Page 8 of Twisted Little Thing

CHAPTER IV

Nicky

He is sitting back in a hidden corner of the bar, visibly enjoying a shisha by himself. It doesn’t look like he is waiting for me – or waiting for anyone for that matter.

The bar is cozy and decorated like a hippie’s living room. The small tables are very low and surrounded by a bunch of colorful cushions instead of chairs. I love the smell of this place and am looking forward to having a little smoke, even though it’s just a shisha and not a cigarette. There is music playing in the background and the place is still fairly crowded even at this hour. But it is almost dauntingly quiet, a complete contrast to the club I just left.

He still looks out of place with his business suit, but he fits in a little more than he did at the basement club. In this environment, he could just as well be your average office worker enjoying a trendy smoke after work.

When I approach his table, he does not turn to look at me until the very last moment, once I am standing so close that it is impossible for him to ignore me.

He looks up at me then. I expect to see a triumphant smile, one that would make me angry and cause me to regret my decision to come here. But instead, he just displays a subtle smirk and beckons me to sit down next to him.

"All right, you won," I say, as I slip down onto the cushions next to him.

He shakes his head. "I didn't know this was a competition."

I frown at him.

"So," he adds. "What did I win then?"

"My company," I reply, trying to sound defiant.

"Fair enough," he says. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Thanks, but I can buy my own drink," I say, a bit surprised at myself. Usually, I would have no problem with a guy buying me a drink. But everything seems different with this one. I feel the constant urge to challenge him. No matter what his intent is with me, I don't want to make it too easy for him.

He rolls his eyes. "Don't you think you have insulted me enough already? Your intention may be admirable, but since I believe that you're just doing this to spite me, I will insist on buying you a drink."

"Fine," I say. "I'll have another beer, then."

"No," he says. "You won't. I have a better idea. And since I am paying, I will decide."

I raise my eyebrows, trying to demonstrate that his insistence does not impress me in the slightest.

However, it does impress me.

He orders something with a colorful name and then offers me to take a puff of the shisha. I decide not to put up a fight and gladly accept it.

"What taste is this? Apple?" I ask as the comfortable smoke shrouds us in.

He nods. "Yes, with a hint of mint."

His reply makes me feel like a little school girl who got one of her answers on a test right. And I smile accordingly.

"What do you want me to call you?" he asks.

I take another puff of the shisha and cast him a puzzled look.

"Do you want to know my real name or my nickname?"

"That's up to you," he says. "My name is Evan. And that is my real name. I understand that many people are hesitant to share such information when they have just met someone."

"They do?" I ask. "What's the point in that?"

He shrugs. "You never know what they may want from you – or what you may want from them."

I subtly nod in silence.

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