Page 6 of Pick Your Poison

Three

Lilith

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s descriptions of the mysterious, lavish parties of Gatsby have nothing on what I’m witnessing right now. After presenting the golden key card to a large man by the door to the ballroom, I stepped into another world.

Lights flash multiple colors, women are twirling and flipping on silks in the air, and the thump of a sexy beat echoes from speakers that aren’t even visible.

Everyone is dressed to the nines. Some are even wearing masks of many varieties to maintain some anonymity.

I can’t step ten feet into the main ballroom without rubbing shoulders with someone famous—from athletes to actors, to politicians. It’s overwhelming.

I need a drink.

Getting to the bar is a feat in and of itself. I have to weave my way through seating areas with plush sofas and tables, and across the dance floor that’s crowded with writhing bodies.

As much as I’d hate to admit it, I find my eyes searching the exposed faces for the familiar one of the man with the ruby colored eyes.

When I finally reach the bar, I order a shot of tequila and a vodka soda. I’m going to need major courage to get through this night alone. I’m nervous as fuck, but I have to be here. I just feel it.

???

By the time I have my third drink in hand, I’m on the edge of the dance floor, swaying to the music while I let the warm buzz of alcohol start to simmer in my veins as the nervousness slips away.

For a moment at least.

“You look very much like you’re enjoying yourself over here.”

The timber of the voice coming from behind me is enough to make my skin tingle and my hair stand on end. I don’t even have to turn around to know who it belongs to. I don’t even have to see his face. I’ve never even heard his voice before this very moment and I know that it’s the man with the ruby eyes.

I don’t know how or why I’m so confident, but I can feel him in my bones, and when I turn around to face him, my heart begins to pound even faster.

His eyes aren’t the ruby red that has been haunting my every thought since last night, but he has the same strong jaw—with a dusting of facial hair—and he’s much taller than I thought. I have to look up to meet his powerful and intimidating gaze. He’s wearing a sharp, tailored black suit with a blood red tie against a black shirt. He looks like the devil in disguise and it’s delicious.

“Does that mean you were watching me?” I ask, taking a slow sip from my glass..

He laughs and slides his hands into his pockets.

God, he’s beautiful. I’ve never seen someone so… captivating. I know it sounds silly, but it’s almost like I can feel this buzz between us, like an electric static that is pulling me closer and closer to him.

“That’s only fair, isn’t it? You were watching me last night, so I thought I’d stare for a while as well.”

I can feel my cheeks flush red, and I look down at my feet. It’s a nervous habit I’ve had since I was a child.

“Oh my god.” I shake my head. “I wasn’t staring at you last night, I…”

I’m shocked when he places one, single finger under my chin and easily tilts my head up so I’m looking into his eyes once again.

His touch is cold, stone like, but as soon as it’s gone, I want it back again.

“I’m very perceptive, love, and you were staring at me last night.”

“If that’s the case, then you know that I saw you with your arm around another woman looking very cozy, which makes me wonder why you’re watching me and… flirting with me, even.”

To this, he tosses his head back in a laugh, and the sound shoots right between my legs. His laugh is like an erotic audiobook all on its own.

“Flirting,” he rubs jaw casually, “I haven’t been accused of that in years.”

“Maybe that’s why you suck at it,” I tease, smirking over my glass.

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