft stomach, thick thighs, and long legs.

I don’t care if this woman is a cold-blooded killer; I’d gladly let her take me home and murder me.

Not that it matters if I die tonight.

My friends, Alex and Landon, have abandoned me, entering the bar Millie just left. I texted them earlier today asking if they wanted to hang out. I was going to tell them some pretty shitty news I learned today, then chickened out and decided tonight would be about numbing myself with booze and finding someone to fuck.

I never expected to meet someone so fast. I have decent luck when I go out. I’m an extrovert. I’ll talk to anyone who smiles at me. Though this woman has yet to show me a smile. She actually seems annoyed by me.

Why do I find her grumpiness so hot? She’s literally my opposite.

Maybe that’s why I’m acting so… desperate right now. I need to make her smile. I need her to order me around again like she tried to do just minutes ago. It was hot as hell, and while I like to be in control in the bedroom, Millie is the type of woman I’d fall to my knees for and beg her to destroy me.

Would she let me take her home? It can’t be anything more than a one-night stand.

Maybe two nights. Or three.

I have a feeling one night with this woman would be the equivalent of an hour. I’d need more.

“Can I buy you a drink?” I ask, nodding toward the bar.

Her adorable button nose scrunches.

“I’ve already had enough to drink tonight.”

“A late-night meal? I passed by a diner a block back.”

The corner of her mouth twitches and my heart beats a little too fast with excitement.

I almost made her smile.

“I’m not going anywhere with you looking like a horror show. Why haven’t you used my napkin to clean up?”

I glance down at my light blue shirt covered in streaks of crimson. Wow. She really did a number on me. My fingertips graze underneath my nose and over my lips, still damp with blood. At least it’s stopped gushing.

I open my hands and stare at my blood-covered palms, then notice the napkin on the ground. I didn’t realize I dropped it.

Her eyes follow my line of sight.

“Oops.” I say with a shrug .

Maybe she’ll give me another boob napkin.

I suppose I could go clean up inside the bar. I eye the door.

Every time it opens, I spot bodies packed in like sardines. It’s too crowded. I can’t go in there like this. I’d certainly scare a few people. I mean, sure, I’d be able to wash the blood off my face, but not the shirt.

But it’s also New York City and no one will bat an eye, likely seeing worse on the subway during their commute.

Millie must notice my internal battle and sighs, loud enough to let me know she’s definitely annoyed with me.

Even though she’s the one who hit me with a door.

“My place isn’t far.”

It’s all she says before turning away and walking down the sidewalk.

I guess I’m going to her place.

My cock jerks at the thought.

“So, Millie,” I begin when I finally catch up to her. “Are you from New York? You walk fast like a New Yorker.”

“I’m from a lot of places, but New York has been my home for one hundred and—” She pauses before clearing her throat. “It seems like I’ve been here for hundreds of years.”

“You don’t have an accent, not a New York accent anyway. Actually, the way you say certain words almost sound British. Is that where you’re from? I’m from Kansas, a small town south of Topeka. Do you know where Topeka is? It’s the capital. Anyway, I moved here about five years ago after college. Now I work in finance. It pays decent. Kinda boring and I work too many hours. Don’t have much of a social life because of that. I mean, not that I’m a loser. I’m not. I… I don’t think I am.”

I curse myself for being a nervous wreck and rambling. Millie doesn’t respond to anything I’ve just said. She’s focused on walking, still fast enough that I’m almost jogging to keep up.

“Has anyone ever called you Milli Vanilli?”

She stops suddenly, and I nearly run into her back. She turns to face me, her eyebrows pinched.

“You know Milli Vanilli? How old are you?”

My heart races in my chest. Another music fan by chance? Why does that intimidate me? Maybe because I never find anyone with my level of music snobbery. Or maybe because I never delve into deep conversations about musical tastes and other interests with my hookups.

I don’t do relationships. Commitment doesn’t appeal to me. The idea of spending time with just one person sounds so... boring. Plus, sex is fun, and I have no issues getting it, so why would I stop for just one person?

Jesus. I’m so fucking full of myself. I’m not God’s gift to women. I mean, sure, I’m handsome. At least, people have told me I am. I don’t really care about looks. I find beauty in most everything.

A bag of trash: stinky, disgusting... but it contains life inside. The discarded containers that once contained the food that filled someone’s stomach. The used tissues that maybe they used to wipe their tears after watching a sad movie... or to clean up after giving themselves pleasure.

Okay. I tend to keep these thoughts to myself because I know I sound like a tool.

But seriously, beauty is so subjective and for our society to dwell on appearances... it pisses me off.

“I’m twenty-nine. What about you?” I stifle a groan. Is it still rude to ask women their age? If she’s offended, she doesn’t let on.

“I’m thirty.”

“Really? You seem younger. I’d have guessed twenty-six.”

She snorts.

“Did I… did I just make you laugh?”

“It was a snort, not a laugh. I don’t laugh. I just find it ridiculous that you think I’m younger.”

She purses her plump lips, painted velvet red to match her dress. She may not have smiled or laughed, but I see amusement in her eyes. I’m obsessed with them. I’ve never seen a shade of blue so light, it appears more silver. They resemble the moon.

Standing underneath a streetlight, her pale skin seems to glow. It’s... ethereal. Is she human? An angel?

I don’t know how long I’ve been staring, and I hope she hasn’t noticed the tent in my pants before she turns to keep walking.

“To answer your question, yes, I do know Milli Vanilli. But now I must ask you… do you know Teddy Pendergrass?”

Teddy Pendergrass?

Ok, her knowing Milli Vanilli lets me know she’s into music, but she’s into soul music too? An R I like being scared.”

She smirks and looks me up and down. I do the same. God. I’ve never seen such a beautiful woman before. I’m fighting back the urge to touch her again, my hands shaking with how desperately I want to hold her, kiss her, devour her.

She doesn’t move as I step toward her. Can she see the hunger on my face?

“Can you feel that?” I ask, inches now separating us. She doesn’t ask me to clarify, and to be honest, I’m not sure what I mean either, but she nods. “Can I kiss you?”

Millie stands taller. She’s shorter than me, though she’s wearing heels, adding to her height. I stare into her eyes. They’re unreal . The blue essentially fades under the light, appearing more silver and vibrant up close.

“I want to kiss you,” I repeat, the words nearly a whisper. But she heard them perfectly.

“Then kiss me.”

“The blood…”

“I don’t care. ”

She fists my shirt and brings me flush against her body.

She’s the one who kisses me.