Chapter One

 

"You're so evil you make Satan himself blush," Lilly exclaimed.

"Well, I said I was sorry," Hannah replied. "It's not like I would rather work than go out clubbing with you."

"Tell your boss no."

"I can't. I'm still only part-time, you know. I'm hoping to be hired permanently but I have to be their bitch until at least then. So, if someone calls in sick and they call, I have to go in."

"They're all tyrants and should all be killed. And beaten. And then killed and beaten again."

"Then I wouldn't have a job."

"Beaten, then."

"I'm fine with that. Just ask Sarah to go with you."

"Sarah is a bimbo. She'll go off with the first guy she sees."

"No, Sarah is a slut. Bimbos are blondes."

"They are not," Lilly said indignantly.

"Sorry, blondie, but they are."

"Not always!"

"Why don't you dress up as a bimbo tonight and go have some fun?"

"Because then I'd be like Sarah."

"No, you're blonde. You'd just be a bimbo."

"Only if I gave myself a lobotomy."

"Why not go and pretend to be a dumb blonde and have some fun? Let some hot guy pick you up and have his way with you?"

"Because that usually works out just fine," Lilly said sarcastically.

"At least you can see them as they really are, unlike on Tinder. And talk to them long enough to see if they can put two sentences together without using the word 'fuck'. Find some guy with a big chest and wide shoulders."

"What's the word for a male bimbo?"

"Toy? I don't know. Go and get yourself a toy and play with him. Or better yet, let him play with you. Play the hapless, brainless blonde who doesn't understand anything. It might be fun."

"What do you think my professor in Feminist Studies would say to that?"

"She'd probably congratulate you on treating some man badly. She's a lesbo, isn't she?"

"How do you know?"

"Who else would be a professor in Feminist Studies? Couldn't you find some more interesting course to take?"

"I needed an easy elective that wouldn't make me stay late on Fridays."

"Well, go find some football player type who won't know what intersectionality is and let him treat you like his very own boy toy. Then you can write it up as a study in misogyny for the good professor."

"Meh."

"Meh. I have to go."

Lilly hung up and glared around the room. It wasn't a big room, but at least it wasn't shared with anyone. There was room for a single bed, a desk, a shelf unit, a low entertainment unit with a flat-screen sitting atop it, and a single comfy chair. That, and a closet were pretty much the entirety of her life aside from classes.

Classes were done for the year. All that was left now was exams and studying. And she'd been studying until her eyes ached. She needed to go out and clear her head. Preferably by having some fun, like meeting a hot guy and going crazy on him.

She absently straightened a small cat statue on a shelf. Everything on the shelf was perfectly lined up, as was everything on her entertainment unit. Her bed was perfectly made and her closet was perfectly organized.

She was just a trifle OCD at times.

She couldn't blame Hannah, she knew. Calling her evil was just her way of conveying her unhappiness but in an ostentatious way she wouldn't take seriously. She'd been using that line since she'd read it in a book when she was thirteen. The first person she'd used it on was her mother, who had just rolled her eyes, of course.

Generally, when she insulted people, she preferred to be so outlandish and overboard that they didn't take it too seriously. She wasn't good at confrontation and didn't want to really hurt anyone's feelings. She didn't like misunderstandings which could lead to confrontations and hurt feelings either. That was why she liked to make sure she had all the details set in her head about every appointment, about every meeting, and the times for them.

Which sometimes irritated her professors as she always sought clarification on assignments even when she was almost certain of what the instructions said. She didn't want to make a mistake but on the other hand, she also didn't want to do extra work for nothing. It was always best to be absolutely sure beforehand.

Her love life, such as it was, was a major point of anxiety in her life. Guys were so utterly unpredictable. She'd thought online apps like Tinder would be perfect as she could question them carefully about all kinds of preferences to make sure their personalities were aligned.

What she hadn't reckoned with was that guys lied. They lied a lot. They lied about their education, their jobs, their hobbies, their preferences, their looks, height and weight. All they seemed to really want was to get laid. And they were willing to say whatever it took to achieve that goal.

Objectively, she understood why. Sex for guys was relatively risk-free and brought quick and almost certain fulfillment. As long as the girl looked attractive enough to give them an erection, they didn't much care about anything else. They could manage from there.

Girls didn't have it that easy. Starting with the risk of being strangled and left in a ditch. And then moving down the risk scale to just having a dreadfully boring evening and being unable to ditch a guy without him sulking and making a scene.

And sexual fulfillment was hardly a certainty for girls. Far from it. That depended on a number of factors, including how interested the guy was in helping them out and how much skill they had managed to acquire in their lives. Generally, the answer to both those questions was 'not much'.

Lilly hated uncertainty. Trying to figure out what kind of a person a guy was before getting locked into some sort of socially required sex act with them was enough to make her barely capable of eating, much less enjoying herself.

And if she determined they were just too icky or boring then she had to figure out how to break it to them gently without them getting angry and hurt, and possibly taking out their anger and hurt on her.

No, she hated dating. At least going out with Hannah she could rely on Hannah's better judgment about guys. Without her, she'd have to fall back on her own. And she had very little confidence in that.

She should just stay home and read. She liked that. One of the books she'd already read. Those were like comfort food since she already knew they were good reads. And it wasn't like she could memorize every little detail and bit of dialogue and description.

But no, she needed to get out and about. Blow some cobwebs out of her head. Go wild and crazy for a night. Then she could get back to studying.

At least it was still spring. She could wear a coat over her dress. She didn't like to take the subway alone, especially after dark. God knows who she'd run into. And she didn't want to ride in the back of an Uber or Taxi in a short, tight dress and have the middle-aged, probably third-world driver eyeing her in the mirror like she was some kind of prototypical western slut.

Her liberal views of humanity had taken something of a beating in New York. The city was full of racialized people. And while she knew she should avoid ethnic stereotypes it seemed racialized men didn't share that view, and tended to stereotype her as a, well, a brainless, slutty sex maniac simply because she was an attractive blonde and had a nice body with relatively large breasts.

It wasn't like she ever really dressed revealingly, either. Except for going clubbing. But the level of misogyny among certain racial and ethnic groups would have appalled her professors if they had ever been willing to admit racism or sexism existed among any group but white males.

Which, she knew, was unlikely.

She sighed and opened her closet, then looked at her few club dresses. They were designed to make her look hot and available but not slutty. She wasn't at all sure they had any impact on how guys saw her, though. Once they saw her in a short, form-fitting dress it didn't seem to matter to them that it wasn't low-cut or particularly slutty. They just presumed she was a... well, a bimbo.

She was a Mathematics major, for God's sake!

There was a predictability and reliability in mathematics that she found comforting.

The scoop-neck black dress would do, she thought. It was comfortable, had some cleavage, was tight, and short. But it wasn't out there. Half her tits weren't hanging free like she saw with some girls.

She took a taxi, not an uber. Because they were properly licensed you knew what you were getting. Yes, it cost more, but so what? Easing her anxiety was worth the cost. That was why she was going to Delaney's too. It was a more expensive club, but that would tend to keep the rougher elements of society out.

Her professors and some of her friends would consider that thought more than a little classist. But so far, her time in New York had done much to dissuade her from the notion that all people were the same and that preconceptions about groups seldom held true.

Not all poor guys acted like crude pigs. But the percentage who did tends to diminish with wealth even as the sophistication level increased. So all things being equal, she would rather go with guys who had good jobs and some education.

They were less likely to call her a cock-teasing blonde whore when she declined to go home with them.

And if they did, well, Delaney's had large bouncers and didn't tolerate that very well.

***

"So what kind of cat are you?" the man asked her.

She half turned and looked up at him. Not that he was that much taller than her in her stilettos.

"A curious one," she said.

He was an older guy but had a gorgeous suit and impressive shoulders. He had a handsome face with dark brown eyes and short hair. And he had a nice smile.

"Maybe I could satisfy you," he said. "Your curiosity, that is."

"Anything is possible," she said lightly.

"My name is Alaric."

"I'm Lilly. Do you dance, Alaric?"

"As a matter of fact, and I try to be as humble as I can, which admittedly isn't very, I'm an amazing dancer."

"Well," she said, smiling. "Amaze me."

She was wearing a leather choker held together by a metal ring in the front. Only the top part of the ring had two triangles atop it. She wore it as a device to give her a quick and dirty guestimate as to the guy she was talking to. If he didn't even notice it he was probably just staring at her breasts and was probably not for her. If he did notice it but made some smirking remark about 'pussies', he was probably not for her.

And, secretly, the way she best resembled cats was that she was quite wary around strangers.

Alaric turned out to actually be an amazing dancer. She was impressed. Which granted him a second dance. He had a smooth, confident way about him that bordered on arrogance. Which was both good and bad. He was clearly a very strong man, physically, but he was gentle in how he handled her, which spoke well of him. He was intelligent and had a nice, deep voice.

There was no question he was a sexy guy. He was older than she had ever gone with, though she wasn't entirely sure how much older. She didn't ask because she wouldn't be able to rely on him being truthful. Older men were always looking to hit on sexy young girls, she knew. And like their younger brothers, would say whatever it took.

He was probably around his late twenties, though, which gave him at least half a dozen years on her. But for a one-night fling, he didn't seem likely to be very dangerous. He raised his eyebrows a little when she told him she was taking Math, as she had expected, but if that contradicted some previous impression he'd had of her being a dumb blonde he didn't show it.

He was bossy, though, sure that he knew best about everything. That was mildly annoying. And he touched her a lot. Yes, gently, and no, he didn't get handsy in a bad way, exactly. His hands steered clear of her breasts and even her ass. They were more... possessive than anything, as they led her to and from the dance floor, and bar and table.

That made her indignant since she certainly didn't belong to him. Pushy, was what he was, she thought, and way too sure of himself. She would almost have preferred to shatter his confidence by refusing to dance any more with him or go home with him. But was she likely to find better unless she looked all night?

She wasn't looking for future husband material, after all.

"You know what I think?" he said, leaning over the table.

I'm sure you'll tell me, she thought snidely.

"What?"

"I think we should go somewhere quieter."

"Oh? You had somewhere else in mind?"

"I know a place with a lovely view of the city lights, great food, top-notch wine, and comfortable chairs. It has a lovely patio and great service."

"Where is it?"

"The Upper West Side."

The Upper West Side was near Columbia, which was technically in Harlem. And it contained some of the city's priciest real estate.

"It's probably expensive," she said.

"Dreadfully. But I know the owner."

She paused a moment.

"Would the owner's name be Alaric, by any chance?"

"I believe it would."

"And what is the service like?" she asked cynically.

"Breathtaking. Hair raising. It will make you cry out in joy."

"Will it?"

"Guaranteed. Or money refunded."

"Well... sure. Why not."

Her stomach knotted up at the need to make a final decision, and once she made it she resigned herself, being pessimistic, to her fate. Whatever unpleasant and emotionally uncomfortable fate that might be.

He took her hand to lead her to the door.

There's that possessiveness again, she said.

Though at least his hand was dry, and reassuringly, even kind of excitedly large and strong.

He led her onto the sidewalk and she started to put her coat on.

"It's actually kind of warm out," he said.

"Well, I know but -."

"And we're just going to the parking garage across the street."

She hesitated but shrugged and carried the coat.

"You have marvelous legs," he said. "It's a crime to hide them."

She flushed a little, pleased, but wary.

There was a man at the entrance to the garage. He nodded to them as they passed and went into the little elevator lobby. She would have been far too wary of doing this alone. God only knows what kind of pervert might be lurking in the shadows.

Then again, she might actually be in the company of a pervert. Most men were, after all.

At least he seemed to be a clean-cut and employed pervert.

He put his hand on the small of her back to usher her into the elevator and then curved her around to see him as he pressed the button. He turned his eyes back to her.

"Are you filled with anticipation?" he asked.

"Of what?"

"It's kind of like Christmas, after all. We get to unwrap our presents and see what they are."

She felt her ears heat a little.

'Maybe we'll just enjoy the view and chat."

"That's unlikely. I'm pretty sure once you see me out of this suit you'll be driven insane with lust."

She snorted in almost amusement.

"Don't laugh. It's happened before. Women find me irresistible."

"Is that a challenge?"

"No, no. Just warning you in case we run into legions of broken-hearted ladies pining away for me along the way home."

"Are you saying you're a man-slut?"

"Hmm, not in the way you're thinking."

There was that hand again, ushering her out of the elevator.

"That term usually references men who like to, let's politely say 'date' a lot of women. I am most certainly not a fan of that. I'm quite picky. Then again, I can afford to be. I'm incredibly handsome, after all."

"You don't think I can be picky?"

"Clearly. That's why you chose me," he said in amusement.

She rolled her eyes as they walked across the pavement to a black sports car, which beeped and lit its lights on as they approached.

"Your chariot, milady."

"It's not a very large chariot," she said, just to tease him.

"It's comfy. And it has a lot of horses."