Bad Boy Rich

I blame my wedges since I hadn’t worn them since my ill-fated trip down the stairwell back home. I’m certain they’re possessed, yet I wore them because they matched my navy A-line dress and made my legs look slimmer.

“I was distracted.” I clear my throat. “My brother is the drummer and he has a piercing that wasn’t there this morning.”

“Let me guess. You’re a nun that thinks piercings are acts of the devil?”

“No…” I drag, annoyed at his presumption. “It’s just not like Flynn. Anyways, are you stalking me?”

I don’t know where that came from, but his presence, so close, annoyed the living daylights out of me. How can someone attractive be so unattractive at the same time? He’s changed from wearing a suit, dressed in some light chinos and a dark denim shirt. It’s nothing like the bike gear he wore the other day, nor the suit earlier today, and for some reason it struck me as odd that one man could be so versatile.

Okay, admit it for one second, he looks nice in his yuppie getup.

“Are you done staring now?”

“I wasn’t staring.” I straighten my posture, crossing my legs in an attempt to act confident. “It would be rude to stare and if I wanted to be rude, I wouldn’t waste it on you.”

His eyes flare with amusement. “Ouch, you must really hate me.”

“Hate is such a strong word.”

“Well, I can tell you don’t like me.”

“Yet you continue to stand here, blocking my view when the purpose of being here is to watch my brother.”

Even in the dark, the contours of his face are defined. Striking jaw in an upwards pose, teasing me like we’re in the school yard.

“Sorry,” he apologizes sarcastically, “I’m pretty sure this is a public place but let me walk away from you because I was here for another reason. Your clumsiness just happened to catch my attention…again.”

I open my mouth wide to respond back but it’s too late. He has walked away in the opposite direction, suddenly crowded by a bunch of women that appear to be literally throwing themselves at him. They’re young girls that don’t even look of legal age and shouldn’t be in the bar. He doesn’t seem to care, lapping up the attention with his arms wrapped around two of the girls and easily ignoring my presence.

I force myself to ignore him, finishing the gin and tonic and waiting for the set to start. The entire band is on stage, and with a short introduction, they open up with a remake of Help! by The Beatles, remade to sound like rock which appears to be a big hit with the crowd.

Flynn is in his element. His talent to play music in beat with the band comes natural to him. I wish Mom could see him now. She would be proud of him, watching him perform and come out of his shell, something he struggled with back home. That piercing though… I highly doubt she would be proud of that.

The atmosphere is buzzing, people congregated in circles enjoying the time with friends. I had never felt so lonely. Aside from Flynn—who rarely spent time with me—I had no one here. Emerson was a great manager but she wasn’t exactly someone I hung out with and poured my guts out to. I missed Phoebe. She would have been drunk already, picked up several guys and managed to climb onstage to play air guitar with the band.

And then, there was that longing to just feel wanted.

Something I took for granted with Liam. Liam was a great boyfriend, but I guess over time like many relationships, we just fell into the comfortable basket. It never bothered me at all, we would easily spend our time in the basement watching David Attenborough documentaries with a tub of popcorn between us. It was simple, yet comforting.

This new life I had created in just two weeks was slowly growing on me. I enjoyed the drive around LA, although traffic was a bitch. Visiting new places and talking to different walks of life if only for a few minutes. My neighbourhood—while completely ghetto—was even growing on me a little.

The loneliness was the only thing bringing me down.

I stir the straw in circle motions trying to rid myself of these thoughts when a whiff of cologne strikes me. Trying not to seem obvious, I slowly peek at the arm beside me with the corner of my eye. It’s all muscle; nice and hard. Taking a deep breath, the part of me below that stirs, does nothing to cure my blues. As if I could hook up with someone. One: Liam and I weren’t over. Two: this guy could be really unattractive and three: I wasn’t that person. Sleeping with someone else was completely out of my comfort zone. I had been with one guy for four years. I might as well have been a nun. It’s like my past never existed.

But I could flirt…harmless flirting.

“Nice drink. Scotch?” I ask.

The man stops drinking, holding his glass in mid-air which gives me a chance to look at his face. A little older than what I liked, mature face with slight wrinkles around his baby-blue eyes.

“Bourbon.”

I smile, unsure of where to go from here. “Nice.”

He doesn’t say another word, glass in hand and walking away. Oh…that was terrible. Is it really this hard? Maybe it’s not hard, I’m not exactly a supermodel with a banging body. I had gained weight over the past few months—stress eating as they called it. I’ve always had this complex about my looks, the fact that I looked kinda Asian but also not at the same time. People often asked me about my ethnicity; confused by the almond-shaped eyes and scattered freckles across my nose coupled with my light hair that almost touched my waist.

Alone at the bar with one failed flirting attempt—I was ready to call it a night.