by Zoey Parker
“You can come to the desk to pay,” he said, pointing toward the reception door by the car port overhang.
“Oh, uh…pay?” It slipped out before she could think better of it. Bastard left me with the bill? What a fucking ass. “Yes. No problem. Just a minute.” She shut the door quietly, her heart throbbing as anger circulated through her limbs. Not only could she recall exactly none of the sex she’d been hoping for with that mysterious stranger, he turned out to be a bigger douchebag than the normal guys who crossed her path.
She fumed as she slipped her feet into her shoes, snatching her purse up. She rifled through the contents, making sure everything was intact. All good. So he didn’t steal anything, just stuck her with a hotel bill like a common whore. Had this been her idea? She stormed out of the room, heels clicking on the asphalt of the parking lot as she headed for the front desk. It didn’t matter whose idea it was. It just seemed wrong to leave a sleeping girl with a hotel room bill, after a night she could barely recall.
Anxiety cinched her stomach as she approached the front desk. God willing she could afford this shithole. “Okay. How much is it?”
“One hundred ten,” he said simply, tapping something into the computer.
Kit wilted. There went that week’s tip money. She shoved a card his way, trying not to think about all the things she’d been planning to use that money for while he charged her. A moment later she was squinting into the midday sun, thumbing through her phone to call for a taxi. What a bunch of bullshit.
Anger thrummed through her as she waited for the ride share to arrive. She was in an obscure part of Olympia, alone, and about to be out almost one hundred fifty dollars for a night that she couldn’t even say she enjoyed. At least the first part she’d enjoyed: the conversation, the laughter, the unexpected ribbing she and Bastard had shared. The first interesting guy to cross her path in…too long. Too damn long.
But this? Completely ruined everything. The son of a bitch probably did this everywhere he went, skipping through cities on his bike, luring women to hotel rooms only to disappear and leave them with the bill. Was there anything unsexier than that?
Except he hadn’t seemed like the type to do that. Not at all. Even though she didn’t know the man, couldn’t even claim to have any idea bout who he was or what his goals were in life… she’d just somehow trusted him. Deep inside, something felt safe and secure about him. And in her life…that was certainly the exception.
But Bastard clearly was the type of man she’d grown used to in life: a pending disappointment. Every man, from her disappearing father to the string of bad boyfriends her mom used to keep around the house, they’d all been pending disappointments. She learned to stop hoping for the next one to be different, for the next one to not get drunk and angry.
Kit knew better than to hope for a different ending to this story. Why did it still surprise her?
Anger followed her back to her apartment, cycling between disbelief as she tried to rationalize her bizarre behavior. Were you drugged? She struggled to find the moment it could have happened. Bastard barely drank a rum and coke all night; she’d only had water.
Except…
The lightbulb went off a few miles from her apartment. The fan, the good-looking guy who’d approached her after the show. He hung around a lot, had eyes that followed her like a detective. He’d given her that drink, and she’d taken a few casual sips of it while beginning her seduction strategies with Bastard. Fuck. Could he have drugged her?
Her heart raced as the cab pulled up to her apartment. The pieces seemed to fit, at least. It was the only unsolicited drink she’d tasted. Hell, Bastard had drank his own purchased drink, and that brute hadn’t passed out. Unless his drink made him into a callous hotel bill ditcher.
Her heels clomped against the cement walkway winding through the clustered apartments of the sprawling complex where she lived. This, right here, was exactly why she never accepted drinks. And maybe the creep who drugged her drink got exactly what she deserved: her wandering off with the actual guy she’d had her eye on.
A flash of last night came back to her, rippling hot across her shoulders. Steely arms encasing her waist, hot tongue pressed into her mouth, an intoxicating haze of cologne and testosterone. Bastard. She shivered. Hotel bill or not, their night had been hot. That much was certain. Pity she couldn’t remember more details. Seemed like a sin to forget hooking up with an Adonis like him.
She slowed as she reached her apartment door, her dress snagging on the overgrown bushes lining the walkway. Her front door was dappled with post it notes, like the message-leaver was worried one wouldn’t suffice. She squinted at the strange trail, piecing together the scrawling message broken up by little sheets:
Kit, my Beautiful Kit, I was worried about u, so worried, I came here to make sure u were ok, u left with that big ugly man and I thought maybe he’d hurt u I love u Kit plz tell me ur ok call me, love Andrew
She blinked a few times, letting the words sink in. This couldn’t be a mistake. He’d used her name. But who the fuck was Andrew?
Whoever he was, he’d scrawled a number on one of the post-its. If he’s in love with me, shouldn’t I have his number in my phone? A slick fear spread through her limbs, and she hesitated before opening her front door. Glancing around her, like maybe checking that he wouldn’t jump out of the bushes, she pushed inside carefully.
The silence of her apartment bore down on her, like an implied threat. Maybe she knew what was coming next, if all her years of horror movies had anything to say about it. She did a quick scan of the apartment, checking closets and underneath her bed to make sure she really was alone in there. And then she jumped into the shower, bathed quickly, and dressed herself for work in record time.
She still had a few hours until she needed to go in, but there was no use hanging around this place when “Andrew” had stained it with his presence. It gave her the heebie-jeebies, and who knew if he’d come back around, sniffing for more. She wrestled with the idea of calling the police, but she could already sense the pointlessness of it. What would they do? Probably file the complaint in the waste basket, like they had done with every one of her mother’s desperate pleas for assistance with all those horrible exes who used to threaten her and stalk her. Yeah, the police wouldn’t do shit. She knew better than to waste her time filing a report.
She stuffed another elegant dress into a duffel bag, standard work protocol for her late nights as a singer. She never left the club in full regalia, except for the rare night when she had a sexy biker on her arm. So, approximately never. And maybe one p.m. was a little early to head in, but Dipper would be opening up soon. She could mull over this mystery while he got the bar ready for the day.
A half hour later, she strolled up to the bar with big sunglasses on her face, duffel bag dangling from her arm. She’d come in her comfiest sweatpants and tank top, like this might deter men from looking at her. Male attention was part of her job as a struggling artist, and she did what she could to attract eyes, followers, and sales. But that attention always carried a dark side. She thought she’d been handling it well by using her standards and procedures for late nights—no foreign drinks, never walk home in her dresses, keep interested parties at a firm distance, unless of course they were Bastard.
Dipper was just lowering bar stools when she strolled in. He arched a brow, making a display of looking her up and down. “What are you doing here this early?”
She laughed, tossing her duffel bag on the bar top. Last night, she’d been sitting just one seat to the left, chatting up Bastard, batting her eyelashes at him. And now… “I missed you too much, Dip. Thought I’d come in early and help you open.”
“Pfff.” He set down another stool before heading toward her, arms open for a hug. “Don’t tell me it has something to do with that sexy beast you took home last night.”
She thinned her lips. “Well, sorta.”
He seared her with a look. “Good or bad?”
&nb
sp; “I don’t really know.” She nibbled at her bottom lip, contemplating where to start. “The night got really blurry after a certain point. But that’s not the bad part…”
“Don’t tell me I’m going to have to start walking your ass home each night,” Dipper warned.
She sighed. “Well, I think it’s good I didn’t go home last night. I found some really creepy notes on my front door today.” She recounted the story of finding all the post-it notes. Her hazy saga with Bastard could be told later. Dipper gasped when she was finished.
“How the fuck does this guy know where you live?”
She shook her head, studying the grain of the bar top. “He must have dug around online. It can’t be that hard to find out private information, I mean, let’s be honest. In this day and age…”
“Yeah, but Andrew? I don’t know any creepy Andrews.” Dipper tutted, wringing out a rag over a wash pail. “And he’s never professed his love before, right?”
“Nope. This is definitely my first creepy secret admirer.”
“We should call the number,” Dipper said.
Kit scoffed. “Hell no. You’ve gotta be nuts. I don’t want him to have my number.”
Dipper’s eyes glinted. “We’ll call him from the bar phone then. It’s public anyway.”
Kit paused, gnawing at the inside of her lip as she thought it over. “Okay. But what will I say? Act like I’m into it? ‘Oh, jeez, Creepy Andrew, thanks so much for your eternal love even though we’ve never met…’?”
Dipper snorted. “No. But let’s find out who this guy is. I’ll listen on the other phone while you call.” He snatched up two cordless phones from opposite ends of the bar, and handed one to Kit. “Besides, if we find out who it is and he comes here regularly, we can file a report.”
Kit nodded, pulling up the picture she’d taken of the post-its before dialing his number. Anxiety shivered through her as she waited for someone to pick up.
“Hello?” A groggy male voice answered on the fifth ring.
“Hey. Is this, uh, Andrew?” She grimaced at Dipper.
“Yes. Is this Kit? Are you okay?” His voice sounded brighter, more alert. “I’ve been so worried.”
“Right.” She pinched her eyes shut. “How do we know each other?”
Andrew chuckled softly. “I listen to your beautiful voice every night. Don’t you know who I am?”
She and Dipper shared a look. So he comes here to watch me. “Well, you know…I just wanted to be sure. I know a few different Andrews.”
“And are you as close to any of them as you are to me?”
His words clunked around inside her head bulkily for a few moments, her eyebrows forming a hard line. That wasn’t the tone, or the context, of a sane person. Dipper’s eyes widened to saucers and she swallowed hard. “Apparently not.”
Dipper scrawled a hasty message and shoved it toward her. Ask him to come in tonight and get a description. She wet her bottom lip then said, “So will I see you tonight?”
“Of course. Every night. I can even take you home if you want. Just to make sure you get there. I don’t like you going home with other people.”
She frowned, swallowing a sick lurch of her throat. “Well, just make sure you come in tonight, okay? We can talk some more.” An idea sprouted, and she said, “Like we talked yesterday.”
“Did you like the drink I got for you?”
She stared at Dipper, mouthing Oh my God. “Yeah, it was great. Listen, I’ll see you later, okay?”
Andrew bid her a sweet farewell and she slammed the phone down, her heart hammering. “Holy. Fuck.”
“That guy is a creep,” Dipper hissed.
“I know who it is, too.” She blinked rapidly as she pieced it all together. “It was the guy who gave me that drink. I felt so weird, and I only had like two sips. And then—”
“Uh, Kit,” Dipper said, his eyes going round at something over her shoulder.
Steps clomped over the wood floor of the bar, and she spun on her stool to look behind her.
Bastard sauntered across the bar, his scruffy jawline and surprisingly green eyes sending a shockwave of heat through her. Fuck you, you’re too hot. He smiled tentatively as he neared, his gaze darting between her and Dipper.
“Mind if I butt in?”
CHAPTER FOUR
Seeing Kit dressed down was almost as sexy as seeing her in that sparkly sequin dress the night before. Either way, it didn’t matter—she was a babe, and he was sorry that last night had been their only night together.
“What are you doing here?” Kit asked.
“Came to find out why you bounced.” He eased into the stool next to her. “Thought you might want this, too.” He reached for the wad of bills he’d brought, exactly the amount she’d paid to that inept front desk clerk. He’d been irritated to find out she’d skipped out before he arrived with breakfast, but even more pissed to find out that the dude up front charged her instead of him. He set the stack of bills down on the bar top.
“Uh,” Dipper began.
Kit snorted, looking at the money. “Are you serious?” She grinned at Dipper. “He’s not paying me for sex, just so you know.”
“Okay.” Dipper raised his hands in a mock defense. “Whatever you charge is fine, girl, no judgment here.”
Kit laughed. “Oh please. I’d charge a lot more than a hundred.”
Bastard grinned. “I’d say you’re priceless.”
Dipper made an exaggerated cooing noise in the background as Kit squinted up at him, sending his pulse racing. “Okay. So explain what’s going on here.”
“You left before I got back with breakfast.” He shrugged. “Thought you’d see my note. Just wanted to make sure we were cool.”
She watched him for a few moments. “You left a note?”
He nodded. “Yeah. But I also told the dude last night not to charge you, but that didn’t work out so well.” He grinned, loving the fresh look of her face without all that eye makeup. She was sexy in a whole new way. “Consider this my apology.”
Kit ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “That’s sweet of you. Most guys woulda just bailed and forgotten.”
“I guess I’m not most guys.”
She scoffed, but it didn’t bother him. She probably had plenty of reason to scoff, with a body like hers. “Yeah. Well, unfortunately, I don’t remember enough of last night to vouch for that.”
He creased a brow, some of his relief at seeing her again draining out of him. “What do you mean?”
Dipper wiped down the counters, casting a concerned look at Kit. “You never finished what you were saying.”
Kit fiddled with the clip on the wad of money. “I think I was drugged last night.”
Bastard’s stomach shuddered to his feet, his mind jumping to his worst and biggest fear: did you rape her then?
Bastard knew all about rape. He was the product of one, a little fact his mother made sure he never forgot as long as he lived. Now, as an adult, he could control how much of her vitriol he was willing to absorb. But growing up, it had stained him, left an ugly coating on top, making him wonder, and eventually fear, that he would grow up to become to his father.
Whoever that fucker was.
“Are you sure…” Bastard began.
“I’m positive, actually,” Kit said.
Bastard swallowed a sick knot in his throat. “Who did it?” Do you remember what we did?
Kit sighed, running a hand through her messy dark hair. “Well here’s where the story gets interesting, Bastard.”
Dipper snorted. “Your name is Bastard?”
Bastard shot him a glare. “Yes. Now let her talk.” He focused on Kit again, watching as she unsuccessfully tried to bite back a smile, which made a dimple flare.
“When I got home this morning, there were all these notes on my door. This guy somehow found out where I lived and went there. I’m pretty sure it was the guy who gave me the drink when I met you last night.”
Bastard
balled his hands into fists. “Where is he?”
“Easy, tiger,” Dipper said. “We already set a trap for him. No need to go hunting.”
“He’s coming in tonight,” Kit explained. “We called the number he left for us, and—”
“I won’t be here,” Bastard said. It was early afternoon already, which meant he needed to hit the road ASAP. He should have left at eleven, but a certain black-haired beauty had coaxed him into being thoughtful. Except now he wondered if she even knew that they fucked. Maybe she just thought that she woke up in a strange motel after a woozy night. “I want to help you handle this.”
