Page 17 of Stalked By Pestilence
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 collectedthese 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-neededoopspills 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’mstill 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?”