Page 36 of Gamble with Me
Valeria: I’ll even wear a lovely dress and high heels if you leave me alone tonight.
I smirked, quickly tapping the letters to create my response.
Unknown Number: If I wait for another five minutes, will the offer come without underwear?
Valeria: You’re so greedy! Why can’t you simply take what is presented to you?
Her indignation was palpable even from the other side of the phone, but it only made me enjoy our conversation more.
Unknown Number: Because I won’t settle for crumbs. Take it or leave it.
She grilled me for seven long minutes before her answer lit up my phone screen.
Valeria: Fine! But promise you’ll behave!
A victorious grunt escaped my throat, and my fingers almost burst into flames from the speed with which I typed my agreement. I quickly eyed Tasha’s calendar, finding that Valeria should be at work on Sunday.
Unknown Number: I promise you won’t hear from me till Saturday at 7 pm when I’ll pick you up for our first date. Stay safe, mon cœur.
Valeria: Thank you. Bye.
I leaned into my chair, finishing my drink. The burn of strong alcohol joined the tiny flame in my chest, growing into a full-consuming fire. I couldn’t wait for Valeria’s arrival at the casino to see her stunning face and enjoy at least a glimpse of her attention. Yet my mind rapidly drifted to the upcoming date. It would be an event to remember.
-18-
Valeria
He was right. My fucking stalker was absolutely right when he said I would only be thinking about him. Annoyance itched in every inch of my body from this development. My determined spirit was prepared to fight with my mind till the end, but it seemed pointless.
The thoughts about our two encounters crept into my subconscious, keeping me from rationalizing his behavior. I couldn't say he forced himself on me. He gave me a chance to say no, but I didn't use it and didn't know why. It was so fucked up.
I shivered when I remembered his touches. My pussy clenched happily when the memory of his mouth satisfying me crossed my mind. And then I had this silly idea about a date.
Nothing and no one in this world could explain what had gotten into me to suggest a date with my stalker. How ridiculous was it? I willingly recommended a meeting, allowing him to fool me again or sweep me off my feet with his mysteriousness, demanding voice, and undivided attention.
Was I really that pathetic?
Groaning in pure irritation over my pitiful self, I checked my phone, finding nothing from him. He kept his word about leaving me alone for tonight, but I couldn't say if I was happy he obliged or sad he didn't break his promise. He created magnificent chaos in my head, and I didn't even know why or how this happened.
He wasn't anything special. He was a psychopath interested in me who could never have a normal relationship. Then why was I fantasizing about us going out like a regular couple? He tied me to a chair on our first meeting!
The beeping of my phone made me almost jump out of my skin. Hastily, I grabbed the device, and disappointment filled my chest instantly because the name on my screen was an spam number.
With my trembling fingers, I scanned the conversation with my stalker, realizing it had only been a few hours since we exchanged the last message.
Persuading my head that it would be a better idea to think about something else, I went to the bedroom to pick an outfit for tonight. Tasha said that the manager in the casino didn't wear a uniform and that I was expected to look presentable.
I shuffled through my dresses, finding a black office dress with a white collar and golden buttons. It sculpted my curves perfectly and ended above my knees, covering my tiny panda tattoo. I always tried to keep it under my clothes because questions about it made me edgy.
Huffing out a breath, I prepared the stockings and high heels, satisfied with my pick. I desperately wanted to make a great impression and prove to Zyon he made the right choice. It was an excellent opportunity for me, and I was ready to squeeze everything out of it.
Taking a long, hot shower, I did my best to wash away the remains of my stalker from my body, but it didn't help. I smelled his cologne everywhere. The mix of mint, lemon, and probably green apple was stuck in my nose. It was complemented with cedar and oak moss, and I knew exactly which brand it was. Versace.
I was a sucker for their products. Their fragrances for men were even better than for women. And I was one hundred percent sure that Zyon Zhumagulov used the same brand.
The realization struck me like lightning, forcing me to look harder for similarities. There were some, but it didn't prove anything. Any man could use that cologne, be taller than six feet, and have a deep voice. The color of the eyes could be changed easily, and some people knew how to speak differently. I needed something bulletproof. It would be a tremendouscoincidence if my stalker had the same tattoo on the same place as Zyon. But how did I get under that oversized hoodie that covered everything?
Plans and schemes circled my mind like a tornado while I prepared for work. They didn't leave on my way to the hidden back entrance in the old construction or when Tasha escorted me to the locker room. She was sweet, showing and explaining everything necessary and even gossiping a little, but I couldn't concentrate. All I was focused on was comparing two tall, dark men who invaded my life and secretly hoping they were the same person.
