Page 14 of Stalked By Pestilence

Bitches were crazy.

The incredulous look Songbird offered me was a lot more satisfying than I’d anticipated. “You…want me to leave, pet? Just like that? Not even a bit of pillow talk, or at the very least, a review?”

He wanted a review? That was a whole new form of masochism I hadn’t explored with any of the guys I’d been with.

“Zero out of ten, would not recommend,” I hit back with all emotion removed from my face.

A twitch started at the side of his eye, but it was quickly gone. Hand over his heart like he’d taken a blow to his chest, a smirk slanted the rake’s lips. “My reputation will never recover, love. Let me have another go.”

“And addmaybea point? No, thanks,” I rebuked, very close to smiling. I folded my arms across my chest, fighting the brutal sway of a suave jokester who’d nearly made me laugh several times tonight.

Don’t you fucking dare, Ems. The minute you smile, it’s all over.

“Fair enough. But you’re not even a little bit curious what my name is? Think I’ve earned at least that much interest,” he pressed, and I nearly cackled out loud.

The absurdity was off the charts with this one. This dude was really laying it on thick. His playboy heart was about to be crushed Emily style. Had Asha been here, she would’ve stayed for the show.

“That’s cute. Your name? I don’t care. Surely you know how hookup culture goes by now. I don’t believe for a second that a singer of a band hasn’t got his favorite hookups in the usual cities he plays gigs because they know what this is. Fun. A release. People like you don’t want to devise ways to escape the uncomfortable post-nut toe-around. And you lucked the fuck out with me, birdie. I don’t want that either.”

He still hadn’t moved off my bed. I barely kept from huffing petulantly.

I thought for sure this dude was out for a quick wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am, but apparently, I’d called him all wrong. Or maybe he was hoping for a free place to hang his hat for the night, and now he’d have to find another hussy to mooch off of for a warm bed.

Either way, I wouldn’t break the first promise I’d made to New Emily, not even for this delicious six-and-something-feet singer sex god. No, especially not for him. That was how a woman got caught in the web of a nasty playboy.

“It was part of the rules, in case your memory is failing you, so put those on. I’ll let you stay as long as it takes to get an Uber. I’m feeling generous after my orgasm.”

Finally, he was up. Except, instead of putting on his clothes, he closed the distance between us. I kept my eyes trained to his face and not sliding down that amazing body. I didn’t need any more temptation. I was a new woman tomorrow.

Songbird had to go.

“I thought we had fun, Viper,” he purred, leaning in, all sultry rasp and swagger.

I took a step back and glowered at him, not giving the bastard a damn inch. “We did, and now it’s time to go.”

It was easy to tell Songbird wasn’t used to being tossed out after a good time. He’d likely done the tossing. It gave me a little thrill to think I’d be his first real rejection.

First times were always so sweet.

The inner sadist in me reveled in his outright confusion over the entire event. Too bad I wouldn’t stick around to watch him go through however many stages there were in grief.

Choosing to keep the rest of our exchange to a minimum, I turned and headed to the bathroom to do my usual before-bed routine. Well, New Emily’s before-bed routine. Old Emily fell asleep in the clothes she went to the club in and with makeup still caked on her face, always regretting it in the morning when it required more time to put a face on and less time to down a much-needed shot of caffeine.

I called out to the asshole from the bathroom, “Don’t forget to lose my address, Songbird!”

My pulse throbbed in both fear and elation as I heard him shuffling around in the other room. I waited to hear the telling footfalls through the hall. There was a rug Asha insisted on getting—and then tripping over every day—but I’d hear him closer to the door where it was all wood flooring.

I washed my face, ears peeled for the sound of the asshole leaving, heart hammering against breastbone.

I didn’t have a clue what to do if he refused to leave. Usually, Asha was here to lean on when I dealt with a particularly difficult clinger.

So, what now? Call the police? Summon a furious Italian savior who didn’t have any qualms with coming over with his feisty Latina wife to drag an asshole out of my apartment by his feet?

Alexa was scarier than Dom. Five-foot-one and feral, as we often described her. Their place was only a few blocks from mine, and I didn’t doubt for a second that Dom would haul ass to get over here if I asked. Who needed cops when you had a duo capable of bringing the hurt in less than three minutes?

Says the lawyer—uh, ex-lawyer.

But my quick spiral into the actions I’d need to take was cut short by the sound of walking and then the front door opening and shutting.