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I’ve never seen him so animated. What’s so special about this woman?
I’m sure she’s been to New York before.
Am I jealous?
No.
No, I’m not.
I’m furious, though. Yes, I am. And I’m mad as fuck. Because he hasn’t talked to me. All of this could’ve been preventable had he talked to me.
Do I have that kind of deep, hard-to-fight feeling that I belong to him, and everything is a pain?
Would I be surprised?
Whatever it is, I don’t care.
I would gesture if I weren’t afraid I’d draw people’s eyes to myself.
I pay for my drinks and push out of my seat, not caring that he’s feet away from me.
I’m convinced he and his company have moved away when I spin around and find them stalling in the middle of the room, not far from me.
The woman and the two other men are checking something on their phones when he lifts his eyes and instantly meets mine.
Surprise doesn’t even begin to describe what I read in his expression.
His eyes shift through a slew of emotions, from shock––why? I have no idea––to confusion––again, I don’t know why––to a smidgen of anger.
Anger?
No way.
He is angry??
Is he serious?
I ignore him.
I turn my back to him and thank the barman, leaving a hefty tip on the counter.
With that, I peer outside, making sure the limousine is parked in the front, waiting for me.
Oh, it’s there.
Without as much as blinking, I walk past his group and almost brush shoulders with him when he can’t help himself and tosses a clipped ‘Hi’ at me.
It’s like he’s checking to see if I recognized him. Or if I’m walking away, pretending I didn’t see him.
I’m sure he hasn’t flicked his head in my direction. Again, he’s testing me. And the test goes well.
Without looking at him, I throw something back at him.
“Have a nice evening, Mr. Walker.”
My voice is smooth, even, and cold like glass.
I stride away, paced, not looking back.
