Chapt. 2

R.kelly - If I could turn back the hands of time.

And you had enough love for the both of us, but I did you wrong.

Mason Donovan had quit gazing and analyzing the ladies who littered the bar by the minute as he waited for his friend's arrival. He realized himself sorting out their flaws in comparison to his next of heart. 

How stupid he'd been and still was; his daily anthem.

Like New York like Australia, the ladies were all similar with idiotic and pretentious sass coursing through their veins. Gold-diggers, sex maniacs, flirts, and seductive goddesses. Mason had gotten so good in the job of women's statistics that he knew exactly the right column to classify every one of them.

He sipped on his drink as his left leg shook beneath the table in anxiety.

Out of all the ladies he'd gone out with before and after Cass, Neither of them could meet up to a quarter of 'her' standards in every aspect. She was just special in more ways than less that he got blinded.

Talking about her. He could still picture the last time he'd seen her, it wasn't the most pleasant encounter, in revenge, it was the worst he'd ever had with a lady in his life! That night, her tear-streaked face had glittered in the black darkness seemingly washing away the freckles— he had come to love— that splotched on her pretty face, her stylish owned Auburn hair had appeared unpolished. That same night, he could recall his last feel of her frail body quivering in his arms as she cried bitterly, the sourness in her tone when she pleaded on him to run away with her. But he knew more than to listen to her.

His life would've been on the hunt if he did that and his career would've evaporated in his face like a puddle of water on a sunny day.

If only he could turn back time. On second thought, what would he have changed about that night without a fraction of his life disrupted? Nothing.

Mason's anticipation of vacating Australia ceased as long as four days ago when he stepped his leather boots on New York's grounds; the air was ever so congested but oddly refreshing. The streets, ever so busy yet spread a sense of calmness. Even though the emotion sensitive part of his interior was at war, home remained home.

Five years wasn't five months.

Too busty.

He evaluated a hazelnut-skinned beauty who majestically walked toward the bar like a runway model. Her body confiscated a pertinent almost see-through silky white dress. The way she smiled was unique with her ponytail swaying at each step. Upon reaching the barstool, her purse rested on the table before her body came next on the stool adjacent to his.

"Something not quite strong, please," she ordered in a sophisticated baritone voice. 

On closer inspection, her oval face comprised of a pair of tiny seductive eyes distinguished by a short but cute nose above glossy round lips. Her edges, so sleek that it must have taken an eternity to have it designed that way.

"Staring is rude," she remarked before kissing the rim of her glass.

"How'd you know I'm staring if you aren't doing same?" He made a forty-five-degree swivel and saw her smile in the glass then play with the lemon ring on its rim once it kissed the table again.

"There's a sense of feel, did you know?"

Mason chuckled and she joined. Perhaps he concluded a little too fast. Some New York girls based on his five seconds logistics could certainly be witty yet, nonsensical. 

"Angela," she introduced with a pinch of seductive moves as she extended a palm to him.

Prove me wrong. He silently prayed.

If there was ever a time he wished to be wrong, it was in one like this. Even though the lady wasn't ninety percent physically his sample, she still had an effect on him as long as she didn't halt his manhood from reacting. Hopefully, he classified her wrong to not turn him off.

Don't give an alias.

"You can call me Angel. People tell me I look like one," she chuckled probably expecting him to confirm it.

"Norbert," his palm met hers. 

"Norbert," she repeated scrunching her brows as if the soup felt suddenly odd. "never came across that name before. You're the first." 

"Am I supposed to be...flattered?" 

Mason sensed his rod shrink to the shaft; cases as such where he met girls who carried all the criteria were thin. Like a kid who'd suddenly had enough after two scoops of chocolate cake he once yearned for, Mason silently prayed for his friend to show up.

"If you wish," she sipped on her glass, her eyes not departing his. They were switching to another alluring stir. "So...Norbert, tell me about this neighborhood. You must be an oldie."

Oh, God!

She just used an old trick to get to know where he lived. He was certainly not going to fall in that shit.

Mason glared at his phone for any missed calls in case it was on mute or he was too preoccupied to notice.

"I know precisely nothing about this place as you. I'm a tourist by the way and I'm here for a very short time."

"Oh," her little eyes opened an inch. "Tourist, you say?" she asked rhetorically, "I so admire you guys; touring from one country to the other, experiencing different cultures, food, infrastructure, and—" Mason glared at his phone again.

"Looks like we're going to have an intruder any moment soon," she remarked.

"Uh...yeah. A fellow tourist. He'll be here under a minute," he lied.

"Oh, ok then, Norbert," she stylishly evacuated her seat, "thanks for your company," she pulled. He knew she was expecting something. She wanted him to demand her number but he was in the best position to know not to do that.

"You might want to get my number in case you wish to hook up sometime before leaving."

Not wanting to crush her little ego, Mason handed his phone to her. Two seconds burnt and the phone returned to his grip. Not long after she left, his long-awaited friend showed up with a grin that made Mason want to knock his spirit out of his lean body.

"Dude, that's so not cool," Mason attacked.

"I'm sorry I had so much on my plate. At least tell me you got her number."

"Begrudgingly," he frowned, "I just deleted it."

Norton gestured to the bartender for his usual then faced his friend, "You have to move on, for real. It's been a long time already, don't you think?"

Mason stared at the nearly thawed ice floating on his drink. "I know. But if I have to do that it'll be with just one person."

"Then what are you waiting for to get to her?" Norton sipped his drink.

"I'm afraid, man," he confessed, "for all I know she might be happily married with kids. I screwed up. Big time."

Norton placed his hand on his friend's shoulder, "don't just sit here and keep presuming. Confirm it; find her, make things right if she isn't married, but if she is," he shrugged, "you move."

Mason's thin lips flattened in uncertainty, soon, it twitched in an attempt to smile. If she really did move on he won't blame her. She deserved the best. But if she didn't, he might as well try to make things right. Truth be heard, he prayed for the latter. "I'll try."

Norton tapped his shoulder twice, "good," and sipped on his drink. 

Norton was right, if he wanted his heart to be at peace even just for the sake of it, he had to find her to make it right. He, later on, found himself wishing to be wrong about her being married. He took in a huge gulp of the burning drink, grimaced as it stunk the walls of his esophagus.

"What's this contract all about?" Mason quizzed, not only to dust the awkward atmosphere but also, to know what he was really in for.

Before leaving for New York, Mason wondered how he was going to start his life afresh, thought about the number of construction companies he was going to visit, the number of applications he was going to fill, and the streets he was going to visit. 

Coincidentally, Norton called him the same day he arrived telling him about a certain contract in Hawaii.

"Yeah, well, my dad bought a house in Honolulu, Hawaii. The old man isn't very much appealed by the plan, as it is," he sipped.

"He wants to take down the house, then?"

"Something like that," Norton chewed on the olive which once adorned his drink. "So I thought of you to design one or two plans for a perfect beach house."

"That won't be a problem at all. I'll get to it tonight, by tomorrow evening I'll be done."

"The journey's tomorrow, dude."

"What? And you're telling me this only now?"

"Was aware of this just this morning. Take your time though but not too much 'cus it's limited to an additional twenty-four hours, I'll let my old man know about it."

"That's cool, man."

"So...tell me more about Aussie girls."