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“No, miss, that’s not how this works.”
“Why not?”
“Because this is a murder investigation.”
“I’m sorry, what? I left him at the table, and he was still alive when I left.” My hand drops to my side. “I’ll come in later today with my lawyer.” I hold out my hand again, and they give me a card and leave.
I run to my room and quickly change. Flicking through the paperwork I took home, I find one that has Grayson’s address on it. Grabbing my keys, I run out the door and straight to the car and put his address in my phone maps.
It doesn’t take me long to get to his house, and I briefly wonder if he lives alone. I ignore the hope that flares inside me that he does as I get out of the car and knock on his door. A few people whistle my way, and I realize this area isn’t all that safe. Knocking even harder, I finally hear footsteps before the door is pulled open, and Grayson is standing there wearing only a pair of boxers.
“Avani, it’s early,” he grumbles.
I push in past him, and he doesn’t try to stop me. I don’t even have a chance to ogle his chest, though I know it’s worth a look. His home is nothing like I expected it to be. The house is full of old furniture, but not in a dirty way, more like a worn-in feel to it. On the contrary, everything seems clean, and I don’t even see a television in the living room.
I hear the door shut, and as I turn around, Grayson walks up to me. And this time, I can’t help as my eyes drop to his bare chest. Grayson has incredibly smooth, beautiful skin.
“Do you care to tell me why you’re waking me up this early, or do you want to just stare at me?”
“Shut up,” I snap, shaking my head. “You killed him, didn’t you?”
“You’ll have to be more specific, sugar lips.”
“Sugar lips?” My brows furrow at the nickname.
“Yes, it seems you’re just like sugar. One can become addicted to you.”
“You are so fucked up.”
“What I wouldn’t give to have those lips wrapped around my cock.” His eyes get a faraway look in them as if he’s thinking about it right now.
“Grayson!” I scream his name, and he chuckles.
“Yes, I may have sent your wannabe rapist to his maker. How do you know about it?” he asks, which makes me huff.
“Because the police came knocking on my damn door.”
“That’s fine. I have a lawyer, and you have an alibi.” He smirks as if it’s not a worry. But it is on so many levels. Having my name associated with a police investigation will be exceedingly bad for me.
“I don’t have an alibi,” I whisper.
“You do. Me,” he says like it’s obvious.
I roll my eyes. He’s being way too cavalier.
“You are the worst alibi,” I tell him, feeling deflated. He steps up to me and lays his hand on my shoulder. I raise my face to his and hate that when I stare at his lips, I want them to kiss me.
How can he do that to me and so easily?
We hate each other, don’t we?
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, his eyes searching mine. “I would suggest you stop before I tear those clothes from your body and make you realize that your sweet pussy is mine. Just like those perfect pink lips.”
I step back and shake my head. “My pussy is mine, thank you very much. And so are my lips.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Who even speaks like that? Do the other women you fuck, like that kind of talk?” I lean in a little, waiting for him to answer.
His jaw tics before he answers, “Fuck, you do my head in.”
“Same, same,” I reply, my frustration ratcheting higher. “And you killed my date,” I scream.
