Page 2 of Meet Stan

I tossed the feather over the balcony, but before it left my fingers a stray thought crossed my mind. I thought it would be nice for things to change. I didn’t want to wish for my buddies getting divorced, but I could wish for my own boredom to end.

The wind caught the feather and bore it away. I watched it flutter down until it grew so small as to be out of sight. I thanked Ted silently for his wise discourse, and headed back into the party.

I was more determined than ever to find some fine piece of ass, a distraction to keep me from feeling lonely tonight. Unfortunately, my search was disrupted when Mason sidled up to me.

“Hey, Chandler said you’ve got a horseshoe up your ass about something. I came to help.”

“I’m fine, Mason.” I ignored him, staring around the room and searching for a target. “I’m busy, so if you don’t mind, let me zero in on tonight’s conquest.”

“I see.” Mason chuckled. “What about the blonde in the corner?”

I glanced that way. Sure, she was attractive, but I just wasn’t feeling it.

“High maintenance chick with makeup thick. Hard pass.”

“Okay,” Mason gestured near the piano, where a black-haired beauty tried not to spill out of her evening gown. Tried and somewhat failed. I could see an edge of the areola on her plunging neckline.

“Who, the queen of the undead there? Shit, I don’t want to hook up in a graveyard or readSandmancomics for fuck’s sake. I just want to have sex with a gorgeous woman.”

“I think it’s obvious you’re going to find something wrong with whoever I pick out, so I’m going to stop now.” Mason offered a wan smile. “I don’t know what you’re looking for, Stan the Man, but I hope you find it.”

“Fucking prick,” I muttered to myself as I turned back to the buffet table. “I’d like to—”

I ran right into her, spilling drinks down the front of her black dress. Her perfectly formed lips formed an O as a gasp escaped from her throat. My eyes fixed on her deep umber eyes, limpid pools I fell into and never hit the bottom.

“Oh,” she cried.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I’m so sorry. I should have been paying attention to where I was going.”

I took out a handkerchief, and almost wiped her chest before I realized that would probably work against me. I offered it to her instead as nimble, fleet-footed staff came to clean up the mess.

“Hey, no worries,” she said in a definite Brooklyn accent. “I was staring at my cell phone instead of where I was walking.”

“But your dress,” I said, feeling a heel. I knew quality when I saw it, and that was one quality little black dress. It hugged her curves without giving too much away, unlike the queen of the undead earlier. Her auburn hair flashed in the light, cascading other hues as she moved.

“Ah, it’s white wine on a black dress, I think I’m good.”

She flashed a smile at me.

“Listen, I feel terrible. If you send me a dry-cleaning bill—”

She burst into laughter.

“Believe me, I got that covered, man.”

“Are you sure?”

“Fuhgeddaboudit.”

I joined her in a smile.

“Fair enough, then. Listen, can I at least replace the drink I made you spill?”

“Sure,” she said, pronouncing it ‘shore.’ I was getting a definite “lower class” vibe from her, but she wore Prada and walked in heels like she’d been born in them. A little bit of class mixed with a glorious lack of sophistication.

Now why in the hell did I find that so appealing?

I figured she was from the DM company we’d just acquired. It would explain why I’d never seen her around the office, though I’ll admit I hardly knew everybody on sight. The firm employed a lot of people.

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