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“And back home? No serious boyfriends left behind?” he questions as I shuffle uncomfortably. “How were you not taken sooner?”
“How are you not taken?”
“Ugh, it’s impossible to argue with a lawyer. Seriously, how did Charlie Mason not break any hearts in Carmel?”
Almost choking on my drink, I let out a cough. Julian waits patiently for an answer, raising his brows with a curious gaze.
It’s the skeleton in the closet that’s happy to remain in hibernation. Tonight isn’t the night to bring up the past, but we’re at that point in the relationship when past relationship conversations are inevitable. Shrug it off, Charlie, it won’t invite any more questions.
I shift my eyes to the painting on the wall, unable to make eye contact.
“I dated a few guys in high school. There was this one guy my senior year, the typical high school crush type of thing,” I say, followed by a casual laugh to lighten the topic.
Julian can sense my discomfort, moving onto another subject rather quickly. We chat about his career, the stories he has covered and, of course, we have a heated debate about American Idol. I enjoy his company, and for rest of the night, we don’t stop laughing at the stories he tells of when he first moved to the city. I’m not sure if they are that funny or the Margaritas have gotten the better of me.
We take a cab back to my place where he makes me forget the world exists.
Twice.
When I wake up in the morning, Julian is long gone having to catch a red-eye to D.C.
My head is pounding, a string of loud thumps making it impossible to open my eyes. Damn that visit to Margaritaville! I never learn my lesson, assuming I’m mature enough to handle the hard liquor.
The alarm on my phone rings, and I somehow manage to hit snooze. I
fall back asleep until the ringing starts again, and Coco decides my face is a good spot to get comfortable.
This time, I ignore snooze and make a mental note just to set my alarm later tomorrow. Why do I waste my time hitting snooze a thousand times when I could’ve slept in that extra twenty minutes uninterrupted?
I drag my tired self into the shower, get changed, and head to the office.
“Updates, please. Don’t leave a single thing out,” Eric exclaims the second I set foot in my office.
There isn’t much to tell only mentioning how great Julian is and the fact that I drank an entire year’s supply of Margaritas. My head is still pounding to a point I swear I can actually see my pulse throbbing out of the corner of my eye. Eric’s high-pitched voice and thirst for information doesn’t help calm the storm brewing in my head.
“You’re my source of amusement, Charlie. I live vicariously through your sexcapades.”
“I don’t know why, E. You’re twenty-one and look like an Asian version of Zac Efron. I should be living through you,” I point out.
I sit back in my chair, glancing out the window. Life seems perfect. Julian is amazing, everything I’m looking for in a guy. He makes me laugh, his intelligence is a huge turn-on, and I can’t deny how sexy he is.
Yes, Batman definitely ticks all my boxes, including the one below.
Life at work is busy and thriving on pressure is my thing. Everything I work hard for has paid off, yet I can’t help but feel that all of this is too good to be true.
Just like my mom once told me—perfection can never be reached.
Shaking my head, I think to myself, screw that notion.
Life is perfect, and I’m sitting on top of the world while wearing my new Louboutins. Yet, somewhere in the dark passages within me, I’m trying to bury deeper the nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach that there’s a dark storm gathering on the horizon.
A storm so brutal and ready to rock me to my very core.
CHARLIE
“I’m so jealous.”
Eric is sitting in the chair opposite me, spinning himself around like a five-year-old boy. I have zero clue what he’s talking about, crossing my arms as I wait for some sort of explanation to the inner workings of his mind.
