The Other Side of Love

Chapter 2

Stefan

    My gaze is drawn to her. Christian and Lion are saying something, their opinions on the Chief favouring older and more seasoned detectives discriminately perhaps, but their voices fade in and out like a badly tuned television.

    She sits with her friend in a corner, unaware of the attentive audience she and her friend have garnered all around the pub, talking and laughing with abandon.

    Annabel Smith, famous singer and America's sweetheart. I wonder if she thinks she's fooling anyone with her half-hearted disguise, ridiculous shades that take up nearly her entire face. I glance around at the admiring faces and see noone is on the verge of sticking a note into her face for an autograph and admit her disguise might have worked for most.

    "Bro, are you even listening to what I'm saying?" Lion asks me. He twists around to follow my gaze and runs a hand over his mouth. "Oh. I wouldn't be listening to me either."

    I drag my gaze from her reluctantly, much like a favourite show you're afraid you'll miss something important the minute you look away. I wonder at my reaction. I've seen her a thousand times on screen. But never in the flesh. My mind provides helpfully.

    She is much more in the flesh. More attractive, more magnetic, more alive. She radiates a smooth confidence that draws you in, somehow not giving way to arrogance. She is a well-known diva and yet seeing her now, there is something innocent about her too. Something guileless and genuine that draws you in, makes you look once and keep on looking.

    I scoff at my thoughts. Turning to my friends, I resolve to keep her out of mind. She has thousands of fans and admirers. She doesn't need an uncouth premature one.

    "You should go for her. She is totally my type. If you won't pick her up I just might." Christian teases me. I scowl at them both and down my glass. I refill it halfway and relax back against my seat.

    "You were saying something about Chief." I prompt them.

    "He went over Hunter. Everyone knew the new case was his chance to prove himself. After how long he's been waiting for a chance ever since botching his first mission, you'd think Chief would let him close this one. He gave Thompson. He's cracked so many cases he's a f**king legend. This was child's play for him." Lion wastes no time voicing his irritation.

    "The Chief is getting old. Weary of taking risks. He wants assurance that every publicised case is closed swiftly and decisively." I say. I don't mind the extra work but I sympathize with the younger detectives nevertheless.

    "And that's the problem. The police have turned to a damn political web." Christian says with a frown. His dad is a politician and he has zero tolerance for the lot.

    Lion is saying something but my attention is drawn to her corner again. She laughs at something her friend says. I can see her eyes dancing even from here and her mouth is curled with mischief. She is glorious.

    A few moments later her eyes trail to my corner and fasten on me. I cannot see her eyes but I feel them boring into mine. There's a buzz in my ear and my skin feels electric, like I'm awakening. I hold her eyes, enjoying this silent battle of wills and she doesn't relent, raising her glass and slowly taking a sip, her tongue flicking out to lick an errant drop. I feel alight and light-headed, the feeling akin to taking bottles of my strongest spirit. There is no mistaking the reciprocating interest in her body. I smile, anticipating her next reaction.

    My friends are quiet and I look to find them staring at me open-mouthed. I am aware this is not normal behaviour for me. My friends from the department speculate whether I am gay or asexual because of my tunnel focus on a case. I let no distractions into my workspace. Being my closest friends, Lion and Christian know I am very straight but I don't actively chase any woman. Witnessing my focus and distraction with Annabel Smith must be very alien.

    "What?" I grumble. "You two should mind your damn business."

    "Holy s**t, Holloway. I could take a bite out of the s****l tension between you too. I reckon the whole f**king pub can feel it." Lion swats at his arm as if cobwebs were clinging to them.

    I look at Christian and he is rubbing his arms.

    "I got goosebumps man." He says, faking a shiver.

    "We should order your clown wigs." I say, and punch his arm.

    Ignoring my friends, I lean back and focus on her again. I find a man is at their table now and I stiffen. I relax back when I see his attention fixed on her friend, not on her and don't linger too much on the last two seconds of my crazy reactions. Her eyes are fair twinkling and her friend looks like she's considering stabbing someone while the man looks down at them, amused. Soon, the man is sitting at their table and it's obvious that it was thoroughly engineered by her.

    And then she's looking over. Our gazes clash. She stands slowly, her gown rustling to the ground in soft waves and makes her way across the room towards my table. I quickly mask my admiration and surprise. One's got to love a woman that chases what she wants. My friends turn to see her approaching and Christian's voice dies down. And then she's at our table, every inch of her dripping with entitlement and seduction. Her efforts humble me. She can have anyone she wants in this room twisted around her little finger and yet she's here. At my table, eyes only on me. I am humbled but I will not make this easy for her. Everything in her life is easy enough.

     ..............................................................

    "Well, you know me. Who are you." Her voice is flat and she seems to have forgotten she came here with the aim of seducing me. Her legs are crossed, showcasing long legs but she leans away from me in irritation. She drains her glass again.

    "I told you. That sh*t is strong. Slow down before you poison yourself." I say. Who knew America's sweetheart was so stubborn and foolhardy.

    She glares at me, pointledly refilling it again. "Your concern is noted. Name."

    I consider ignoring the command but decide to humour her for now. "Stefan Holloway."

    "Stefan." She rolls the name on her tongue then straightens, getting back her bearings. "So tell me Stefan, are you usually so contrary or is the honour reserved specially for me?" She regains the purr in her voice and leans forward. Her scent wafts to my nostrils, teasing and tantalizing and my eyes are drawn to the cleavage she's deliberately showcasing before I snap them back up to meet her amused eyes.

    "Far from it, I'm not contrary at all. You just prefer to leap straight to jumping people's bones while I prefer to take my time to know who I'm jumping instead." That's a lie. I'm the 'poster it' man for leaping straight to jumping people's bones and I don't like pointless talks. I feel all types of fool for not taking up her blatant offer instantly but there's something drawing me back. Something that compels me to learn as much as I can about this woman before she goes up in smoke like a poorly conducted dream.

    "Why are you in San Francisco?" I ask her.

    She raises a brow. "You are probably the only person in the entire city that doesn't know of the show tomorrow. I'm performing in it."

    Now that she mentions it, I remember Nika restlessly fluttering around her room this morning. She must have been excited about the show.

    "Oh. Is this standard activity a night before your performance? Hitting a pub and getting wasted?" I ask her.

    "Well, considering there's only one celebrity at this table," she says, leaning closer, "and the one celebrity is me, I say yes, this is very standard procedure before a performance. Recommended even."

    "I'd think you'd be in a studio somewhere. Practising at the top of your lungs. Wouldn't want to disappoint the thousands of fans paying little fortunes to hear you sing." I enjoy goading her. The way she narrows her eyes in irritation, the way she flicks her hair over a shoulder in annoyance, the way she burns hot and cold with no warning. It is endearing, a term I've never gotten around to using before.

    "Jealous much? This here," she gestures at her entire body from head to toe, "is raw natural talent. Every inch." She sits back and drains her cup again. She must have a death wish. "Get some joy will you. You're not the f*****g police."

    "What's wrong with the police?" I ask her.

    She laughs huskily and waves her hand in an encompassing gesture, her wine sloshing over the top. "Everything." She breathes. "Everything is wrong with the f*****g police. Everything would be better without them don't you think, they are the very origin of corruption." Her words are beginning to slur.

    I lean forward and grab her glass from her hand and she pouts. "Why do you hate the police?" I ask.

    "It's personal." She replies, grabbing for the bottle of spirits. I easily swipe it before she can and settle it on the other end of the table. I can see her calculating how to make a grab for her glass.

    "How personal could it be? You've neither murdered nor robbed someone." She flinches minutely but shrugs it off before I can get a read on her. She stands and moves forward, casting away her shades and perching herself on the edge of the table right in front of me. Her grey eyes catch mine, and the deliberate intent smoking in them nearly undoes me. A perfectly manicured nail rises, tentatively tracing my lips. I resist the urge to catch her finger in my mouth. Liquid fire rushes through me and my eyes fasten on hers. Hers swirl with desire. She doesn't try to hide it.

    "That's enough talk, Stefan. I have other, better uses for your mouth than yapping." She says, leaning in.

    I couldn't have looked away from her if the roof collapsed above us. She lays a hand on my shoulder, the heat piercing the layers and branding me. It takes all my effort not to snatch her from the table and r****h her. I give in a little and run my fingers through her hair, relishing the softness. It's like a waterfall cascading through my fingers. She gasps in delight, her lips parting and unable to wait a moment later, I claim it.

    The press of my lips to hers sends shockwaves up my body and down to my toes. The noise of the pub falls away until my entire world is concentrated on her soft full lips. I feel suspended, unable to tell if I'm standing or seating. She parts her lips and I'm helpless not to take her unspoken invitation. The kiss is like a clashing of worlds. Cataclysmic. I cannot tell where she ends and where I begin. There is just the merging of our lips and the press of her body against mine. Her tongue laps at mine and I groan. She rocks down on me and I burn. The feel of her is heady and I am drunk on her taste. Vaguely, I hear someone whistle and another shout a "Get a room" but it feels like a distant world entirely.

    What feels like an eternity later, she breaks our lips and comes up for air. Her forehead is resting on mine, she is panting and her eyes are filled with amazement. Her lips are swollen, her hair tousled and her grey eyes fairly smoke with desire. In the course of the last minute she is now sprawled on my laps. My thoughts are filled with nothing else but getting another exquisite taste of her and I lean in to claim her lips once more, but then, a slender hand is on her shoulder and her shades are shoved back up her nose.

    Behind her is her friend who drags her up, straightening her gown and fussing around her. Annabel groans , facing her friend.

    "Lissa, what the heck are you doing? Get outta here. You are ruining all my fun." She says, exasperated.

    Her friend is having none of it and grabs her purse, hiking it on her shoulder before stepping back. "I'm not ruining your evening, you're doing it all by yourself. Do you know what it would have done for your public image if even one of these drunken assholes had taken a pic or video of you? I'm still not sure noone did. You, in a pub!"

    Annabel frowns, glancing around. "What's the worst that could happen? A few talk and gossip for a week then everyone moves on." But she grabs her forgotten glass and drains it anyway. Her friend throws up her arms in exasperation.

    She turns back to me, slow with longing and regret. "Stefan, this is Lissa. Lissa, Stefan." Her friend Lissa looks sheepish to not have acknowledged me earlier.

    "I'm sorry for interrupting you but she has to go now." She says, going straight to the point.

    "No problem." I say, though it feels like anything but not a problem.

    She saunters over to me and places a quick kiss on my lips, lingering a moment to slip her card into my jacket before straightening up.

    "Call me, Stefan. I'll be very disappointed if you don't." She says before briskly walking to the front door, her friend right behind her.

    I watch her till she disappears behind the door. Then I grab the bottle and refill my glass, draining it simultaneously. Christian and Lion settle back into their seats and snicker at the glower I throw at them.

    "Keep your thoughts to yourself." I mutter, refilling my glass.

    .............................................................

    My phone rings incessantly, a continuous pounding bass that makes my head throb and I groan. Nika must have changed my ringtone again. I roll on my side and check the time. 5:23. My alarm won't ring until six. My head feels like someone's taken a hammer to my skull and splashed acid on the contents. The events of last night crash into me and I groan again. Drinking myself into a stupor and before that. Her. Annabel Smith with her lavender scent and sweet addictive taste.

    I grab my phone off the stand and press it to my ear, throwing up my other arm to cover my eyes. "Detective Holloway."

    The Chief's voice comes through the line and I sit up. He sounds like he was rushed out of bed too. "Get down here. There's been a murder. A girl. 9th Cheville street."

    I am already off my bed, throwing off my clothes and rushing into the shower.

    "I'll be right there."

    It's going to be a long day.