Asshole Irving at it again, this time threatening legal action. The only sincere thing about him was his tenacity to make life a living hell for me. He was the thorn in my side after he’d been using my services for months, then suddenly decided he wanted a full refund. No explanation why. Sorry, but I don’t negotiate with thugs. I filed the email away to deal with later.

As I scrolled through my spam folder, the phone beeped with a text. A blocked number. I read it, confused by the wording:

I’m coming for you.

It sounded too cryptic to be the only person who would covertly text me. I decided to call him and find out, mostly because I needed a distraction from Asshole Irving and his empty threats.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he whispered after he picked up. His voice had a way of dispelling all my worries. “How’d you know I wanted to hear your voice?”

“Because I’m stalking you,” I said after swallowing a mouthful of chips.

“How romantic. I’ll let you know when it stops being cute and starts getting creepy.”

I enjoyed our repartee more than I should have. We were two live wires that created a volatile spark.

“Did you just text me?”

“No, why?” His voice was raspy and secretive.

“I’m guessing you’re not alone. Is she in the room?” I asked, instantly regretting the call. The last thing I wanted was to get him in trouble with the missus. I actually cared about his family, unlike the other married men I fooled around with.

The phone crackled with his movement and the background noise dimmed. “Not anymore. What’s up?”

“I’m bored. I got stood up by Mackenzie. You able to hang out tonight?” I reached into the empty chips bag, surprised I had eaten them all in one sitting. Apparently I was in a self-destructive mood.

“I could be. What’s in it for me?”

“That depends on what you want from me.” I was playing coy, and he knew it.

“How about you buy the first round of drinks and we’ll go from there?”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.” But I was wrong. It was so very, very bad.

After a few minutes of flirty banter he told me he’d meet me in thirty minutes at our usual place, his voice thick and throaty and sexy as hell. An outfit change and half an hour later I walked into James Street Tavern, as obscure a meeting place as one could get in the suburbs of Monroeville, Pennsylvania, and saw him leaning over a pool table, his ass hugged in denim. I approached from behind, then slipped into his periphery as he nibbled on his lower lip in concentration for the shot.