2.Red Affair
1420 Words
~VALERIANA~
“Ouch, that must’ve hurt,” a deep, velvety voice said from behind me, sending shivers down my spine.
I turned, and my breath caught. Standing there was a man who could’ve stepped out of a dream. Tousled brown hair fell perfectly across his forehead, framing piercing grey eyes. His navy-blue blazer fit like a second skin, highlighting a broad chest and lean frame.
Elora really does have good men.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said, masking my surprise as I returned to my seat. From the corner of my eye, I saw James dragging the groaning man out.
He deserved that.
The bartender approached.
“Any suggestions? I am new to Elora.” .
But before she could speak, the stranger spoke first. “Two Wildest Dreams,” he said, his voice as smooth as the drink sounded.
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Confident I’ll like it?”
He smirked, the kind of smirk that could either charm you or destroy you. “You’ll love it.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “No strawberries in mine,” I instructed the bartender.
“Not a fan?” he asked, tilting his head.
“Allergic,” I replied simply.
“Good to know,” he murmured, dragging out the words in that intoxicating accent of his.
When the drinks arrived, they were a deep crimson, glittering under the lights. I took a sip, and the flavors danced on my tongue—bold wine, tangy fruit, a hint of spice.
“Mmm,” I sighed involuntarily, the sound earning a quiet chuckle from him.
“Told you,” he said, swirling the liquid in his glass.
“Not bad,” I admitted.
“So,” he began, leaning slightly closer, his grey eyes locking onto mine, “waiting for someone?”
“Nope,” I said, swirling my glass as casually as I could.
“Mind if I keep you company?” he asked, his tone light but his gaze intent.
“Not at all,” I replied, a smile tugging at my lips.
He extended a hand. “Tristan.”
“Valeriana,” I said, placing my hand in his.
“Valeriana,” he repeated, his voice wrapping around the syllables like a caress, lingering on ria.
Just then, one of my favorite songs, Good for You by Selena Gomez, blasted through the speakers. A grin spread across my face as the sultry melody filled the air. My fingers instinctively tapped to the beat as I started humming along.
“Wanna dance?” he asked, extending his hand with a smirk that was impossible to resist.
“I’d never say no to this song,” I replied, excitement clear in my voice.
Taking his hand, I let him guide me to the dance floor. The dim lights cast a seductive glow, and as the music wrapped around us, the world faded away.
His hands found my waist, firm and steady, while mine rested lightly on his shoulders. We swayed to the rhythm, starting slow, our movements mirroring the song’s teasing tempo.
Gonna wear that dress skin-tight,
Do my hair up real nice...
He stepped forward, and I stepped back, our bodies moving as though choreographed. His gaze held mine, intense and unrelenting.
As the music picked up, he spun me out gracefully, and I twirled back into his arms. This time, my back pressed against his chest. His right hand slid firmly to my waist, while the other skimmed down my arm, sending sparks along my skin.
He guided me into a dip, his grip secure as I arched backward, my hair cascading down. When he pulled me upright, he moved us in a smooth pivot, his hands briefly brushing against my hips before lifting one of my arms in an elegant turn.
With a quick twist, I was back facing him. My breath hitched as he stepped closer, narrowing the space between us. His hand cupped my jaw for a fleeting second before gliding to the nape of my neck, gently drawing me forward as we continued to sway.
Leave this dress a mess on the floor,
Still look good for you, good for you...
He spun me again, faster this time, and I laughed as the room blurred for a second. When I stopped, I found myself closer than before, his forehead nearly touching mine.
“Trust me,” he whispered against the music.
Before I could respond, he bent one knee, taking my hand to guide me into a low, sultry turn that had me leaning into him. His hand brushed the curve of my back as he lifted me upright, the motion smooth and effortless.
His next move was unexpected—he stepped forward, bringing his chest flush against mine, and led me into a slow grind that matched the pulse of the bass. My hands found his shoulders again, gripping slightly as he dropped his head to my ear, his breath warm against my skin.
He lifted one hand to gently tilt my chin, making me meet his gaze. For a moment, it felt as if the song had stopped and all I could hear was the sound of my heartbeat pounding in sync with the music.
The final notes played, and he twirled me one last time before pulling me close, his hand lingering on the small of my back.
“Not bad,” he teased, his voice low and filled with amusement.
“Not bad yourself,” I replied, slightly breathless, a playful smile tugging at my lips.
Never in my 22 years of life had a dance left me this breathless.
Before I could fully gather myself, he suddenly grabbed my hand and dragged me toward a dimly lit corner. I didn’t resist—I didn’t want to. My back hit the wall softly, and his frame towered over me effortlessly.
His hands returned to my waist, pulling me closer. Slowly, one hand trailed higher, brushing along my arm with a featherlight touch, while the other pressed me further against him. His fingers finally rested on my neck, his palm large enough to almost encircle it entirely.
He leaned in, so close that his warm breath fanned my face, making my cheeks burn. Even in the haze of the moment, he paused, his gaze locking with mine.
“May I?” he whispered, his voice low and intoxicating.
The fact that he asked—when I clearly wouldn’t say no—made something inside me stir. A newfound feeling bloomed for him, unfamiliar yet comforting.
I nodded, my hands gripping his collar as if to steady myself. His lips brushed against mine in a soft, tantalizing caress—
“Tristan!”
The sharp yell made us break apart abruptly.
Looking past him, I saw a man about his age, dressed in a brown blazer. He leaned close to Tristan, whispering something in his ear. Seriously brown blazer guy? Can't it wait?
Tristan turned back to me, his expression apologetic. “Gotta go,” he murmured, stepping away.
My mouth fell open in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?” I asked, but before I could say more, he had disappeared with the brown-blazer guy.
Ehh. Just the thing I needed.
Frustrated, I returned to the bar and ordered myself a dozen of whatever the bartender could throw together.
The hours blurred, and it was way past midnight when I felt a strong hand grab my arm.
“Let go!” I screamed, instinctively preparing to attack.
“It’s me, ma’am, James,” said a familiar, calm voice.
Relief flooded me as my trusted bodyguard steadied me, supporting my wobbly steps. But something important suddenly struck me.
“Shoot, the bill!” I exclaimed, turning around hastily—only to slip.
Thank goodness James was quick to catch me.
“It’s settled, ma’am,” the bartender chimed in. “The guy you were talking with earlier, he paid for everything on your tab.”
“He did?” I asked, blinking in surprise.
She nodded reassuringly, and I let James guide me out of the bar.
“He’s such a gentleman,” I muttered, slumping into the car seat. “But what a waste.”
As James started the car, I glared out the window. “I hate that brown-blazer guy.”
With images of Tristan replaying in my mind, I drifted off into a restless sleep, his name lingering in my dreams.
- Writer
