RAYVIN: FALLING FOR THE WRONG BILLIONAIRE.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

R A Y V I N

”She alone knew that I’d never given it up—and why. “Low blow, sis,” I said without any heat. Like her, it took a lot to get me ruffled, which was one of the reasons we got through a lot over the years. Apart from that, we were as different as we could be.

Another round of tequila shooters arrived, sent by the same secret admirer who wanted to remain anonymous. It was getting creepy, but who cares. Definitely, his intention of getting us drunk was now obvious and working. We raised our glasses, then dutifully licked, pounded, and sucked the salt, lime and tequila. While other women might look at this superficially attractive gesture as romantic and then try to get to know the man with such a sense of duty, thank or even kick something off with him, I saw an impending headache and ulterior motive. Other girls got hot and bothered by their lines and pickups; I just got bothered. Thanks to alcohol, I won't even remember what happened the next day and all manner of inconsequential feeling would be gone. God bless whosoever that came up with the idea of inventing alcohol. b***h is a lifesaver.

“Don't you think you should be trying to find out your secret admirer?” Miranda asked, her gaze unsteady. She was getting drunk, and I was over drunk, how are we going to get our asses home?

“Too easy,” I said, having already sized up the potential admirers. The first guy who sat opposite our table had been constantly checking me out since we walked in. The second that sat alone at our left was occasionally smiling at me. The third one who sat with some rich-looking guys winked at me. It had to be one out of the three.

“You know who it is?”

“Nope. Just taking a wide guess. But whosoever it is, thank you and next. It is not my problem.”

“I am getting laid tonight.” She joked.

Tapping my chin. “Oh, I thought we had given up that lifestyle. And the agreement was no men.”

Between guffaws, she said, “That’s a completely unfair statement! Trying to use my words against me. I've changed my mind.”

We could laugh about it now, but I’d lived with the aftermath of her affairs: the desperate gifts, the late-night phone calls, the stalking, and the heartbreak. Usually from her side to the men. She was good at dumping men before they dumped her. And, after she had Katherine, she has only been using them and nothing more. Her main focus wasn't on the love fairy tale she once fantasized about, which didn't play out well for her because she only met the worst of men. It was on how to survive.

What was the point of all the drama? Of all that insecurity? Dating, love, and s*x were all overrated—as I’d repeatedly tried to remind myself. Not to forget the vacuum, they create when they are no longer there.

With a secretive smile, “You’re going to get blindsided one day and then your philosophy will change. Yes, it is horrible, but not with the right person. Maybe you are afraid for the first time. I only hope I’m there to see it. . . .”

Was she talking about s*x or love? Because I couldn't read the meaning of what she was trying to say. “Fine.” Exhaling with boredom—end the conversation, “till then, sister. Once it happens, I'll make sure to let you know.”

Saint joined us moments later. From the way his eyes dimmed, one could tell that he was tired.

“Are you done for the night?” Miranda asked him as soon as he found his fine ass on the high bar stool close to me.

“Yep. Tired as fuck.” Placing a small of his hand on my back, “are you ladies having a great time?”

“Yes. Thanks to you.“ I smile, and he removed his hand that was on my back, taking it to my waist and pulled me closer to him.

“I am fulfilled that an angel like you is by my side and most of all, happy,” he whispered in my ear. “Another tequila?”

I suppressed the urge to slap his hand away from my waist. Focusing on the fact that he has been nothing but kind to both of us. He wouldn't be an irresponsible jerk who wanted to take advantage of a drunk girl? He doesn't strike me as one. He is just a man who is affected by my presence. Let us leave it at that. Or else, it would be the tequila dripping from his face soon.

“Saint — are you trying to get me drunk? Because I think it’s working.” I giggled. “I think I've had enough for one night. Thank you. Me. Anonymous.”

“More drink, Rayvin!” Miranda bellowed,

“See who is taking. I thought you were kicking against the idea.”

“Not anymore. Changed my mind. She winked.

Miranda Hall, it is over! I screamed in my mind. The girl wasn't supporting us in having another drink. She just wanted Saint and I to get involved, using another round of tequila as an excuse. That would so not work. I am not going to give my sister and some stranger gang up on me.

“ Excuse me, I need to make use of the ladies,” I announced to the both of them, moving out of Saint's hold as I got down from the high stood to stand on my feet.

Whoa. Head spin. I had to grab the back of the chair. Combing lots of wine with shots of tequila, not a good idea.

I made my way to the ladies. Or, so I thought. As I staggered off through the crowd, I found myself in a quiet and cool corridor. I didn't need to use the ladies, I just wanted some space and fresh air. I had no idea what the time is but from the night sky that was visible through the transparent glass roof, I could tell that it was late, and we needed to head home.

Making sure that I got all the fresh air that I needed, I started walking back to the bar. By the time I got there, Miranda was almost dozing off.

“Hey, sis, we need to get home.” I tapped her shoulder.

“Let me drive you ladies home.” Saint offered.

My security sense kicked in. He was an overly sweet stranger. His intentions are yet unknown. It would be foolish to let him know where we stayed. What if he turns out to be some serial rapist, killer or hot-tempered dude, who was just pretending to be Miranda's friend? She said that he disappeared for a while, which means who she knew was no longer the old Saint but might be a different one. There was a possibility in my theory.

“No, thank you. We will find our way home.” I tried to lift drunk Miranda. “Again, thank you so much for the night. It was memorable.”

“Let me call you a cab and help walk Miranda to it.”

“No, thanks.” I didn't mean that answer. It was my ego speaking. I have never liked people to see me as helpless, and this situation was one of those moments. What is wrong with accepting a little help? Nothing is wrong, except you now owe them and feel grateful to them for rendering that help. I could get us home. I have to. Furthermore, I was drunk, but I handled alcohol much better than Miranda did.

I was able to lift her off the table that she was leaning into, grab her purse, slouch her arm around my neck and slowly walk us to the door.

“Good night, ma'am," the doorman bowed.

“Good night,” I replied.

Saint proved to be a gentleman by staying behind. He didn't pressurize or run after us, which I wish he did. Now I was regretting not taking him up on his offer. The alcohol was making my head spin harder than it was while we were back at the bar, and my steps were getting unsteady.