I Became Her

Chapter 3 -The Introduction-

“To eat and dance and let loose,” she says and turns to face me. “You need to step away from the past. You need to see that there is still life beyond everything that happened.”

I know she means well. I know she wants what’s best for me. If only the stepping away would be as easy as she makes it sound- step away from the past by stepping in to the party.

There is no point in explaining to her that this is not how grief works for me. She wouldn’t understand and I would look like I am hiding behind it again. So, I nod in agreement and let her think that she is making this grand gesture to pull me out of my hole even though it feels like she is putting a lid on it and locking me inside.

It seems the majority of the guests have already arrived because their usually spacious yard is packed with people who appear to be having a wonderful time with alcohol flowing freely and plates being filled constantly. Classical music is probably supposed to make it feel like an up-scale event, but truthfully, it is just like any other get-together where most embarrass themselves, someone falls into the pool, and someone gets accidentally pregnant.

And as I said earlier, most of the guestlist is Mr. Wilsons business partners and their wives. All dressed up like attending the Academy Awards, not a backyard birthday. I feel like a plastic cup surrounded by champagne chutes, wherever I look, I notice people looking at me as if I should be serving them, not be walking amongst them.

I knew that coming here would be a mistake.

We occupy two seats at the bar and just observe.

Yasmine is observing the party, and I am observing how she is gulping strawberry daiquiris as our nation’s survival is depending on her finishing them. Most probably my fun sleepover will be spent in the bathroom, holding her hair back while she watches her drinks reappearing like magic.

“They’re all staring at me,” I tell her, trying to slow down her drinking.

“They’re jealous.” Short answer to keep up the tempo of her binge drinking.

“Of what?” I can’t help but laugh.

She places her now empty tumbler on the counter and looks at me with stern eyes. “Of you silly. You’re the only one who refuses to see how drop dead gorgeous you are.” Another drink has magically appeared, and she continues her mission to get drunk as fast as possible.

I snort and let her comment roll off me. She is my best friend. It’s kind of her duty to say these things to pet my ego and lift my spirit. I would do the same for her. Little white lies that cause no real harm but can make you feel appreciated and special. Especially when those lies are spoken by someone who cares for you, who means well.

“How are these old farts always parading beautiful women?” I ask, but only to change the subject. I know the answer. Everyone does. Money and more money, the answer is always money. Who wouldn’t want to be able to have everything while doing nothing? Not to label myself as a gold-digger, but if someone offered me everything, I would gladly accept it.

“Most of them are hired.” She points out a few from the crowd. “They’re escorts, not girlfriends or wives.”

“Like prostitutes?” I ask with a hint of shock in my voice.

“Well, not exactly. You know how we go to the local dog shelter to walk the dogs.” I nod at her very odd approach to the topic. “We can pet and praise them, but we can’t take them home. These women are like said dogs. They can be taken to parties and be given gifts and all, but you cannot have s*x with them.” She looks proud at her explanation.

I can’t help but scrunch my nose at the comparison. “Are you seriously comparing them to the dogs at the shelter?”

“You know what I mean. I actually envy them. I heard they make a buttload of money doing what they do.”

“Escorting men without having to spread their legs for them?” In theory, it sounds splendid, but I doubt it is as simple as that. “Who says the men won’t touch them when they are alone or whatever.” These guys have enough money and power to protect them from whatever is thrown at their way. What can one abused escort do when they ruin her?

“They are not some hookers from street corners. They are hired from agencies, contracts will be signed and if something should go wrong, there will be hell to pay,” she looks at me with her glassy eyes flaring. “Let’s do it. Let’s try it.”

I look at her with amusement. She is crazy. And when drunk, even crazier than usual.

“Let me remind you, Miss Wilson, we are still considered children.”

“I better stop drinking then,” she says before laughing hysterically, her drink spilling over the rim of the glass.

I just shake my head at her lunatic behavior and let her do her thing. Unfortunately, her thing is illegal, but I am not the police, and I can look the other way.

“I should’ve guessed I'd find you emptying out the bar.” The smoothest male voice makes me revert my gaze instantly to him.

And I am unable to remove my eyes from him for some time. He is so tall, so very tall and so very handsome with a clean-shaven face and piercing blue eyes that look at Yasmine without noticing me gaping at him.

“You came!” Yasmine shrieks when she finally notices him hovering over her small frame. “You really came. I knew it!” She jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

At one point, during their awkward hug where she was hugging him, but he just patted her back, his piercing eyes found mine and this electricity started to form between us. It seemed like he can’t tear his gaze from me as much as I can’t revert mine. His blue eyes delving into my grey ones.

He unwrapped her arms from around his neck and pushed her gently to the side. “I believe we haven’t met?” He reached his arm forward, eyes still fixated on me and biceps flexing under what seems like an expensive dark blue suit that definitely isn’t Brooks Brothers.

“I believe we haven’t. I am Alexie. Shaw. Alexie Shaw.” I mess up something as simple as my name under his stare. He has this effect on me that I can’t really put in words yet. It’s not attraction, it’s not desire, it’s something dark and it pulls me to him like I am bewitched by it.

He takes his eyes from me and looks at his still outreached hand before lowering it.

He wanted me to shake it. He offered it for a shake, and I ignored it. My face turns red from the embarrassment. I am never that flustered. Why is he making me act like I have no social skills whatsoever?

I have to remedy my rudeness, so I crab his hand and shake it, face still red as a baboon’s ass. “And you are?” I manage to sputter the words out while shaking his hand like there is no tomorrow.

“This, my lovely Alexie, is Duncan Yates,” Yasmine interrupts us to announce her notorious cousin. The cousin, who is the main reason she forced me to attend this event in the first place. I would hate his shadow if he wasn’t so mouthwateringly good-looking.

After a minute or so I realize I am still holding his hand and let go immediately, making him chuckle. Turns out I actually don’t have social skills. I highly over assessed my ability to stay calm and composed in a demanding public event. Well, now I know at least.

I stand up from my seat and excuse myself to get some distance from this encounter I just made awkward with my presence.

His eyes follow my every movement and call me crazy, but I can feel his eyes on me even after I turned my back on them. It feels like they are burning holes in my back while I walk toward the house. I am calling it a night cause as I said- ‘most will embarrass themselves’ and it seems like I am one of the most.

“Was I too intense?” He followed me and placed his hand on my bare shoulder once he caught up with me.

I halted and the debate in my head, if I should entertain his interest in me or not, is frying my brain. Something about him is making me cautious, he is not coming across as a bad guy, but there is this feeling that tells me to stay clear of him. Is it just me trying to avoid complications that getting involved with someone like him would bring? Am I afraid?

He is older, not by a lot, but still older. He seems to have everything figured out, well-paying job, social status, so why is he even bothering himself with someone like me? Someone who has nothing, who is still figuring everything out.

Is he just looking for an easy hookup for tonight?

Should I find out?