I let a laugh escape, and I see him almost smirk. He couldn't have heard her though. I have to stop looking at him. It's so hard to do when he's right there, his ruthlessly sexy body right in my line of view.
"Let's go dance. I'll drink on the way down," I murmur distractedly.
I pray I drink enough to forgot this ever happened. I'll gladly expel my memories tonight. No matter how ungraceful or how undignified hugging a toilet might seem, it'll leave me with more self-respect than his brutal rejection did.
Clara takes my hand as our group starts descending the intimidating staircase that feels to be wobbling beneath my inebriated body which is stilted by the absurd extra inches. My hand grasps firmly to the railing in order to hold myself steady, given the fact I'm not used to wearing heels.
I'm happy when I feel the level floor beneath me, though it too feels as though it's moving. As soon as my body starts swaying to the music, I feel alien hands resting on my hips. I turn to meet a guy who is eye level with me, and he's smiling with a seductive grin that's not seducing me in the least.
I pull his hands off of me and dismiss him with a wave of my hand. I roll my eyes and resume my dance with Clara. She starts laughing against the deafening music when a new set of hands find their way around my waist, and I can feel someone's body pressed against mine from behind.
I remove myself from the clutches of the latest wolf and pull Clara with me.
She yells loudly, "See. I told you that guy has to be gay. These men can't stay away from the sexy Alexius Smith."
I laugh a little at her incorrigible efforts to rebuild my confidence. I keep rebuffing the attempts of the numerous men trying to weasel their way into a dance with me. They always want what they can't have. That's where I went wrong with Mr. Business Suit. No man wants a girl who wants them because they're fucking assholes like that. I knew better, but Alexius didn't. Poor girl had to learn the hard way.
"You're hot," a drunk guy yells in my ear.
The alcohol on his breath is strong enough to get a sober bystander drunk. Holy crap.
Clara laughs louder, and then an old, familiar song starts playing. I can see the excitement budding in her eyes, and I immediately start backing up.
"Hell no," I object to her silent question.
"Please. It's been so long. I need this," she pleads in a whiny, childlike tone.
"No. I'm not doing our eighth grade, made-up dance in a New York club. It was bad back then, and now it would just be pathetic. I can't believe they're even playing this old song."
"I asked them to. Please dance with me. We're never going to see these people again," she whimpers while pouting her lips.
I start laughing a little as I point to my shoes.
"I can barely walk in these. There's no way."
She pulls off her shoes and hands them to Melissa. She motions for me to do the same, and I follow her lead with my begrudged, defeated motion. It's her weekend. It's not as though I haven't already suffered through one humiliation. At least this one will make Clara happy.
She makes a clearing on the dance floor, and we wait for our beat. Our feet start mimicking the old dance steps we taught ourselves so long ago, and I laugh with each turn and twist. Everyone is clapping as we chuckle our way through our silly moves.
When the song ends, we take a bow to the crowd who are drunk enough to applaud our sad little number. But a big, brawny man stalks toward us with a very disapproving gaze.
"You have to wear shoes. It's dress code," he adamantly admonishes.
Clara and I both giggle like embarrassed children from our scolding as we pull our heels back on.
"Oops," she mutters.
I laugh a little more until a new guy drapes his arm across my shoulders.
"You're a good dancer," he yells.
Oh good grief. "No thanks," I say loudly, my voice barely audible over the music.
"I didn't ask anything," he says with a puzzled gaze.
"No, but you're leading up to it. I'm saving you some time."
Brazen or bitchy? I'm not sure.
"You're a bitch," he says while glaring at me.
Apparently he thought it was more bitchy than brazen. I can deal with that. I've been called worse.
"Yes I am. Yet another reason you should find someone else to bug."
He drops his arm and towers over me threateningly. I'm not used to someone getting this pissed in such a crowded place. I might have finally crossed a line.
Clara yells, "Get lost. We don't want any trouble. We're just trying to enjoy our night."
His eyes reveal a stone-cold glare, one he refuses to relinquish. Alcohol and anger... not good. I should have known better.
"So am I. Your bitch friend thinks she's too damn good to even speak to me."
The music tapers off as the sound system starts playing a lower, slower song.
"That's because she is," a new voice interjects.
I swallow hard when I see Devin staring down at the guy who's accosting me. He steps between the guy and me before speaking again.
"She's with me. If you have a problem with that, then you need to deal with me, not her. Got it?" Devin growls.
His voice is so much sexier when it's being protective rather than cold and dismissive. Why is he doing this though?
The other guy throws his hands up in surrender. "Sorry dude. Didn't know."
He skulks off, and Clara abandons my side as Devin turns to meet my eyes.
"You okay?" he asks without having to yell over the softer music.
"Yeah. Thanks," I mumble with a touch of humiliation still lingering in my tone.
"I'm Devin Cole."
His hand extends to shake mine, and I warily proffer my hand. His touch is so... mmm. The glass in his hand carries a dark, amber liquid, but he doesn't seem to be affected by its toxin. His eyes are expectant as his hand holds onto mine. I finally end the suspense with a lie.
"I'm Alexius Smith."
He smirks slightly, revealing a peek of his perfect teeth. I wiggle free from the heated grip of his hand and try to wipe the tempting tingles off.
"Sorry about earlier, I was a little distracted. I thought you were... different," he says vaguely, his head tilting for a moment before straightening back up.
I shrug and try to sound casually unaffected when I say, "It's okay. I need to get back to my friends."
I start to turn, but his hand catches mine.
"Stay. Dance with me. Let's convince the army of men chasing after you that you really are taken."
My breathing hitches slightly from the unexpected touch. I slowly raise my eyes to meet his, and I very nearly dissolve under his smoldering stare.
"You made me feel like a complete fool earlier. I believe you said you weren’t interested. Thank you for the help, but I really do need to go," I mumble.
He doesn't let go though, and with every passing second, my strength wavers.
"I said I was sorry about that. I changed my mind," he says with a fiery, low tone.
I seize the opportunity for a little payback.
"What a coincidence. So did I," I smugly reply.
He doesn't seem humiliated by my rejection though. His eyes spark like he's the predator now.
"We'll see about changing your mind back then," he says with a low, tempting growl.
I shiver slightly when his arm gently grazes against mine as he passes by me, casually sipping his drink as he does so. I smile once I know he can't see me, and I wipe it from my face before I go to rejoin the girls.
"What the crap are you doing? He's totally hot for you. Go get him," Clara scolds while trying to usher me away.
I laugh a little at her overreaction.
"He likes the chase, not me. Now that I've made it harder, he's suddenly interested. I'm not into the whole charade personally. I like simplicity, and I'm not going to waste time with my best friend to endeavor on a fruitless journey."
"I think it's a fruit-filled journey. Go get you som
e. That man is ripe for the picking. Please don't let me down."
I roll my eyes while murmuring, "Let's go back to the quieter part. The music is picking back up, and it's getting more crowded now."
She drops her shoulders, but cedes to my request. The other girls are giggling at my close encounter with Mr. Piping Hot. He's nothing but trouble in a designer suit. He's just a well disguised jerk, The kind of jerk a girl ends up drowning herself in a tub of ice cream over once the thrill of the chase ends.
We sit down at the table, and a waitress rushes over to us to bring us a flashy bottle of expensive champagne.
"Wow. Henry is definitely making sure you enjoy every minute," I gush to Clara.
"Ms. Smith?" the waitress asks.
That's my fake last name. It's for me?
Clara's eyes teem with intrigue and approval as I look back toward the waitress.
"That's me," I lie.
"This is from Mr. Cole. He said to make sure your table's tab goes to him for the rest of the night, and he requested my services be solely focused on you. Here's a bottle of champagne, courtesy of him."
Oh drat. Trouble just invaded my night against my will.
"Well," Melissa snarks bitterly. "How in the world did you manage that?"
I shrug. "Beats the hell out of me. I turned him down as punishment for his rudeness earlier."
My eyes dart around the room, but I don't see him anywhere.
"Well this night just got interesting," Clara beams, sipping her glass of champagne while offering me an appraising glance.
I slump a little in my seat as a large platter of chocolate covered strawberries is brought to us. There's a note in the middle of the platter addressed to "Alexius Smith." I warily pull it open and read it.
Has your mind changed yet?
I smile reflexively and quickly check the room, but I still don't see him. I sigh a little before writing under his text on the card.
No, but thank you for the strawberries and booze. Perhaps you're too fond of the chase.
I hand the waitress the card, and she smirks as she reads the front. I scratched out "Alexius Smith" and changed it to "Mr. Loves The Chase."
She disappears from the room, and I try to assess where she is going. She seems to disappear behind a crowd of men, and I lose her behind the flock. Clara interrupts my silent search.
"Well, I'm impressed," she laughs.
"I'm not," I fib.
We finish the strawberries, and the waitress returns to clear the plate while handing me a new card. She's smiling ear to ear as I read the addressed name.
Miss Hot And Cold.
I let out a bit of a laugh as I open it.
I realize my hasty rejection to your earlier advance has possibly wounded your ego, but I can assure you it was not attributed to anything other than your brazen approach. I misjudged you, and now I'm filled with regret. Contrary to your accusation, I'm not overly fond of chases. I prefer simplicity in everything. Please reconsider, or I'll be forced to go against my grain and continue to chase you.
I shiver a little against the overwhelming temptation. Then a sigh escapes as I grab a napkin to write a reply on. He didn't leave any room on this small card for me to counter.
Mr. Lost Opportunity,
It took a great deal of courage for me to put myself out there with what you call my "brazen approach." Your cruel rejection did wound my ego, and it embarrassed the hell out of me. There was simplicity in my obvious intentions, but you rejected it. The moment I showed you the same indifference you shared with me, you began this little "chase." It's obvious the chase is you're end goal, not me. The door closed the moment you slammed it in my face. I don't believe in second chances.
I hesitate for a moment, questioning my resolve. This will certainly end our little flirty exchange, but I don't need this much drama with a complete stranger. I'm going home tomorrow, and I certainly don't need to be sucked in by someone as hot as he is.
I hand the folded napkin to the waitress, and she disappears once more. I instantly regret completely killing the possibility, but I know it's for the best.
He said he misjudged me, but he never said why he changed his mind. Why didn't I ask? Why does it matter?
We sit at our table without further interruption from the notes, and the later it gets, the more crowded the club becomes. Things seem to work opposite here than back home. By midnight in Frankford, the party is almost over. Here, it's just getting started.
Clara slurps against her ice as she finishes her drink.
"I'm drunk and ready to go. Let's find something else to do," she slurs, amusing me quite a bit. I love drunk Clara.
I've essentially quit drinking and sobered up slightly.
"Something else? Like what?"
"Like... find a pancake house. I'm starving," she grumbles.
I laugh wildly as the image of our limo pulling up to a pancake house flashes through my mind.
"It's your night. Let's do it."
She smiles happily, and I help her to her feet. A twinge of disappointment invades me as I think of the man I've rejected and will never see again, but I shake free from the uninvited distraction.
We cautiously make our way down the steps, and Clara wobbles to the point I can no longer hold her. My off-balanced stance threatens to send both of us in a downward tumble.
The other girls are too far ahead, and I can't hold Clara another second. We start to tip, but strong arms wrap around me and pull both of us back to safety. I turn to see Devin staring fearlessly into my eyes, and now I'm wobbly for a whole new reason. He gently releases us once we're upright again, but his eyes still hold mine.
Clara smiles with her drunken beam, and then her head drops to rest on my shoulder as her body goes limp. She has passed the fuck out, and I'm feeling the strain of her weight pulling me in a tipping motion once more.
Devin scoops her up and relieves me of the impending tilt. He starts walking down the steps without saying a word. My heart is about to pound out of my chest, and I feel sick - so, so sick.
The bouncer opens the door for us, and the limo driver is holding the door to the car as we walk out.
"Oh, what happened?" Melissa gasps when she sees the limp body of Clara sprawled out in Devin's arms.
"She passed out," I mumble softly.
Melissa starts tossing her hair in an effort to lure Devin's attention. I roll my eyes at her obvious attempt, but he doesn't seem to pay her the attention she craves.
He lowers Clara to a seat and then pops back out. I start to get in, but he catches my arm and pulls me back. Then he leans in to speak to the girls.
"I'll carry Ms. Smith home. Can you ladies handle this one?" he asks while pointing to Clara.
Whoa. Wait. Carry me home? Who gave him permission to do that?
"We'll take care of her," Sarah chimes in. "Have fun," she yells as he shuts the door.
I scowl as I scold, "I never said I would go with you."
The limo pulls out into traffic, and Devin smirks at me.
"Well, it appears you have no choice now."
I cross my arms in protest and start walking away.
"You obviously don't live in New York. It's not safe for you to be dressed like that, walking in those heels, and going off alone. Please let me give you a ride," he says softly.
He's right. I don't know the first thing about maneuvering around New York by myself. I huff in defeat as he hands a man a ticket. The guy disappears, and Devin returns to my side.
"Your words were rather cutting. Perhaps now we can consider us even. I've only rejected you once, but you've rejected me three times now. Do you think it possible for us to start over?"
His soft tone is so alluring, inviting, and almost irresistible.
"Why did you change your mind?" I ask, my arms sliding out of their pouting cross.
"I thought you were the typical sort of woman who approaches a man in a bar. Most want free drinks, a fat wallet, and a night of ease. Then I
saw you consistently refusing one advance after another. I thought you were beautiful, so I continued to watch. I finally decided to come make amends just as the jerk you were tousling with was running his mouth. I got a little pissed with some of the things he said. I'm rather proud of myself for not having punched him."
I calm down a little and let myself relax while trying not to get turned on by his sexy demeanor. He proffers his introductory hand once more.
"I'm Devin Cole. It's nice to meet you."
I smile a little despite my attempts to restrain it. I place my shaky hand in his, and follow his playful new start.
"I'm Aphr... Alexius Smith," I falter.
He starts to question my response, when a black, convertible Mercedes pulls up.
"Mr. Cole," the man says.
"Thank you," Devin replies.
The valet quickly goes to open my door, but Devin dismisses him as he opens it for me instead. He smiles at me when our eyes meet, and I can feel the blushing rose filling my cheeks.
I sit down and stare up at the brilliantly lit sky. The door to the driver's side closes, and I look over to see him checking for a gap in traffic.
"Don't you need to ask where I'm staying?"
He smirks as he pulls away from the curb while murmuring, "Not yet. Right now I'm hungry, and I can only assume you are too."
Not anymore. Now I'm a little nervous. I'm in a car with a complete stranger, and no one from my group even gives a damn.
"Not particularly," I mumble.
"I can promise I'm no threat. I simply want to feed you. Relax."
No serial killer ever warns his victims he's about to kill them. Why should I relax?
"Where are we going?" I ask timidly.
"There's a diner just ahead. It's a small, intimate space with good food and a quiet atmosphere. My head is still banging from the obnoxious music back at the club."
His nose wrinkles up, and I can see the distaste for the loud scene we've just exited.
"Why did you go if you hated it?" I question with a touch of humor.
"I had a business meeting, and for some absurd reason, Bob thought it would be good to meet there."
"That was a long business meeting," I add.
"Actually, it was short. We just had a few wrinkles to iron out, and then he left about an hour later."
Immortal Dreams Page 46