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This is for charity, so I’m going to endure it.
Even if it means- gah- running into strangers as soon as I make it through the hotel lobby, up a winding set of twisty stairs, to the ballroom where the- uh- ball is being held. Masked strangers. Tall, broad, dressed all in black, elegant, breathtaking, obviously very masculine, masked strangers.
As soon as I enter the palatial ballroom, which has been decorated in black and gold, with a full band going hard at classical pieces, I spot him straight through the sea of elegantly attired bodies. A sea that is also filled with expensively tailored suits, over the top ballgowns, and every kind and color of mask imaginable.
I have to admit that maybe wearing my cursed earrings to this thing was a bad choice. I can feel the weight of them hanging from my ears. It’s a strange sensation, one that tugs at my chest and is echoed through my bones like somehow, I’m magical too, and not just because I’m here, but because I truly am cursed and maybe tonight, despite my whole swearing off of men and flying my middle finger in the face of the curse, maybe tonight I can embrace it.
Or maybe that’s the shots of whatever strong stuff that I’m going to have right away talking. I might not have downed them yet, but I can already feel them at work, burning from my throat to my belly, making my legs tingly and watery.
Orrrrr maybe there’s a good chance that’s him.
The masked stranger across the room. The one I can’t stop looking at. The one my eyes were drawn to immediately, right after stepping through the double open doors. He gives off daring, sizzly vibes from twenty feet across the room, casually holding a crystal glass filled with amber liquid in a hand large enough to palm two boobs- I mean basketballs- and believe me, doing that with one is hard enough- but he doesn’t give off any stranger danger vibes.
I circle the room, clearing a path through the crowd mingling, laughing, and talking so loudly that the conversation is a roar drowning out the pretty strains of classical melodies drifting from the other side of the ballroom. The acoustics in here are excellent, so that’s really saying something.
I use a sea of bodies as a buffer between myself and the stranger, but I don’t let him escape from under my lowered lashes. He’s a beast of a man, all clad in black, which makes him appear not at all gothic or shadowy, but bold and delicious. What? Okay, so I said delicious, but I own a boutique. It’s more due to the fact that the guy is sporting an expensive, tasteful, tailored suit and I’m just over here appreciating the suit porn because I love clothes.
Still. I can’t stop looking at him as I circle the room, making my way closer to where he’s standing. He’s like a freaking lamp and I’m the moth, the mosquito, the beetle, and every other nighttime bug that ever got drawn in to bright, flashy, sexy, shiny lights only to meet their crispy, sizzled, bacon scented, insect style doom.
The mask doesn’t do anything to diminish the wonder of his beauty. His jaw is carved into being, his nose a thing of Grecian, godlike, stone wonder. His cheekbones jutting from beneath the mask are high and carved. His lips are somewhere between wicked and sinful, though those might actually border on one another. And his eyes, oh my god, those eyes. Such a deep brown that they’re nearly black. He’s somewhere around six foot four or five, and that black suit from suit porn heaven only accentuates the muscular frame. He’s singlehandedly the most captivating, enchanting, intriguing, masked man that I’ve ever met. Not that I meet many masked men, but if I did, this guy would still send my wasp stung, slightly acidic, overly burdened heart fluttering into a frenzied flurry of tattered moth wings.
Yeah. That’s my heart over the past year. I can’t escape the moths. Sigh. Cedar balls and moths. I’d say it resembles a granny closet, but not with the type of granny I have. My granny sees more action than my whole family put together. I mean that- uh- date wise and not date wise. I don’t like to think about my granny having an active sex life, but it doesn’t put me off as much as it does my brothers and cousins. I guess a part of me, as a woman, gives her a big high five for saying fuck it to the world and going for what she wants. She’s a powerful woman in so many ways that have nothing to do with money or fame, and she’s incredibly inspiring.
She also cursed us all, and that’s pretty bad ass. I mean annoying. I mean crazy meddling granny, what the hell was she thinking, how could she have done it, is she for real. Because yes, the curse is real and she’s dang proud of it.
