A Woman Scorned

Part 12

It had been a long day for you. The firearms training was a lot tougher than you expected. Mostly because you had no aim and the gun felt strange in your hands. By the end of the session you had grown somewhat comfortable with the weapon and your hope was you'd be much better after the second session. Then you'd gotten a call from Avi, which had been a pleasant surprise, but then he asked you out for drinks with absolutely no plans in mind and so you had to do the mental work of figuring out a spot and planning it. Was it too much to ask for a guy who actually made an effort? That alone should have tipped you off this guy was going to be a disaster.

At first things had been going well, he was engaging, charming, flirtatious - but then talk turned to politics and the workforce and then you realized Avi was on the opposite end of the spectrum than you. You would not be where you were if it wasn't for the help you received to level the playing field. Growing up where you had, you'd witnessed first hand what it was like to have everything stacked against you. Being given the same opportunities as others would have helped so many of your friends not follow the same destructive path their parents had. But then Avi tried to tell you how there was no such thing as privilege, that advantages for others meant the oppression of real Americans, and you realized you had enough. You'd ended the date at that point. Now you were home, pissed that you'd wasted an evening on someone like that.

Feeling too lazy to get undressed, you poured yourself a glass of wine and took a seat on the couch. You started streaming something on your TV when your phone rang. It was an unknown number.

"Fucking bitch," the male voice whispered on the other end before immediately hanging up.

Hearing Adam's anger only re-affirmed your decision. Obviously threatening you that day at work hadn't been a rash decision on his part. He was still furious, and that meant everything you were planning was justified.

Your phone rang again and you glanced down at it. Billy's name was on your screen.

At some point yesterday he must have unblocked his number on your phone, like the slick bastard that he was. You contemplated answering but realized you just weren't in the mood to talk to anyone. You sent it to voicemail, except a minute later he called again. This time he was facetiming you.

You knew him well enough to know ignoring him wouldn't work. He'd just keep calling. Reluctantly you checked your reflection before answering his call. "Hi."

Dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark trousers, his hair looked like a tantalizing mess. You were suddenly struck by the memory of running your fingers through his hair repeatedly when he'd been going down on you last night.

"You unblocked your number on my phone," you said pointedly.

"Didn't want to wait around for you to do it," he said, knotting a tie.

"How did you access my phone?"

"You think you're the only one who knows how to break into things?"

You rolled your eyes. "You used my thumb when I was asleep, didn't you?"

A sly smirk marked his lips. "Maybe."

"That's a violation of my privacy," you lectured.

"Says the level 5 stalker who hacked into all my files."

"Whatever. I only did that because I liked you and you wouldn't tell me anything about yourself."

"Liked me?" He cocked his eyebrow. "Babe, you still like me."

"Get over yourself." You sipped your wine while he watched you on the phone, his back against the hotel window revealing the flash and pomp of all things Sin City. "What kind of work are you doing in Vegas?"