by Adeera Lake
When I walk back into the main room, wearing my tidy black uniform, the first guests have arrived. Nick looks nervous, his brow slightly furrowed, he looks around making sure everything is in place and nothing is missing. He notices me and unfolding his index finger he gestures for me to come closer.
“Ok dear, this is your first event. I’ve already explained to you what to do when we did the orientation. So, I won’t go through that again.” He smiles, waving his right in a feminine way. “But make sure everybody in here has their drinks and their foods. If you see somebody with an empty glass, ask them politely if they need some more. It’s gonna be a very easy job today.” He says, delicately brushing his manicured hand on my lower back.
“Yeah, sounds good Nick. Ok.” I smirk.
As I cross the restaurant, heading to the bar to get my tray of champagne flutes, I sense a sudden feeling of frustration. I can’t believe how my former fiancée has screwed my life. I had a dream job. I was doing what I’d always wanted since I was a teen, and I was going to be married to a man I loved. And then, out of the blue, everything was gone, and now I had to serve drinks to strangers and even be reminded to make sure everybody was happy with their thirst.
I feel my eyes getting watery, but I can’t burst right here. I just can’t. So, I clear my mind from those pessimistic thoughts, trying to envision a better future.
The room has gotten crowded. Some people are chit-chatting in small groups, while others slowly move from one picture to another, commenting the innovating art. I have to be careful now. People might not realize I’m behind them when I walk around with my small silver tray and they may suddenly turn, causing a little disaster. I make my way through the crowd, carefully walking back to the bar to refill the glasses.
And then I see him.
I wasn’t expecting that. My heart starts racing. ‘What is he doing here?’
He’s talking to the photographer, his back facing me. Even from behind he looks hot. His shoulders are much wider than his hips, and his triceps are tensed and seem to be made of solid rock. He’s wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I’ve never been a fan of tattoos and inked men, but I must confess that his tattoos make him look even sexier.
I don’t know whether I want him to see me, but I have no choice. He will sooner or later, unless I flee the restaurant right now, without any explanation, and willing to be fired, but then I think it may be an opportunity to apologize for my bitchy behavior in the gym. Not yet, though, I don’t want the photographer to know about my private life. So, I change direction and I take a broader route.
“You are doing great,” Nick whispers as he quickly passes me by.
I smirk, glad that everything is going well. I know Zac might be looking at me. I’m the one with my back to him now, and I’m waiting for a fresh tray of champagne glasses to be ready. I obviously pretend I don’t know he’s there. I start biting my thumbnail nervously – I need to stop biting my nails! – and when the tray is finally ready, I turn around and I almost stumble into him.
I gasp feeling my knees going weak.
“Hey there. I swear I didn’t come for ya.” Zac says. He chuckles, smacking his sexy lower lip.
I can’t help letting out a soft smile. I roll my eyes back and look away for an instant; then I turn to him and can’t help smiling. “Yeah, it’s funny,” I squeal, feeling my cheeks burning and my pulse increasing.
He grins staring intensively into my eyes. “I wanted to apologize. I’m sorry. That’s not me. I don’t know why I acted that way,” I tell him, lowering my eyes.
He raises an eyebrow. “It’s ok,” he says, grabbing a glass of champagne from the tray I’m holding.
“So, how did ya get the invitation for this evening?” I ask.
He takes a gulp from his glass and groans, “The Photographer. He’s a customer of mine.”
“Oh, I see. Listen, I need to go working or at least pretend I am,” I chuckle. “But if you hang around, I might talk to ya later,” I say.
He snorts, looking away and then back at me. “Hmmm… I might. But I ain’t spending the whole night here, I’ll let ya know though when I’m out.”
“Yeah ok, sounds cool. Enjoy the evening.”
I sidestep him, attentively keeping the tray balanced, and I carefully walk into the crowd.
“Hey, do you mind?” I hear someone saying. I turn, and I realize it’s the photographer. He’s most likely in his middle thirties. He’s wearing a thick pair of glasses, and his hair is long, disheveled, and curly. His body seems to be average but with a slight beer belly showing through his dark red hoodie.
I smile. “Oh, not all! Help yourself.”
“Thank you,” he says, taking a flute.
“You are very welcome,” I say before stepping forward to walk away.
“Wait, do you know Zac?” I’m sorry, I couldn’t help noticing how the two of you were talking, with a certain grade of awkwardness yet in a very intimate way.”
‘Oh my..’ Now what’s this? I suddenly wonder. “But I—“ I stammer.
“No, don’t worry, I’m not a nosy guy. I’m a photographer. An artist if ya will. And this has been pure coincidence. I’ve read his eyes while I was talking to him when suddenly his eyes have changed, and after a couple of minutes he excused himself and went talking to you.”
‘What the hell. Is he for real or what?’ I stare at him, taken aback by what he has just said.
“Don’t look at me like that, please. I don’t want to be rude, but this is really basically what I do. Did you see my pictures, taken all around the world? Well… I just wanted to tell you this. I’ve seen a beautiful thing right there. It may be raw, like a raw diamond. But it’s there.”
I blush, and I lower my eyes, biting my bottom lip.
“You see? You know what I’m talking about right? Deep inside you know. I’ve seen both of your eyes. And what do they say? “
I at him quizzically.
“They say the eyes are the mirror of the soul.”
I suddenly feel butterflies running up from my belly up to my chest. I feel embarrassed and I secretly hope Zac is not looking. “Well I…I don’t. Really I…” I sputter.
The guy grins knowingly. “I’m not gonna say more. But remember my words,” he mutters, before winking and walking away.
I stand there for a few seconds with an absent expression. ‘Damn that can’t be. I can’t. I don’t want to. What if he’s right, though?’. Nick brings me back to reality.
“Grace please go get some food-refill for the buffet. It’s in the kitchen all set to go. Thank you, sweetie!” He sings, disappearing into the crowd of people right after.
The event has probably reached its peak. I do as he said, and I rapidly go back to the bar to get rid of the tray before walking into the kitchen to get the food, and I’m slightly disappointed when I can’t see Zac anywhere.
‘He’s already gone? He said he’d say goodbye. I knew it he’s an asshole’.
I’m heading to the restaurant kitchen and I enter the narrow corridor that leads to it. It’s getting hot in here, I think. And then my eyes go blind for the split of a second as my face crashes into Zac’s upper chest.
“Oops!” He says, instinctively grabbing my waist as he walks out from the restroom.
I don’t realize who that is until I drew my head back. My vision still a little blurry. His pectorals are harder than stone! I think. “Jeez, really?” I babble.
He grins charmingly. “I can’t believe this.” He murmurs.
It’s only the two of us now. The noise from the room is muffled. My breasts are touching his torso. I look up and I feel his breath brushing my lips. My heart races and I suddenly feel wet.
He leans closer. Our lips almost connect. I can’t do this, but I can’t help it, and I slightly disclose mine. I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel like a teenager for a moment.
His full lips are about to meet mine when suddenly someon
e cuts off. “Sorry guys is this the restroom over here?” A man, blatantly under the influence, asks.
I instinctively pull away from Zac.
“Um, yeah, this door right here,” I mumble feeling my heart drumming against my ribcage.
“Thank you, ma’am!” The guy says before heading to the restroom
I suddenly realize I have to go fetch the food in the kitchen.
“Oh my Gosh, my supervisor said they need some food refill down at the buffet. Sorry I need to go!”
Zac stands still. He grins and slowly shakes his head.
I look up and our eyes lock for an intense moment before I walk into the kitchen.
Zac
I stand in the corridor just outside the restroom. I still can’t believe my fucking luck. I lean on the wall and throw my head back, smirking sarcastically.
I wasn’t planning to come to this event. But when my sister casually reminded me there was one of my clients doing an exhibit right over here, I couldn’t help thinking of Grace. I’m certainly not the type of guy who shows blatant interest to women, let alone pursuing them. But when I realized this exhibition could have been the opportunity to ‘kill two birds with one stone’ I started to get excited. I was going to go enjoy myself anyway. I love art in all its forms. But at the same time, having the chance to see Grace tantalized me.
When I see her at the bar, my heart races.
Angelo - the acclaimed photographer - is talking to me, but I’m not listening. The way she bites her thumbnail with her right elbow rested on the bar counter drives me crazy. It may seem a small detail but it I love it.
“Zac are you ok?” He asks me.
I can’t help smirking. “Yeah,” I reply without looking at him.
“You sure?” He asks quizzically.
“Yeah, listen, I need to do something, I’ll talk to ya later alright?” I tell him patting his left shoulder. But she disappeared into the kitchen. I follow her, and as she unexpectedly gets out of the kitchen’s door when we bump into each other. I feel the need to kiss her. But of course, a fucking guy materializes just at the right time!’
***
I snort, and I walk back to the bar. I’m tempted to get a drink but I’m quite annoyed, so without even saying goodbye to Angelo, I walk directly to the exit.
“Fuck that!” I’ve never had to wait so much to kiss a girl. Why in the hell is this whole thing taking so long? I wonder, waving my hand to a yellow cab, which abruptly stops making a squealing noise with its tires.
“Where to Sir?”
“Meatpacking.” I groan.
I want to get buzzed and I decide to end up the evening into one of my favorite bars. The place is packed and most of the crowd is already under the influence.
As I walk to the counter, the corner of my eye catches a couple of hot chicks gauging me out. I sit in the only available spot at the counter and I get a beer. I realize right away that I’m not in the mood to have fun.
Grace is the only Girl I can think of now. I finish my beer in one gulp and I walk out. The night is clear. I take a deep breath and I start walking home.
‘What’s wrong with me?’
I’ve never felt like this for a girl since I was sixteen. Only a few days ago I’d have stayed at that bar and I’d have gotten the two hot girls with the snap of a finger. I’d have brought them home after a few drinks and played with them until they would have ended up begging for more.
But tonight… Tonight I don’t care. I feel nauseated just by thinking about other girls. I only want one. I want Grace.
I want to make her mine. I want to claim her and make her scream my name.
‘But why? What’s happening to me? I don’t even know her so well to crave her like that! Why do I want her so bad?’
Suddenly I’m scared, and I hate myself for that.
‘Damn it!’
10
Zac
“Have a good night Mr. Byron.” Says the night concierge as I walk into the building.
I grunt barely nodding at him, but when I reach the elevator I turn, and I step back. “Actually, can you do me a favor?”
He seems absorbed in his thoughts and he’s taken aback when he hears my voice. He quickly looks up and his eyes widen.
“Yes Sir, anything!” He blurts getting up from his chair.
In the back of my mind, I notice he’s quite tall and he seems proud of his gray uniform adorned with fake gold buttons.
“You know Miss Lords, right? She moved here last week or something.” I tell him.
“Oh, sure Sir, I know her alright,” He says smiling. His forehead half covered by the hat’s hard shiny visor. His face is puffy and round, and his reddish cheeks are in contrast with his pale skin. I’ve never really paid attention to him, and I don’t even remember his name, but I recall Grace calling him the morning I ran into her.
“Ok cool. So, when she gets back tell her she can come up if she was wondering where I was. She’ll know what I’m talking about. I’m on the top floor. You know that right?”
“Certainly! I’ll tell her Sir.” He smiles.
“Thanks.”
“Anytime Sir.”
In my penthouse, I turn on the heating under the wood floor, and I walk barefoot, enjoying the warm pleasant sensation. I grab a cold beer from the large silver refrigerator and I take a frozen pizza out of the freezer. Lazily I unwrap it and place it in the oven. I don’t like microwaves. I actually hate them. In fact, to me, microwaved foods have the same artificial flavor and a weird and very soft texture, which I don’t like at all.
I prepare the floor for my painting, which is a passion of mine. I work on it adopting a dripping technique. It’s a very quick approach to art, and it doesn’t require too much to get the work done. The idea is to use momentum and sudden inspiration. Before starting I quickly undress and I work naked to avoid getting my clothes dirty and messy with colors.
As soon as I’m done the oven dings. It took me a few minutes to intensely express what I felt and put it on a white canvas. My breath is catching, and parts of my body are dirty with colors. I wipe out my bare soles with a worn-out piece of cloth and I stomp on the wood floor to eat my late evening supper.
I stare at my work from the open floor kitchen. I’m not satisfied with it. Something is missing. However, I gulp my beer down and I go take a shower.
When I’m done I wear a fresh pair of jeans, and shirtless, I grab the painting from the floor and roll it into a tube, laying it in a corner beside the couch, amongst many others.
With another beer in my hand, I lay on the white leather sofa, wondering if she will really come knock on my door.
***
A high pitch scream wakes me up. I look around as I blink to adjust my vision. My mouth is dry, and my tongue is swollen. There’s a horror movie on TV and the volume is too high.
‘Fuck this shit!’
It’s five o’clock in the morning and several empty beer bottles lay on the steel and glass coffee table. Only now do I recall drinking them all before falling asleep on the couch. I was waiting for Grace but as I figured in the first place, she didn’t show up. Well, fuck it. I’m not going to die because of that, I think as I stroll barefoot toward my bedroom after having turned the TV and the lights off in the living room area.
‘She might have been tired or whatever.’
Yet, I can’t keep her face out of my mind. I can’t help thinking of her delicate lips, so close to mine that I could feel her warm breath washing over my chin.
I crave her. I need her flesh. I want to inhale her scent deeply and make her mine.
11
Grace
When I get out of the kitchen, Zac is gone.
Absentmindedly, I make my way through the crowd, carrying the food cart.
I’m still elaborating what has just happened. We almost kiss!
‘Jeez!’
I know I’ve promised I’d never be interested in a guy for the rest of my life. But perhaps that
oath was dictated by my broken heart rather than by my rationality.
‘Perhaps Lisa was right. I should risk and take the plunge. She must be right, they can’t be all idiots and cheaters. But I’m frightened.’
I’m glad we didn’t kiss after all. Yet, I can’t get that moment out of my mind.
Feeling his hands on my hips. The strength of his muscles. His manly scent. The warmth of his breath. His full sexy lips almost touching mine. All of this, drives me nuts. I suddenly realize that as much as I want to avoid the attraction I feel for Zac, I can’t escape from that.
Then again, I start getting paranoid and scared. Why did he leave after that? Did he regret having tried to kiss me? Is he just another jerk that’s only trying to get me laid?
‘My Gosh, I’ve never been this torn and confused, and it’s very frustrating.
The only thing I know for sure is I don’t want to risk start having feelings for a man I had sex with and be abandoned or betrayed again. That would hurt too much.
Am I going to be able to satisfy my physical needs without getting sentimentally involved? Shit, I don’t know. I’m not a slut.
Or a man.’
The evening went by fast and when Nick closes the restaurant, we work hard to set the tables back in their usual spots. We are almost done and albeit being tired, the atmosphere is more relaxed. Nick approaches me from behind and whispers, “Was that the guy who was here a few days ago with his friends you were talking to earlier at the bar?”
I turn letting out a half grin.
“Oh my God I knew it,” he says. “He’s a hottie but watch out darling! He looks like a smartass if you know what I mean.” He mutters, looking left and then right.
“Don’t worry Nick. I’m not stupid.” I reply.
“Yeah, Gracie I know. I’m just saying. This city can be tough, you know?” He mumbles singly.