Page 16 of Cloud Storm

Twenty minutes later, I take my yellow bag and putting on some lip gloss, I go out to meet Roselynn back in the lounge.

I freeze on the spot when I see her rolling around on the sofa with her husband, as if they had both forgotten that they’re in my house, not theirs.

They are devouring each other.

“Don’t eat bread in front of the poor,” I growl and they separate immediately.

My friend has the nerve to blush, but the expression painted on her face betrays her to the core.

Chase doesn’t pretend, that was never his specialty. He just laughs, admitting that they got carried away.

“I thought Roselynn was a nuisance, but together you two are a real plague.”

Despite my words, we leave the apartment in a good mood. We get along, we jest, insult each other, tell each other our truths. No matter what, we love each other very much, and that’s what makes true friendship.

As we climb the stairs, music invades all around us. A song that speaks of a cheerleader is playing and my body instantly starts dancing, I can’t help it. That song always makes me fly. It’s a happy song.

I head straight to the bar, leaving the lovebirds to manage on their own, in any case, it’s not like they need me.

A waiter passes with a tray of drinks and I take the opportunity to steal something that resembles a Martini. I scan the space, noticing that the terrace is decorated in a way I find really over the top. In the middle there’s a large illuminated bar installed, on one side is the DJ, and there are leather and velvet armchairs everywhere. In a corner, I spot a high table, with two golden chairs, which is miraculously unoccupied and where I’ll hopefully go unnoticed for a while. I won’t stay long, but I have no intention of talking to anyone anyway.

And that nobody has a name.

Yes, yes, that one.

The intruder who has sneaked into my sexual fantasies.

Don’t judge me!

I’m sure that the same thing has happened to you. Don’t you dare pretend dementia. That’s my MO.

On my way to my bunker, I say hello to a couple of people I know and after a few greetings, I get to my shelter.

I take a couple sips of my drink, trying to enjoy the atmosphere. There are people laughing and chatting everywhere and Mr. Hatz goes from one group to another greeting the guests. Everyone is enjoying themselves, myself included. Until he arrives.

Why does he have to look so lickable?

He should be one-eyed, missing an ear and with a hump.

But to my bad luck, he’s perfect and looks like he walked off the cover of a magazine. His outfit is simple; Dockers and a long-sleeved chambray shirt that he wears with the sleeves rolled up, revealing a chunky wristwatch and those forearms that I have longed to have around me.

Mr. Hatz goes to meet him and after a handshake, claps him on the back, taking him from group to group, making the respective introductions.

I want to sneak behind the large square pots that surround the terrace until I find the exit. I need to get out of here. Now.

I remember the cake that’s still in the oven, my perfect excuse to leave.

“Here, you finished your drink, so I brought you another one,” an unfamiliar voice says from behind me.

I turn to face the subject who’s talking to me. It’s a man I’ve never seen before, in his forties, thin and not very tall, and his close proximity unnerves me, gives me goosebumps.

“Thanks, one is my limit and in any case, if I wanted another, I would ask the waiter.”

He smiles, letting me see a set of teeth that, although well maintained, looked too white to be real.

“You don’t need to limit yourself, this Martini has your name written on it.”

As if that would be enough to tempt me, I’d have to be crazy to accept a drink from someone who is a total stranger to me.

---