Page 33 of Choke

Olivia laughs and waves me off as she heads right into the crowd.

Considering that Kendall went left and Olivia went right, I walk straight across the room to the bar. I really hate these events. They’re the worst part of a job I otherwise love. Leaning against the bar, I signal for the bartender, and a man steps in beside me while I wait. He’s close enough that I catch the scent of his expensive cologne and feel the heat radiating off his body. Turning to look at him, I am thrilled to see someone close to my age. The room is full of older men and their midlife crisis wives. This man, however, is younger and beautiful. He wears the typical attire: a suit that is too well-tailored tobe cheap. He reaches his hand to adjust his tie, and I note the watch that peeks out from his jacket. It looks nice and incredibly expensive.

Before I can introduce myself, the bartender approaches and asks what we want to order. The man responds, ordering two gin and tonics. Considering this is a work event, I look back at the man.

“Do you make a habit of butting in line?” I ask, maintaining a playful tone.

He smiles, his teeth the brightest shade of white I’ve ever seen.

“I ordered you one as well, so does it really count as butting?”

I fight the urge to lie and say I hate gin, but given I am here to play nice, I lift a shoulder, scrunch my nose, and smile. “Okay, I guess you’re allowed.”

The bartender returns with the drinks, and the man clinks my glass in a toast. I reach my right hand out and introduce myself.

He smiles and slowly nods. “Ah, a vendor,” He quips. “Charles.” He takes my outstretched hand in his very soft, well-manicured grip and offers a single firm pump.

We chat at the bar and he tells me he is the Founder and CEO of a local tech firm. I immediately know the business. Recently, they awarded Charles, my new friend, innovator of the year, and recognized his philanthropy for donating over a million dollars to the dilapidated children’s hospital in the rough part of town. He smells of oud, black pepper, and rich aged leather. I’ve never thought anyone smelled like any of these—I didn’t realize I could recognize them—but I know it instantly. It smells like money.

We move from the bar to continue chatting, moving to stand near the wall. The longer we talk, the more flirtatious our dialogue turns and the closer we get. Before long, we are so close that occasionally our knees bump into each other. I am not usually one to flirt at work-related events, but Charles is gorgeous, rich, generous, funny, and intelligent. My eyes shift to his left hand, which is free from jewelry. I smile, satisfied that I may not be crossing lines outside of work conduct, and look back at his face. He is staring at me intently with a smirk.

“Searching for something specific?” He asks, leaning in closer, his tone a mix of mocking and flirting, his hand on my arm, thumb brushing back and forth.

My cheeks flush—he is observant and touching me. I laugh, a light, high sound escaping me. I’m lost in my world of musky cologne, Rolex watches, and no rings when Charles’s expression hardens, his playful demeanor vanishing completely. He steps back, allowing his hand to fall to his side. I quickly search my mind, fearing that I might have said or done something to offend him.It was going so well.I open my mouth to apologize—a habit I’m trying hard to break—when I feel a hand wrap around my waist. It’s both icy and searing all at once.

I force a mask of indifference as I turn and face the person next to me. My pulse skitters, and I feel the blood drain from my face. I am sure I would fall over if I weren’t close to the wall that I instinctively reach for. My body tenses, my spine straightens, and a rush of cold sweeps over my body. I shift to step away, but the hand on my waist doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens, the pressure hard enough to have me biting the inside of my cheek to stifle the whimper, trying to claw its way out of my throat. I swallow hard, heat crawling up the back of my neck and blossoming through my cheeks.

Adrian Liberty is standing next to me, his hand on my body, possessive, unrelenting.

Love the Way You Choke

Adrian

I keep my eyes on her from across the room as she follows the suit away from the bar. Her entire demeanor is different, her smile is bright, so much more colorful than I’ve ever seen it. She playfully chews on the straw in the drink this fucking guy ordered for her, and I would’ve assumed they knew each other, but she’d held her hand out, suggesting this was their first time meeting.

I’m seated at a table, trying to fly under the radar. My size has always made me stand out in a crowded room, and I’m not ready to be seen yet. Even from this spot, I have a clear view of them leaning against the wall. The conversation I was having died a few minutes ago when I stopped responding. She is too focused on whatever she thinks she’s doing.

She leans in. Her smile stretches wider.

Why the fuck is she laughing like that?

I think back to the first night, to standing before her, eyes locked on each other. I scan that memory that’s still vivid even after five years. Searching for a moment, I heard her laugh and saw her smile. No, it’s not there. She’s never laughed with me. Never so much as smiled. I sit with that realization and let it coil tight in my chest. I curl my fingers into a fist, noting the bite of my nails as they dig into my palm.

I must be a fucking masochist.

Seeing them flirt like this? Watching her tongue that fucking straw like she wishes it were his dick? This is hell.

A slow rage crawls up my spine, moving thick and slow. She’s letting him think he’ll get to touch her, taste her. Fuck—maybe she’swanting the same thing from him. I take a large mouthful of the whiskey in my glass, hoping it’ll calm me dow—holy fuck.

Something inside me detonates, and my heart hammers in my chest, my fists ball as I see this fucking suit lean even closer, reaching for her arm and rubbing her shoulder. He must have a fucking death wish. I finish my drink and slam my glass down on the table. The two older women on the other side yelp and jump, but it doesn’t register. I’m on my feet, making my way to her.

I see her cheeks flush as she gazes at him; her expression suggests she is begging to be fucked.

Over. My. Dead. Fucking. Body.

She doesn’t see me coming. Neither does he. They’re too busy pretending this is something real, and I slide in entirely undetected. Until my hand hits her waist. I have seconds to take it in, touching her for the first time in five years, feeling the warmth and softness of her, inhaling her delicious scent. He sees me first. I take in the shock and subsequent fear spread across his rich-boy face. I’d bet this guy has never been in a tug of war, let alone a fight.

I feel her body tense in my grip, and she moves to pull away.

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