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“I guess. I showed up a time or two, but I didn’t pay them any attention, and I never asked if anyone else was visiting him.”
“Why?”
I raise a single brow, fully aware my answer is bitchy. “Because they didn’t matter.”
“No. Why would you shoot him and then visit him?”
“Guilt.” I roll my eyes. “That was the first time I felt bad for shooting someone who wasn’t my mark.”
Ezra chuckles. “Right. Of course, he played the guilt card. He probably tried to manipulate you, too.”
“He did. I brought him ice cream and sprinkles.” I purse my lips, pointing my finger at him. “You’re taking this better than I expected.”
“Well, I’ve been curious since the rave—”
“Stalker,” I interrupt.
He shrugs, grinning at me. “I tried to warn you.”
“You’re unlike any stalker I’ve encountered,” I tease.
“Why? Because I’m handsome and not peeping through your windows like a pervert?”
I smile at his snarky remark. “Because you haven’t run from the monster in the room.”
“Why would I run? Don’t lions enjoy chasing their prey?”
Ezra cracks the top of the scotch Quin sent, but he finds it deplorable. His description, not mine. I think it’s divine. I even get Quin’s number from Ezra so I can thank him.
He doesn’t reply, not that I blame him. I did have a gun pointed at his head several days ago.
We’re a few drinks in, talking through the names on Ridge Copeland’s list, when I do something utterly and thoroughly unwarranted.
Either the scotch has dulled my senses too much or he’s grown on me too quickly to comprehend… Or it’s because he hasn’t freaked out and run screaming from my apartment.
I don’t even bother unpacking the reason.
I just lean forward and kiss him.
At first, Ezra doesn’t move. But I push into him, and he snaps, lips parting to steal my breath. His hand sinks into my hair, fingers curling as he adjusts our angle.
The light stubble of his beard tickles across my skin as he trails his mouth along my jaw. I tug at his shirt, but he stops me before I can uncover the ridges of his abdomen.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Ezra pulls away to stare at me, though he doesn’t let me go. “Are you drunk?”
“Are your morals showing now?” I counter.
“No,” he insists, grinning as he shakes his head. “Just wanted to make sure I’m not having a wet dream on your couch because I got drunk and passed out first.”
I snort, then moan as he bites my neck. There’s still some light bruising, but I welcome the pain, letting it erase the last traces of the man who left them.
Ezra draws me into his lap and stands, carrying me out of the living room.
“Down the—”
