Page 6 of The Watcher's Bride

“Well, actually, he did speak once, about a week ago, when I asked him what he wanted. I didn’t understand what hesaid because it wasn’t in English. I think it might have been in Russian,” I say as a thought occurs to me. “Your grandmother was Russian, wasn’t she? Did she teach you to speak any?”

“A little.”

“Other than my name, the one thing I remember him saying sounded like he was sayingtee.” I don’t tell Nadya that it was my real name he said. She might be my closest friend, but I don’t share everything with her.

“If he was speaking Russian,Tymeansyou,” Nadya replies.

“Well, considering he’s watching me at work every night, that makes sense. What does he want with me, though?” I say frustratedly.

“Are you sure it’s just at work? You haven’t seen him anywhere other than work?” Nadya asks, looking concerned.

“No,” I insist. Though that’s not entirely the truth. I’ve had the feeling of being watched elsewhere recently, including on my way here tonight, but I haven’t seen him. I’m probably just being paranoid, so I keep that to myself.

Nadya sniffs, downing her Porn Star Martini. “Well, if you see your stalker again, you tell him to fuck off and that you’re calling the cops. You should get a gun too.”

I shake my head. “No guns,” I say forcefully.

Nadya rolls her eyes, but I’m glad she seems to be done with the conversation. “Come on, I need another drink,” she says, standing and adjusting her skin-tight dress so that it highlights her ample cleavage and curves. I’ve always been abit envious of Nadya’s shape, I’m pretty much straight up and down.

I follow her lead, wincing as I try to finish the remaining half of my drink as we walk over to the crowded bar. The hungry eyes of men undress Nadya as she walks past. She basks in the attention, swaying her hips as she walks. I’m grateful Nadya is such an extrovert, that she takes the spotlight while I’m invisible. There’s safety in the shadows. Though she does encourage me to come out of my shell sometimes, she doesn’t try to force me to be someone I’m not.

Nadya leans over the bar, resting her chest on it and giving the bartenders an eyeful of her cleavage, a tactic that works wonders for getting served quickly. Sure enough, only moments later a bartender from the other end of the bar comes over to us. Ignoring the protests of the patrons who were in line before us, he places a drink in front of us.

“From the man at the end of the bar.”

“Who?” Nadya asks, craning her head to see if the guy who got her a drink is worthy of taking home tonight.

The bartender flushes. “Sorry, he was very clear that the drink is for your friend.”

Looking a little embarrassed and taken aback, Nadya giggles to brush it off. “Of course, but who got it for her? Gotta be a good wingwoman,” she says with a wink.

The bartender smiles gratefully and points. “Just… oh. He was just there a second ago,” he says, furrowing his brow before moving on, his focus intent on Nadya. “What can I get you, beautiful?”

“Something strong and spicy,” she teases.

I zone out as they flirt, my gaze focused on the drink in front of me, a bead of liquid running down the cool glass. I take the tiniest of sips to confirm it’s a vodka soda with lemon, not lime, my drink.

How did he know?

I guess it’s not an uncommon drink, but I still feel a little unsettled. I decide I’m not going to drink it. I don’t like the idea of accepting drinks from strangers, even if I trust that it’s not been tampered with.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I shout over the music to Nadya.

“I’ll come with you,” she automatically says, never one to ignore girl code even amid a flirtation.

As we push through the crowd, a drunken man crashes into me and I lose my footing, slipping on spilled beer. Strong hands catch me securely, righting me.

“I’ve got you,” a low masculine voice murmurs, his breath close to my skin like a caress, and the hairs on the nape of my neck stand up.

To my amazement, my body responds to the feel of this stranger’s hands on me. Something in my core awakens, and when he removes his hands, I find myself feeling bereft.

“Thank you,” I say as I turn around to see who my savior is, but he’s already gone.

“Woah, he was hot! If he’d held me like that, I’d have jumped him,” Nadya exclaims.

“You saw him? Where did he go?” I ask, telling myself the only reason I’m eager to see this man is to thank him.

Nadya looks around for him and shrugs. “He was heading in the direction of the exit. Musta gone.”

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