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She needs to leave my mind.
“I need the Clairwaters to grab their bags and move. They’re making my blood pressure rise almost daily now.”
“But she does look beautiful in silver.”
“What?” My head snaps Prescott’s way.
“Yeah, she does.”
“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Nothing makes sense today, and it’s supposed to be a dull Tuesday. Tuesdays are supposed to be uninteresting.
Prescott nods his head forward, and I quickly look as well.
“Oh,” I let out, staring at the silver goddess walking towards the bar. Her dress sparkles because of the flashing lights. It’s short, sexy, and it fits her perfectly. Her hair looks as soft as ever, but this is not the innocent, elegant woman I met a week ago.
This is a woman on a warpath. A woman who walks with her head high and promises trouble.
Even though I wish she hadn't entered Apollo, I feel her pull like the first time I laid eyes on her. A magnet that sucks me in every single time. The one that forced me to ring her doorbell this evening.
“Where are you going?” Prescott yells after me.
“Getting another piss whisky.”
***
Evangeline
“Whoops.” I giggle, grabbing Topper’s shoulder before my face smacks onto the floor.
“You, my dear, are absolutely wasted,” Topper yells over the loud music, and I agree wholeheartedly. Oh yes, I’m highly intoxicated, and I absolutely love the temporary bliss it’s giving me. I laugh at the silliest things. Frederic has not once crossed my mind, and I haven’t had this much fun in ages.
Topper should have joined me in New York. That way, it would have been epic. My time in New York was okay, but not memorable. I spent my days walking and exploring the city. I took some yoga classes and read more books than ever before. I even dated a man I met in the gym for a while, but he didn’t make my heart beat like I believe it should when you’re in love.
But if Topper had been with me, it would have been different. Laughs always vibrate around the room when he’s around. His enthusiasm is infectious. He breathes life into me, even if it’s just for one night.
But most importantly, he keeps pushing drink after drink in my hand, and I comply by emptying it.
Our party of two started at eight, and we went from bar to bar until we ended up at Apollo, which is one of the trendiest bars in London, at the moment, according to Topper.
But every stop on my ‘kissing goodbye life’ trip was a reason to sample their signature cocktail. We finished a bottle of pink champagne before leaving Topper’s apartment, and now my legs are a wobbling mess, and my vision goes blurry every so often.
“Here, try this,” Topper says, pushing a glass into my hands.
“What is it?” I ask, eyeing the creamy, yellow liquid.
“It’s a cocktail with whisky.” I scrunch up my nose. I don’t particularly like the taste of whisky. It’s bloody awful. I like fruity, sugary things.
“Just try it, sweets.” I bob my head up and down repeatedly to prepare myself.
“Fuck Frederic,” I say loudly, before taking a large gulp from my cocktail.
“Fuck Frederic,” Topper screams at the top of his lungs as he throws his arms in the air. I laugh out loud, staring at my friend spinning around. He’s ridiculous as he grabs people left and right, repeating the same words over and over again.
“Fuck Frederic,” another voice says from behind me, making my spine straighten as much as possible on my wonky feet. My mouth falls open, and I turn my head slowly, hoping the person accompanying that remark is nothing more than a figment of my drunken imagination.
“You.” Myeyes fall on my neighbour, who ruined my day but a few hours ago.
His blue-greyish eyes stare my way with one eyebrow cocked in the air. Chester is dressed the same as when he rang my bell: a dark blue suit with a white striped dress shirt underneath it.
