Page 3 of Stalked By the Wrestler

"What's your name?" he starts, and it’s like we’re alone in the world.

"Judy," I answer, my voice somehow steady despite the butterflies rioting in my stomach.

"Tell me about Judy," he prompts, leaning forward, elbows on the table, gaze locked onto mine.

"Well, what do you want to know?" I laugh, nervous energy zipping through me.

He leans even closer, those eyes of his piercing into mine intensely. “Everything,” he says simply.

I swallow. "I'm an artist. Or at least, I'm trying to be. I sling hash here to keep the dream alive."

"An artist," he repeats, tasting the word like it's something sweet. "What kind of art?"

"Mostly painting," I say, warming to the subject. "Landscapes, some abstract. It's messy and colorful and..." I trail off, realizing I'm rambling. But he's watching me—really watching—like my words are the most important thing in the room.

"Sounds passionate," he observes, and there's a flicker of something in his eyes—admiration? Interest?

My confidence swells, buoyed by his attention. "What about you? What should I know about the man who's got half the city chanting his name?"

He levels a look at me. “You were at my fight, but you ran away before I could talk to you.”

I sputter, “I…I didn’t run away. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Oh, but I do. I remember my sharp intake of breath as his eyes met mine from the ring. The way the world seemed to melt away and it was just tiny little ‘ole me and this big burly wrestler basically eye fucking each other.

I thought I had just imagined it all, that I was starstruck. My roomie drug me to the match cause she’s into stuff like that and didn’t want to go alone. I didn’t think it was my thing, but holy moly was it ever after I set eyes on Cedric.

He was magnificent. So magnificent I went home and touched myself while thinking about him.

My cheeks flush as I realize what I’m thinking about while sitting across from the man himself.

Cedric’s chest is heaving up and down and he’s looking at me like he’s inside my head and knows exactly what I’m thinking about. Which he can’t, can he?

I clear my throat and steer the conversation back to him. “But, yeah, what about you?”

"Ah, but today's not about me," he deflects with a wave of his hand, as if pushing away the spotlight. "Today, I want to soak up everything Judy."

I really need to get back to work I say as I start to rise, but Cedric reaches into his pocket, pulls out his wallet and throws a hundred dollar bill on the table.

“Stay,” he demands.

I merely gawk down at the money and then up at him. “I can’t. My manager will have my head if I don’t see to my section.”

Cedric throws another hundred on the table, and I think my eyes are going to pop out of my head.

“I’ll deal with her,” he states simply as he motions the hostesss over. He places two hundred dollar bills in her hand and tells her one is for her and one is for the manger if they cover my tables.

Of course, she takes the money eagerly and assures him it’s a done deal.

I watch her scurry off and talk to the manager who gives me a smirk and a nod before she turns her back, signalling that all is right with her.

I turn back to find Cedric’s intense gaze still trained on me.

“So,” he says, “you’re mine now.”

CHAPTER

THREE

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