Curious Stranger

GAVIN MORGAN

Being a public finger comes with its downsides. The media is always in your business. Sometimes you have to hide yourself, to act like a normal person.

Otherwise; Go out with a woman, you're in the headlines the next day. Have fun, still in headlines the next day.

Any woman seen with you leads to speculations about your dating life.

Sometimes you have to bribe them to take off the heat. Or create a scandal to act as a deversion for them to stop focusing on you for a while.

Dealing with the media is not the only downside of being a public figer. Not when your parents are always on your neck about marriage. I'm clocking thirty but I haven't settled and they never fail to remind me of that.

Today, I had lunch with them, and as usual, it didn't go well. They kept on talking about a wedding that's never going to happen. I don't want to rain on their parade because of how excited they looked.

What they don't know is that Janelle and I broke things off weeks ago. No one knows what happened, except for the two of us. It's a story I wouldn't enjoy narrating.

In everyone's else's eyes she's been away on a business trip.

My parents' obsession with the Morgans and the Adams intermarrying puzzles me everyday. They are all about the public figure and stuff. I almost fell for that crap, but thank goodness I saw Janelle's true colors before I dug myself into a ditch.

I decide to spend the next few hours of the night in a club. A black hoodie and a cap does the disguise job so perfectly. 

I only last a few minutes sipping drinks when a woman takes the empty seat beside me.

I don't steal just a glance, I stare at her for a while. This was not my end game when I came here, but looking at this beauty, I'm not opposed to the idea of changing plans. There's something about women with black hair in red dresses. This one looks seductively hot. She must be from a date or waiting for a date.

Her back hair is neatly tied into a ban, revealing her skin that looks soft to touch. My eyes trail her neck to the shoulder, which is exposed since she's wearing a strapless dress. It gives me the temptation to suck it, yet I don't even recall when I turned into a vampire. The way her lips move as she makes her order, makes me want to mount mine on that red lipstick.

I had assumed she might be waiting for a date, but when she looks at me, I don't miss the sadness reflecting in her eyes. It's almost as if she's been crying.

Or she's really been crying.

I don't know this woman, but seeing her like this makes me want to punch someone. It must be the drinks taking a hold of my brain, because all of this sounds insane. She's just a stranger.

Yeah, that's easier said, but this woman has evoked feelings in me at first sight. My body is quick to react to her and my cock twitches at certain thoughts. 

I think it's the reason why I stop her when she tries to leave, asking her to drink with me. To be my partner in this normal day thing.

Remember when I said I wanted to punch someone for making her sad? Scratch that.

When she tells me about her ex’s betrayal, I want to kill him. The urge to kill for a woman I met five seconds ago remains a puzzle to me.

We don't go through the normal routine of introducing ourselves, since we refer to each other as strangers. But apparently, the beautiful lady's curiosity gets the best of her and now she's insisting on knowing who I really am, and the real reason as to why I'm hiding my face.

When I lean closer to her and ask what I get in return by being fully honest, she ignores my question. Her hand reaches for my cap, but I grab it in time, before she takes it off.

“Careful, ma'am,” I say, still holding her wrist.

Her expression falls realizing what she's done. When I let go of her wrist, she gulps down three shots, avoiding my gaze.

When she reaches for the fourth one, I grab her wrist again, this time to stop her from getting herself to blackout.

“That's enough,” I drowl.

She shoots me a glare. “You're not my boss,” she hisses, disappointed that I stopped her.

She looks even more sexier when she's mad.

“Besides, aren't we supposed to be strangers?”

Her quick change of mood is puzzling. Just a few seconds ago, we were talking like we knew each other so well, and now she's back to being mad at me.

“If I showed you my full face, will you stop drinking?” I offer, without thinking through my words.

She thinks about it for a few seconds and shrugs, “I'll try.”

“That's not an answer,” I retort. She sighs before she finally agrees. “Okay, you win,” she raises her palms.

“But let's make a deal first,” I suggest, making her scrunch her face. 

“So complicated,” she mumbles.

“I'll take you home first. You've had too much to drink, you're in no position to take care of yourself.” I state the obvious. Why I care this much, I have no idea. All I can say, just in a few hours, this woman has got me doing things I don't normally do.

“What? I'm okay, I've only had a few shots,” she retaliates.

It's not always easy for most people to admit they're drunk. I saw this from a mile away, before she even took the last three shots.

I don't know when I became this generous and soft, because instead of leaving the stranger, it feels like I'm responsible for her.

She taps my chest a few times with her index finger. “Why would I trust you to take me home?”

Well, fair point.

I'm a stranger, and even though I don't have any bad intentions, it might not be easy for her to be sure of that.

“Trust your gut. What does it tell you?” I try.

She stares at me for a while, like she's thinking deep.

“Just know that I have a gun in my purse.” She warns me in the end. I smile at her fierceness.

“Does that mean you'll show me your face? I won't tell the paparazzi, I promise.”

“When you're home safe, I will.” I promise.

Since I didn't come here with my car, I request a cab with an anonymous account.

I hold both my cap and the drunk stranger still while I get out of the club to the car.

“Just so you know, I'm not drunk.” She mumbles as soon as we're settled in the car. She yells her address to the driver to prove to me that her mind is still conscious.

She's quiet for a while, looking outside, deep in thought. It makes me want to pull her closer and tell her to forget that idiot who doesn't deserve such a beautiful woman.

My intrusive thoughts win, and since I'm seated right next to her, I take her hand and intertwine it with mine.

She doesn't resist, instead she collaborates by looking at me.

We stay in the same posture for a while, with no words being said. My hand intertwined with hers sends sudden sparks in my body. Again, my body is reacting to her in ways I've never imagined. 

Only when the car comes to a halt does the staring marathon stop.

She holds my hand and leads the way to her house. For someone who's had so much to drink, she hasn't forgotten her door. She takes the keys from her purse and I smirk, wondering how a gun would fit there.

As if reading my thoughts, she looks at me and says, “it's a small gun.”

“It must be adorable.” I comment.

She welcomes me in and closes the door behind her.

I'm puzzled by her level of trust in me.

“Okay, now you can take your cap off. No one is looking.” She goes straight to the point.

There's something else I'd love to take off, but okay.

Since I made my promise, I do as ordered.

I don't know what I'd expected her reaction to be, but it's definitely not a calm one. She stares at me blankly.

Is it because that's how she processes shock? Or doesn't she know who I am. The latter sounds odd. Unless she's a private person who isn't interested in the city’s gossip.

“You don't know who I am?” I ask.

“Am I supposed to?” She returns the question, making me conclude it's my latter assumption.

“You don't read newspapers, or follow news?” I pry. 

“Not my area if specialization. But I'll g****e you later.”

“Why not now?” I ask.

She moves closer and cups my face with one hand. The effect of her touch goes all the way down to my cock.

“Why would you cover such a handsome face?” She mumbles.

If she keeps on touching me like this, my body might explode.

But she's drunk and there are some lines I never cross.

As much as my body is reacting to her, and I want her, I can't cross that line.

She moves closer until there's no inch of space between us.

I'm not sure what her endgame is, but what I'm sure of is that her actions are influence

d by the alcohol, which is confirmed but her next words.

She brushes her thumb on my lips. “Do you want to fuck me?”