Page 48 of Omega Artist
No matter how bad the delivery may be, every time that Tig and I motion to leave the stage, there’s protests. I enjoy being so carefree, and seeing Tig that way, too. So, we entertain the crowd that’s apparently more interested in watching us have fun than having fun themselves.
I’m trying hard not to trip over my own two feet when the owners express their gratitude by giving us a giant lucky golden cat and a bottle of sake on our way back to our table.
Others take the stage, and we’re the ones whistling, tapping our feet, and singing along until the place closes.
The crowd trudges outside, and we follow suit. The warm atmosphere of the karaoke bar is a sharp contrast with the cold weather of the early Brooklyn morning. I’m thankful that the earlier wind has subsided. My winter coat is an effective barrier and so is Tig’s arm around my shoulders. Both make quick work at raising my body temperature on top of my alcohol level.
I can’t help but slam the brakes on the romantic fun we’ve been sharing tonight. “Look, I’m gonna have to call it quits because I need to pee—badly.”
His chest rumbles with laughter. “Depending on how badly, I have a solution for you.”
I rub my thighs together, begging my body to behave given this bizarre mix of sensations. Fuzzy mind. Weak bladder. Lustful thoughts. I jut my chin his way to encourage him to speak up.
“My place?”
Chapter Seventeen
Everybody’s Changing
Tig
I springfrom the ottoman opposite the sleeper sofa.
“Why are you answeringherphone?” The female voice screams in response to my simple greeting of hello. “Where isshe? What have you done to her, you freak?”
I stifle a sigh. “Chill, would you?” All I want to do is yell at the woman who has no reason to doubt me, but I applaud my self-restraint for using my most collected voice instead. “Just hear me out, okay?”
A grunt escapes from the other end of the line which I interpret as silent agreement.
“Look, Alie’s safe but passed out drunk.” I put the phone by Alie’s mouth to capture her cute little snoring sounds that she’s making, then lift the phone back to my ear and start wandering aimlessly.
Instinctively, I end up in the massive bedroom to give Alie some privacy. I flop down on the fluffy navy-blue comforter and press my bare feet flat on the hardwood floor before admitting, “Listen, Alie and I had a nice dinner, followed by karaoke. Her idea, by the way. We had a great time. It was late. If you must know, she needed to take a leak and my place was close.”
I feel so stupid thinking about how Alie came on to me after tending to her basic needs. I feel so turned on remembering how she thrust me against the wall with extraordinary force, assaulted my mouth with her alcohol-laden breath, and cupped my jean-clad balls. I feel so reluctant conveying her evident exasperation at my knee-jerk reaction and simply recount how I pushed her away. Taking advantage of her under such circumstances would have been unfair of me. “Believe it or not, I repeat, I’m not that kind of guy.”
“Fine, fine, fine… Butyouanswered her phone, Tig!”
Wait, wait, wait. She knows my name. That means that Alie told her about me… Interesting. But then again, I told both Soraya and Chloe about Alie. Wait, wait, wait. The woman called her something else… Interesting. The name Aliénor sinks into my tired brain; it’s past two in the morning, after all. I didn’t even question Alie’s full name before. Wait, wait, wait. Who am I talking to? Who is she to Alie? Why haven’t I heard anything about her when she seems to know about me? Interesting…
It didn’t cross my mind to check the name of the caller when Alie’s phone rang. So, once again, the phone leaves my ear, and I stare at the screen for a split second. “I answered the phone becauseyoucalled,Greer.” I bet that she doesn’t miss my sarcastic tone. I’m tapping my right foot on the floor.
“But I didn’t call you; I calledher.” Her scolding tone is back, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to put up with it. Some nerve she has!
It’s too late—or way too early—for this nonsense, and my frustrated dick compounds my sour mood. “Oh, give me a break!” I spit out a little too abruptly, and I make a futile attempt to control my temper before adding, “Considering the time, I figured that the person calling might be worried about her because she should’ve texted you that she made it home safe or something.”
“Good guess, Sherlock.” She just never stops.
“Would you stop busting my balls, woman?” So much for calming down. My question sets off another round of pacing, around the bed this time.
The moonlight filters through the open blinds, lending a sudden gothic atmosphere to the bachelor pad. I would find it amusing if this Greer woman hadn’t gotten me all worked up for all the wrong reasons. “I did nothing wrong.” Why am I justifying my actions? Or lack thereof, to be exact.
After rejecting her advances, I fled to the kitchen and busied myself pouring her a glass of water to give my raging hard-on a chance to subside. When I came back, she had taken her shoes off and was curled up on the small couch, fast asleep. I had draped a blanket over her and then sat across from her, watching her sleep like the creeper I had suddenly become while deciding on my next course of action. That’s when her phone rang from its spot on the coffee table.
Furious at myself for answering the damn phone out of reflex or sheer stupidity, I stop in my tracks and press my palm against my forehead.
“I don’t have any evidence, Tig.” For Christ’s sake, what does this woman have against me? What does she think I did to Alie? Granted, under different circumstances, there’s a whole lot of dirty things that I would have done to the Parisian girl who doesn’t sound French at all. The enticing French kisses we shared so far are merely appetizers, and I’m hoping that there’ll be much more to come. Starting with me inside her.
“Who are you anyway,Greer?”
