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Chapter 17: Chapter 17

C H A P T E R S E V E N

I finally able to get rid of Antonette, prepare and eat my Chao Fan, and get back to my computer after an hour of struggle. I turned around in my chair, put my foot up so I could rest my heel on the seat, and lowered my chin to my knee so I could comfortably gaze out the window without having to strain myself to hold my head up.

I wasn't daydreaming; rather, I was contemplating my mistakes.

Two years prior, Antonette left her chosen occupation of hopping around each upscale clothes store at Harmonious Village Mall and landed a position at The Club after passing an online course in bartending. Every table at The Club was a booth, and it had a giant circular bar in the centre where you could see and be seen. It also had extremely wonderful food, fashionable, sophisticated glassware in which they served their beverages, three blazing flames that made the area warm and inviting, and every table was a booth.

Club was Mic, Tonette, and my favorite place to see and be seen while sipping cosmopolitans at the time (though, to be honest, we went there because of the glasses which were flippingfantastic). Antonette's supervisor had to let her go since she had shattered so many of their expensive glasses. He did it with tears in his eyes because, like any other guy with a pulse, he was partly in love with her - I'd seen it, I was there, Mic was there, and it wasn't nice.

But a year and a half ago, I spent a night there, sipping Cosmos and chatting with Antonette while she worked.

I had nearly three cosmos under my belt with no food for the day since I was on some insane diet where I was detoxifying (though I had changed the diet to include cosmos, of course). I was also already a little tipsy because of this.

But a year and a half ago, I spent a night there, sipping Cosmos and chatting with Antonette while she worked.

I now realized how foolish this was. It didn't seem foolish at the moment because Antonette was my transportation. I had been dropped off by Enrico, and Antonette was driving me home. I was free to indulge in as much intoxication, flirtation, and laughter with Antonette as I pleased. The way he moved, powerful yet graceful, masculine, with his prowl, his confidence, his natural charisma, and his looks, he owned the room; and the way he could sit at a booth and eat by himself while appearing completely cool with that were all things that made him stand out. He was wearing faded jeans, a tailored black shirt, and great black boots, and he was clearly at ease and confident in both his style and in himself. While he played about with his phone, sent and received texts, answered calls, peered here and there, and appeared to be innately aware of every detail in the room, he was at comfortable in his own company, and it was absolutely amazing. I was delighted to see that they had put him in a booth on my side of the bar.

I had on a tiny, clinging, stretchy dress that revealed a lot of back owing to the low vee and loads of leg due to the uber-short length (Falcone did not lie; whenever I went out, I showed flesh, but that was me and Melinda had taught me to embrace my own style so I did). That garment was third in my evaluation of how sexy my eleven little black dresses were at the time (now I owned thirteen and it had slid down to position five). I was wearing strappy shoes with spiked heels, and my makeup read, "Do you come here often? "I wasn't out looking for trouble; instead, I was there to spend time with my girlfriend, who was having a bad day at work and needed emotional support. However, that didn't mean I couldn't look good.

I twisted and turned on my barstool, crossed and uncrossed my legs, sucked and twirled a cocktail straw, and flipped my hair needlessly while drinking cosmos like they were diet grape soda in an effort to catch Falcone's eye.

He didn't even glance at me while he was eating, and I secretly observed him sitting, fiddling with his phone, etc.

I was so heartbroken to see him pay his money, slide out of the booth, and indicate that he was ready to depart.

Yes, it was a devastating feeling.

I was so intoxicated as the man walked out the door that I knew that was it for me. It was the passing of my final opportunity for happiness. It represented the end of a dream.

And I'd turned to the bar, finished my cosmo, and was contemplating hare kare when I felt a warm touch on the flesh of my lower back.

I twisted my neck and glanced up to see him.

"You comin' or what?" he questioned as I held my breath.

”

That was all. That was his catchphrase. "Are you coming or what?" ”

I went. I grabbed my bag, flashed a high sign to a gazing Antonette, and followed him out of the eatery. He put me into a black SUV, brought me home, and fucked my brains out.

Not even near to it have I ever done before in my life. It was an utterly crazy action to do.

And it was wonderful.

Up until the next morning when I awoke to find him gone.

I was aware of my mistake. He was incredible. I was a one-night stand who had been drinking; I had neither his phone number nor his name.

I'd instantly plummeted into the depths of despair and washed away my hangover that night at The Club, this time with Antonette bartending and Mic by my side, where I explained the depths of my despair at length and craned my neck every time the door opened or there was movement in that direction, hoping he was coming in looking for me.

He didn't.

Three days later, my cover slipped back, awakening me from a deep slumber. My mind and body froze in fear and dread, but as his weight struck the bed, his never-to-be-forgotten voice whispered, "Hey baby," his arms around me, and he kissed me. He then did other things to me that were extremely, truly wonderful.

This is how it started, and despite my initial hopes that things would change — that I would be able to ask his name or that he would ask for my phone number or that he would knock on the door during the day or that he would spend the night and take me out to breakfast — it didn't.

I was supposed to be working in my office, but instead I was sitting there gazing out the window when I realized I had been with Antonette the entire time. I had some hope. Every time he came to call, I naively disregarded the thrill I experienced when I first saw him and I wanted that feeling back. my stomach was in a flutter. The confidence that he was the one was created solely out of instinct, yet a year and a half passed while I held onto my optimism despite often losing my composure.

Things had now altered.

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