Lace (Just This Once 4)

“I bet you didn’t think you’d ever see me again, Al.”

The sound of a female voice lures my attention to the left.

Al.

It’s the name I sometimes toss out when I meet a woman I envision spending one night with. Back in college, I’d pull a fake name out of thin air, but the effort isn’t worth it anymore.

Al is impersonal enough that it doesn’t impact me when a woman screams it during an orgasm.

I take in the woman next to me. She’s blonde-haired, brown-eyed and wearing a tight red dress.

All signs point to her being a former lover of mine, yet I can’t place her.

That should embarrass me, but it doesn’t. I have fun. I’m careful and respectful enough to make it clear to the women I sleep with that my true passion is music and I’m not looking for anything serious.

“That was an incredible performance tonight.” She moves a step closer to me, her perfume floating in the air between us.

The scent is familiar.

“Thank you,” I reply out of habit.

Whenever I was handed a compliment when I first started conducting, I’d push for more. I’d want to know what the person I was talking to felt during the performance. I’d question them about the nuances in the music and how they interpreted them.

It wasn’t until I realized that most of them had no idea what I was talking about that I switched to a simple ‘thank you’ as a response.

I glance over at Olivia. She’s turned her attention to a man in a navy blue suit. I can only see his profile, but it’s clear that he’s checking her out from head-to-toe.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I say gently to the woman next to me.

I won’t fumble for a name I can’t remember. I won’t offer any hollow remarks about how great it is to see her again.

I don’t remember her. Pointing that out will only humiliate her.

“Why are you rushing away?” Her hand grabs hold of my forearm. “We should talk.”

I look down at her hand and the perfectly manicured black fingernails that are digging into the sleeve of my jacket. Just as I’m reaching to pry her hand free, I catch sight of the tattoo on her wrist.

It’s an arrow.

A flash of memories assaults me as I slide my gaze back up to her face.

Those eyes, the thin lips and that body.

I might have thought she was remarkable at the time, but now I see why I’ve forgotten her so quickly.

She’s attractive which is why I picked her up and took her home that night, but there’s nothing about her that stuck with me and implanted itself into my memory.

I grab her hand in mine and twist it from my arm. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Her body trembles under my touch but not in the way it did when I was between her legs. This is different. Fear punctuates her movements now.

“Al.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper. “What’s gotten into you?”

“You’re a thief,” I seethe. “You fucking stole from me.”

“What?” She blinks. “What are you talking about?”

This woman won’t win any awards for her lackluster acting abilities. Her pulse has increased. Her breathing is labored. Small beads of sweat are pooling above her red stained lips.