Page 29 of Through You
In my eyes, she’s much braver that I am. She doesn’t put up walls and hide behind them. She wears her heart on her sleeve.
And ends up getting hurt.
But isn’t getting hurt part of life? Sometimes I feel like this safe life of mine is missing something. Do I want to be hurt? Or could it be that I yearn for something different? It’s possible that I’m fed up with the monotony of my day-to-day, and the feeling of emptiness that lingers after flings that are purely for physical satisfaction.
I pour myself another shot of tequila, down it in one gulp, and place the small glass in front of me. Where is Alex? I think I need a good dose of noncommitted connection. No strings attached, no promises or corny proclamations. Just raw chemistry between two people who are physically attracted to each other. Wow, I sound so shallow. Sometimes I surprise myself with my opinions about these sort of things. I’m about to pour a third shot when I begin to wonder if Alex is ever coming back.
I thought we were getting along? What happened? How did he figure out I worked at the Hidalgos’ house?
I throw my head back as I take the next shot. The alcohol burns my throat and stomach. When I bring my head down, I make out the shape of a person now sitting on the couch right across from mine. I put the glass down on the table, and with my head hanging low, decide to confront Alex. But when I raise my eyes, I find Artemis in front of me instead of Alex. I nearly choke on my own saliva.
Artemis is sitting comfortably with arms stretched across the back of the couch. The position opens his suit jacket, giving me a peek of the dark-blue shirt and black tie underneath.
His chestnut-brown hair appears black under this lighting; the same goes for his eyes. As usual, his face, which I’m sure was chiseled by heavenly gods, remains stoic. It’s not fair how damn sexy the scruffy beard looks on him.
I want to ask what he’s doing here but I refrain because I don’t want to sound stupid. After all, he owns this club and can be here whenever he pleases. A waiter approaches the table. “We’ve cleared the place, sir. What would you like to drink?”
Artemis’s voice is husky and makes my heart race. “The usual, and one more of these.” He points to the empty bottle of tequila in front of me.
“Right away, sir.”
Cleared the place? I take a moment to look around and the place does looks empty. The music keeps playing and the DJ remains in his booth, but the rest of the club is deserted. When did it . . . ? Maybe I was too absorbed with my angry drinking, as Alex called it. Artemis stares directly and unabashedly at me.
His eyes are too beautiful. I’ve always found a tenderness in them, which contradicts his present cold appearance.
The waiter returns with a whisky for Artemis and one more bottle of tequila.
“I don’t want anyone to come up here unless I call,” he orders, and I swallow with difficulty.
“Yes, sir.” The waiter makes a quick exit.
Artemis leans over and places the bottle in front of me. “Here you go. Keep drinking.”
“What are you doing?”
Artemis first takes a sip of his drink then places his arms back across the couch.
“Creating a space.”
My breathing hitches, and my mind travels back to distant memories.
“Leave me alone!” I raised my voice and shook Artemis’s hand off. He was trailing me closely as I made my way down the academy halls. He pulled me inside an empty room and shut the door. I was furious when I turned around to look him. “I told you that I . . .”
Artemis hugged me tight against his chest and silenced my protests. “It’s all good,” he whispered as he caressed the back of my head. “Don’t pay attention to those idiots. They aren’t worth your anger.”
He pulled away to grab a couple of chairs and placed them one facing the other. Then he took a seat.
“Come on. Sit.”
He could only smile. He looked so sweet that I gave in and took a seat.
“I’m creating a space.” That wasn’t the first time he’d done this.
When I’d had a bad moment, he kept me company and listened to me rant, complain, and curse about anything and everything I damn pleased.
Now, in the dark, empty club, he’s doing it again. “I’m all ears, this is your space.”
“We’re not children anymore, Artemis.” I’m still shaking off the anger. “This . . .”
