Accidentally Claimed

RUBY

I liked my life because I could blend in perfectly with my surroundings, classmates and teachers barely noticed me unless they needed an answer to a problem. I am not ugly but not stunningly beautiful either at least, I believe I'm fairly average in the looks department if I do say so myself. Years of being ignored had convinced me that I'm forgettable, and that's okay. It just gives me more time to focus on my studies.

Whitney Evans, my one and only friend, is my complete opposite and everything I wish I could be. With her wavy blonde hair, beautiful long legs and pretty clothes, she's the closest thing I have to competition. We're both constantly racing for the top marks and our rivalry is half-friendly, half-cutthroat, but it was all I had. Parties, dances, and dates belong to other girls.

Years ago, Whitney dared me to dress up for school. It took a lot of persuading, but I finally worked up the courage to try. I thought I looked great and left the house smiling at my reflection. But when I got to school, I was met with stares, whispers, and cruel laughter. After that day, I went back to my plain jeans and oversized sweaters and never tried again.

Now, I'm the proud owner of Stop and Sip, a small diner on the outskirt of town. My main job as a freelance technician for Blackwood Global allows me manage my business without any hitches. On the days I'm not at the company, I'm at the diner serving coffee and bagels. It's a demanding schedule, but I love it.

​I've met a lot of interesting people at the diner. I even thought I had a boyfriend once, a guy named Charles. He never tried to get handsy, and I initially thought he was just being a gentleman. But my friend Whitney wasn't having it. One day, we walked in on him making out with Fred, one of my waiters. It turned out Charles had been in a relationship with Fred long before he started flirting with me or, maybe he was just giving me mixed signals. After that, I swore off dating any pretty boys ever again.

​At my age, I'm still a virgin and have never been kissed. Sometimes, when I think about it, I feel embarrassed. Other times, it's just scary. What if intimacy isn't for me? What if I've waited too long and now I'm too old, too inexperienced, or just too boring?

I believe my life was simple, having lost both parents shortly after college graduation, I tried to stay busy. I tell myself, I do not have time to think about relationships between my two jobs. But the truth was, I just didn't know how to be bold, how to flirt, or how to risk being wanted.

​My friend Whitney, of course, was the complete opposite. She wasn't exactly a social butterfly, but she was far braver when it came to men. She'd dated more people than I could keep track of, always shrugging and saying, "Life's for the living, Rubes. What's the point of being careful if you end up alone?"

Right now, she was on the phone, trying to convince me to go to a party where we wouldn’t know anyone. She was dating a socialite and hoped he would be there, and instead of going alone, she wanted to drag me along.

​I pinched the bridge of my nose, phone pressed to my ear. "I can't," I whispered, my voice weary. "Not today. I have work."

On the other end, Whitney’s determination was ironclad. I could practically hear the smirk.

​"I... just listen," I tried again, but my protest was drowned out. Whitney's voice grew louder and more insistent. Without waiting for my agreement, she decided what dress I'd be wearing and told me what time to get off work. I didn't want to go, but there's no winning against Whitney. With a groan, I finally pulled the phone away and the screen went black as the call ended.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered, tossing the phone on my desk.

​Whitney had made it her personal mission to drag me out every chance she got, and apparently, tonight she wanted me to try something new. It wasn't the first time she’d forced me to a party or club; it was just another one of her ways of helping me conquer my demons. She had sworn she wouldn't let me turn twenty-seven without at least one reckless memory and apparently, that included getting laid.

After the phone call with Whitney, I went back to work for a few hours before leaving for the day. I went home and after a long hot shower, I dressed in the outfit Whitney had picked out for me, a black sleeveless chiffon dress and red strap stiletto to match.

​Once I was dressed and ready, I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was loose, and my makeup was light. I had to admit, I looked good. A smile slowly spread across my face as I thought about how a simple dress could make me feel this way. I grabbed my keys, and my phone and left.

​I met Whitney in the car. She looked at me and grinned. "You clean up nice, Rubes," she said. I rolled my eyes, but a small thrill twisted in my stomach. I would never admit it, but I was curious too.

​Whitney’s car, a sleek black Mercedes, pulled up to a towering skyscraper. It was a place only the city’s elite could afford to live. I stared at the building, feeling completely out of place in my simple black dress. My heart pounded against my ribs.

​“Come on, Rubes, stop staring,” Whitney said, pulling me out of the car. She was dressed in a stunning red silk gown that hugged every curve. We walked to the entrance and after a brief check of our names on the list, the guard nodded, and the doors opened to a world I had only read about in magazines.

​The lobby was a masterpiece of modern design, but the party was on the rooftop, and it was a whole new level. The air was filled with music, laughter, and the scent of expensive perfume and alcohol. The entire rooftop was a massive dance floor, with people dancing and drinking. It was all a little too much for me, so I grabbed a drink from a passing waiter and hid in a corner while Whitney went to look for her boyfriend.

​I watched people for a while, sipping my drink, and soon the alcohol began to take effect. The music became a little more fun, and the laughter around me sounded a lot more genuine. I was starting to relax when Whitney appeared in front of me with a mischievous grin.

​"I found him!" she said, her eyes twinkling. "But first, I want to play a game."

​"What game?" I asked, already suspicious.

“You should live a little,” Whitney said, eyes gleaming as she pushed my empty glass aside and leaned in close. “Pick a any guy and kiss him.”

She knows I had never kissed any guy before. Sober I would have flat-out refused. But drunk I was floating. The ground tilted pleasantly, the music pulsed in my veins, and for once in my life, I thought maybe I could do something stupid.

My eyes scanned the room, blurry but determined. And then I saw him.

Tall, dark and ridiculously handsome. He stood with two other men, but he outshone them effortlessly. Broad shoulders, chiseled jaw, eyes that seemed to drink in the whole room. He didn’t laugh like the others, didn’t try to impress anyone, he just was.

If I was going to throw myself at a man, I reasoned hazily, it might as well be on someone who looked like a Greek god.

“That one,” I whispered to Whitney, pointing, then grabbing another glass and downing it's contents in one go.

Whitney’s grin was wicked. “Then go get him, Rubes.”

And somehow, my legs carried me forward, weaving through the crowd, hips swaying more than I realized.