Page 2 of A New Days Don

There is a small part of me that hums distantly in the background, begging me to go home. To return to the safety and comfort of Karmin and my two-bedroom apartment, and return to my painting that I had started a week ago. It's my first commissioned work, and no matter how many times I tell myself I am done, I always find something else to fix. I have to send the artwork tomorrow, and I haven't packed it or prepared it for shipping yet.

My eye catches on the hazel-eyed man who had walked into the club. There is a glint to his eyes that shines even in the dimly lit club, and I bite my lip when his mouth pulls back into a smirk that barely shows his pearly white teeth. His friend draws his attention away from me for a moment, leaving me feeling a little disappointed. Not that anything would ever happen between us, but I am kind of enjoying his sole attention fixated on me.

He’s a man, not a boy. Something about him makes me feel like he would open the door for me and prove that chivalry is not dead.

“You should go talk to him,” Rain says from across the booth. My attention snaps back to hers, and she chuckles when she sees my eyes wide.

“What do you mean?” I say sheepishly, letting my dark hair curtain my face in a poor attempt to hide my embarrassment.

“The guy across from the bar seems you both are interested in each other.” She offers, and I shake my head.

“No, I'm okay.” I stammer.

“Miles is allergic to people.” Karmin teases, and I scoff playfully.

As the night goes on, the crowd becomes increasingly relaxed and a little less conservative. Men with their hands on women’s breasts, women with their tongues in men’s mouths, and for Karmin and Rain, well, they went somewhere a little more private only mere minutes ago. That leaves me to take in the rest of my 21st birthday while enjoying the way the music calls to the alcohol in my veins.

I would be madder at Karmin for ditching me, but she asked me if it was okay, and I gave her my blessing to go off and do whatever it is Rain has in store for my friend. The tension between those two could be cut like a knife, and as much as I respect Karmin’s choice in partners, I don’t need to be in the middle of her and them. It feels… Incestuous.

The energy in the club dips as the music shifts into low, hedonistic music. Couples grind and make out on the dance floor while some retreat to the dark corners of the club to indulge in the pheromones pumping through the thick cloud of alcohol and sweat in the air.

There are so many bodies in here now. Too many to count. Too many to tell who is who, or when or where they came from.

My heart skitters in my chest, a telltale sign that this night is over for me. I downed the last of my drink and slide to the edge of the booth. Before I can stand and retreat out of the building, the hazel-eyed male slips into the seat across from me.

He smiles gently, sliding a drink in front of me and keeping one for himself, “A little peace offering.”

He leans back into the shadows of the booth, making it harder to identify any of his striking features. I look down at the glittering drink. The blue liquid has flecks of what must be edible sparkles, making it look almost cosmic.

“One of Stan’s secret menu drinks. Not many people know about it, but I thought you might like it.” Mystery man says, giving me a sheepish smile. He takes a sip of his drink. When I don’t reach for mine, his smile falters, “You don’t drink?”

Before I can speak, he leans back in so I can see the regret in his hazel eyes, “I’m sorry, I should have asked. I can–”

“No, it’s alright.” I hesitate, but pull the drink in as the hollow feeling in my stomach grows, “Thank you, that’s very nice.”

His hazel eyes sparkle in the flashing lights before the strobing stops, blanketing him in darkness as he grins, “I’m James.” He reaches his hand over the table, taking mine in his and gripping tightly. Tighter than what would be considered normal for a typical handshake.

“Nice to meet you,” I smile at him, tugging my hand from his. He wears an oversized signet ring on his right hand, the dark silver contrasting with his pale skin. A strange thing to casually wear around, but then again, I am not one to judge. I understand better than anyone that art and beauty are in the eye of the beholder. When I bite my lip, his shimmering eyes drop to watch the action with an emotion I can’t place, “I’m Mila.”

“Mila,” he hums. The way my name sounds in his deep, raspy tone makes butterflies swoop low in my core. I bring the drink up to my lips and take a long swig. Flavours burst on my tongue, blue raspberry and sour lemon. The pungent lemon makes my face screw, and I cough on the bitter aftertaste of alcohol.

James chuckles across from me, “Not a drinker?”

“First time out,” I smile, the alcohol burning in my veins starting to soothe the hesitation and drop my inhibitions, making it easier to talk to the man.

“Oh? How old are you?” He asks conversationally, his eyes drifting from me to the dancefloor then returning to look me up and down.

“Just turned twenty-one.” I giggle, and his lips quirk, pleased with my response.

“Happy birthday,” he tells me, his hand slowly extending out on the table until his thumb brushes my pinky. I smile, taking another swig of my drink as I stare at the handsome face in front of me, before looking out to the club.

There are so many beautiful, confident women out here, yet he has chosen to sit with me. Something warm swells inside of me, and I find myself returning his semi-flirty gesture by letting my pinky extend to meet his hand.

“Has anyone told you that you have beautiful eyes? I have never seen such a brilliant blue.” I flush at his compliment, and the grin that pulls on my lips can’t be stopped—neither can the way the butterflies dance low in my stomach.

“Thank you,” I take another sip of the drink, hoping the liquid courage will make it easier to flirt with the man. Even if this is only for the night, something about being in this bar makes me feel like an entirely new woman, and I want to make the most of the sensuous high propelled by the chaos around us.

“How long have you lived in Vegas?” The silky voice asks me, caressing my sticky skin.