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By nightfall, I find myself conjuring ideas on how I could meet my handsome hero again. I’ve settled on using the excuse that I didn’t get to tell him thanks.
It’s not until I finish having dinner that the idea pops into my head that the best time to see him might be tonight.
Harper is always telling me there’s no better time to do something than when you most feel like it. Tonight would be good because it’stonight. The day after, which means everything would still be fresh.
If I left it any longer, it wouldn’t be. Also, with the amount of model-like women who frequent the club on an hourly basis, it wouldn’t be hard for him to forget me. I’d just be another face.
Deep down, I don’t want that.
The thought moves me to get dressed. I don’t do myself up as much as last night, but I look good enough to talk to him.
I decide to jump into my Porsche and drive myself there. Unlike last night, I don’t plan on drinking at all.
When I arrive, nerves cascade all over my skin like an army of ants, skittering down from my head to my toes.
Before I have second thoughts, I get out of my car, and follow the group of people heading into the club.
If Harper could see me now, she’d… well, she would never believe this was me, even if she saw me with her own two eyes.
I suppose there’s a first time for everything. Even for me. It’s all part and parcel of starting over. Or maybe it’s having a taste of something different.
I proceed up the steps with the group of people and get my ID ready to show the bouncers. They’re the same guys from last night.
When I reach them, the tallest is the first to make eye contact, so I show him my ID and decide to ask him about my handsome hero.
“Hey, can I have a quick word?” I ask him just as he’s about to move on to the girl behind me.
“Sure,” he answers in a deep accented voice. He sounds the same as the other guys did last night.
“I was here last night with my friend,” I begin. “I was the girl something happened to.” Aware that I’m around people, I avoid using the wordattacked.
“Sorry to hear that.” At least he’s caught on to what I mean, even though his face has hardened with curiosity.
“I just wanted to see if I could speak to the guy who saved me. I didn’t get his name, but I think he might work here.”
“What did he look like?”
I’d hoped he’d know who I mean from stating that the guy might work here.
“He had a lot of tattoos. He was really tall with short brown hair, blue eyes, and … He was wearing full black.” My voice trails off as I realize I don't have much more than that. I can’t exactly say he was drop-dead gorgeous and oozed sex appeal like sweat.
The bouncer’s eyes narrow. “You do realize that could be any one of us here, right? Including me?” He makes a point of widening his baby blues, and I feel silly.
“This guy looked like he was in charge. He sent me home in a Maybach.”
A spark of understanding forms in his eyes, but he seems to chase it away and school his expression.
“Again, that could be any number of different guys who work here. We’re all in charge.”
My heart sinks as I realize I'm not going to get anywhere with this conversation. And if I didn’t know any better, this guy seems like he’s trying to play it safe. But that’s just an assumption.
“Why don’t you go in and have a look around?” he adds. “Maybe you’ll see him again.”
The suggestion adds to my theory.
“Okay, sure.” Truthfully, I just want to go home, but I agree only because it would be a shame to go home empty-handed without even trying. “If I don't see him, and you find out who he is, could you tell him that Serenity says thanks? I just wanted to see him again.”
“Sure.”
