THE NIGHT WE MET
2109 Words
JAYDEN
"You heartbroken and trying to drown memories of some wuss you call an ex?" I ask the lovely brunette at the bar.
I'd observed her a while ago, smiling at the bartender, who kept handing her different drinks. My resolve to walk over was solidified when I watched her request the third bottle, if I counted correctly, and she even dared to request another upon my arrival. What the f**k?
She looks up at me, bewildered, and I'm not sure if it's because of the amount of alcohol in her system or because of my arrogance. Her drink is in my palm, and I'm half-tempted to down every last drop to anger her even more.
I'd come into this club tonight wanting to discover paradise at the bottom of bottle number five or perhaps on the dance floor. I saw her while searching the club and deciding how long I would last. The strange girl in the black dress contrasting with her olive skin's glossy look. Now that I’m much closer to her, I can appreciate her elegant beauty.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I ignore it. Since revealing his big news—one he’s so excited about, my father has been blowing up my phone. He’d even demanded to see me when I return to Miami, but I don’t think I’d make that sullen trip.
I’m here in Los Angeles for a school research trip, and I’ll be done by tomorrow. Realizing that I have to return to Miami, where I can run into my father anytime, fills me with dread. But I have no choice.
I wouldn't say I liked seeing that man, and ever since he told me about his new family expansion plan, I haven't been able to think clearly. To say we are worlds apart is an understatement. There is little to no communication between my father and me, and whenever I have the opportunity, I leave home – that’s if I even have one. I don't know the man he's becoming, nor does he know me, and yet here he is, making a life-changing decision for both of us. Yes, this is his wedding, but it affects me as well. It affects my sick mother and—f**k!
Just thinking about it sours my mood instantly, and I can feel my anger returning. I stamp it down.
Back to the present—I shake my head and dismiss the strange thoughts piling in my head. Instead, I focus on the petite beauty still glaring at me.
The club's blue-green-orange strobe lighting plays matchmaker with her eyes, and the irises change color depending on the angle with which she tilts her head as she eyes me. Long, dark lashes frame her almond-shaped eyes, giving them a smoky appearance that contributes to the air of mystery she exudes. I've seen some stunning women, but none like this.
There's something about her that captivates me—pulling and taunting me. I want to know more about her and have her grace my bed. Not necessarily my bed, but I know I must have a taste of her. No matter what it takes.
My gaze wanders over her hot as f**k figure, and the little dress she's wearing embraces her curves in all the right places. Even without touching her, I can imagine how well my hand would fit in the grooves of her bosom and waist. Her hips are broad and lush—sexy. She's wearing f**k me heels, and while the club lights shine squarely on her, I can't tell what color they are. I'm hoping they're red - to complement the color of her full lips.
"I..." She begins to say, and my gaze immediately returns to her face. Our gazes lock, and she falls silent once more.
I smile and wave the bottle I took from her earlier in front of her face. She blinks as if surprised and reaches for it, but I stop her. All I have to do is raise my hand slightly, and she gets irritated.
"Give it to me!" She practically demands.
"Uh-uh. Not until you tell me what's causing you to spiral like this." I take a step forward, and she takes another back. If we continue this, I'll be caging her on the bar counter.
"Are you always this rude, or is this just an icebreaker?" She hisses as she inquires, and I only shrug.
Silence falls between us again, and I believe she has given up battling me because her shoulders drop an inch lower. She speaks up. “I just found out my mother is remarrying, and as if that isn't bad enough, the dude whose identity I know nothing of has good taste."
“Good taste?" I raise my brows.
"Yeah. He bought her an expensive as f**k ring. Remember the ring you saw on my phone? That’s it.”
“Oh.”
"Yeah. I mean, an ugly-looking ring would have made me hate him even more. I would have pitched him as an uncaring man, but oh my goodness, he just had to do the bare maximum.” She babbles, rolling her eyes in a way I find cute.
"Oh, I understand.” I tell her sincerely. "It's strange how I'm also in the same predicament, and I haven't been able to get over the anger since I got the news."
I pull out a stool next to her on the counter and sit.
Her eyes widen with amazement. "Are you serious now, or are you joking?"
"I'm not."
"Change can be such a scary thing to process, especially if it’s something as huge as getting a stepmom or a stepdad…" She pauses and then inquires. "So, who's getting hitched? Your mom or dad?”
"Sorry?"
"Is your mother getting married or...?"
I stiffen at the mention of my mother, and my earlier pain and anguish return. "I don't want to talk about it.” I spit out, and my words sound harsher than I intended.
The girl purses her lips and nods, but I can tell that my blunt retort has hurt her. We both return to silence while she adjusts herself on the stool. I'm momentarily taken aback by the sudden shift of her creamy thighs, and before I know it, she grabs the bottle I'd seized in a huff.
"Well, since you're not willing to share your story, I might as well go back to drowning mine in alcohol."
Her remarks aren't that amusing, but I burst out laughing. A rich, hearty sound I haven’t heard in a long time. It's bizarre but strangely reassuring. I feel comfortable and at ease with this young lady—this, I realize.
I don't waste time thinking about it before grabbing the bottle from her grip again.
"If you're going to drink, at least get a good grip on the bottle.” I joke before slamming the bottle down and grabbing her hand in mine.
Her palm rests softly on mine, and I sense a spark between us. When I glance at her, she has that dazed expression again, and her lashes flutter shyly.
"What are you doing?" I smirk as she stammers out the question.
"Come with me," I say softly, drawing her close to my chest.
I drag her to the dance floor and clear a route for her to follow while shoving some gyrating bodies out of the way.
"What are you up to?" She inquires again, and I respond curtly. "Just follow my lead."
"You want us to dance?”
“Uh-huh.”
“But I'm a terrible dancer.” She grumbles, and I smile.
When we reach a clean area, I spin her to my front. I put my hand around her waist, squeezing her and stopping any amusing attempts at running she might make.
"Just follow my lead.” I urge again, this time leaning close to her ears. “You, like me, want to bury your problems and sorrows. We'd do it with dancing, not some bad-tasting alcoholic drink."
She laughs, and the sound affects me. Weird, weird.
“How did you learn how to dance?”
We're moving slowly, and she's imitating every step I take. She misses a few, but it's still something.
"I think I was born with the rare talent."
"Rare talent?" She laughs again. "You say that in a room surrounded by moving bodies."
"Oh, please." I scoff. "Half the people in this room are doing exactly what you are doing.”
"And what exactly is that?"
"Following my lead," I boast, a smug smirk on my face. "Seriously though, dancing is second nature.”
"What else are you a natural at?”
I'm tempted to say something flirtatious—like how I’d f**k her so hard her legs would shake the morning after, but I hold my breath. I say instead. "Writing and drawing."
"Oh really?" She inquires, astonished. "I enjoy writing as well. What is your preferred genre?"
"I dabble in a variety of things. But I'm mostly into graphic literature. In my spare time, I assist a friend to illustrate her tween books."
"Really? Who is that?”
"Her name's Lana Shaw, but in the fictional world, she goes by Swanky Tales."
"Swanky! Oh, my goodness, Swanky! I read a lot of her work. Even though I'm about ten years older than her intended audience."
That makes me giggle. Even though I'm Lana's illustrator and must read her writings to obtain her drawings, I still enjoy looking at them. So I assure the hot stranger who enjoys reading tween fiction that she doesn’t have to feel ashamed.
Aside from books, the girl is not particularly interested in anything else. Oh, she mentions that she gets her writing ideas while listening to music. Alternative & indie precisely.
"I was the lead guitarist for a boy band once." I confess. Her eyes widen with delight. "Now, you’ve got to be kidding me, but really? Which one?”
"The one in my head," I say, and she bursts out into another full-blown laughter that has her doubling over.
I love the sound of her giggles. And the way her face morphs into another entire thing when she laughs. An ethereal look, and I decide to keep creating stupid jokes just to see and hear her laugh.
The tempo of the beat gradually increases, and I change my steps to keep up. She follows suit, and for someone who claims not to like dancing, she’s doing pretty well. Her body sways effortlessly and seductively to the song's rhythm.
"Well, well, miss s**t-dancer, look at you. When did you get so skilled?"
She shoved my arm playfully. “I'm not Miss s**t-dancer."
"Well, I don't know that, seeing as you've refused to give me a name."
"You never asked."
"Jayden doesn't ask.”
"You wish.” She scoffs, and I laugh.
"So you are, Jayden."
"Yeah. I am Jayden."
"Nice. I’m Freya."
"Freya." I test her name out, and it sounds lovely on my tongue.
"Yeah.” She laughs and swirls such that her back is to me, and she’s rubbing her booty against my groin. It's her most daring move all night, and I'm astonished, but f**k if I don’t like it.
She tries to turn around and face me, but someone blocks her path, and she stumbles on the tip of her heels. Before she hits the ground, I grab her around the waist.
There goes again…the time when our gazes will lock for split seconds, and we both freeze. The music slows down, and at this moment, there's no one around us. It’s just me and her—this lovely stranger who has tangled my night.
We are only connected by our eyes and bodies. And the hunger within me grows so strong that I can no longer contain it. I draw her in closer.
I'm touching and stroking her. My hands are on her waist, but it's not enough. I want more. I need more. I need to taste her. I need to feel her lush crimson lips on mine.
Her body trembles, and her lips slightly open. Her cheeks are pinkly flushed. And her eyes, the magnificent green irises, look straight into mine as if looking for something. Something that only I can provide.
The look she gives me is so frail and hungry that I'm worried I'll break her in two if I stare too long.
"Oh, s**t, Freya.” I mutter before pressing my lips against hers. And in that one second, the entire world comes to a halt. "f**k! f**k!”
- Writer
