Page 21 of Broken Pieces
I maintain my composure and casually ask, “Where?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Who are you? My keeper or something?”
Fuck.
“Just making conversation,” I reply nonchalantly.
“Right.Because you’re such a conversationalist. They should hire you to do a speech class with how much you talk,” she replies sarcastically.
I glare at her. “Do you just sit down every day and write down jokes at my expense?”
“Yup. I keep a diary and all,” she winks, “Well, gotta go. Party awaits.” She waves, walking out of my office.
Exasperated, I release a sigh and lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples. This woman pushes me to boundaries I didn't realize existed, and she's oblivious to it. Grabbing my belongings, I head out, deciding to text the one person who might have the information I need.
Me: You know of any club openings happening tonight?
Enzo: Always.
Me: Picking you up in twenty, so get ready. We’re going.
Enzo: Who are you and what did you do with mycugino?
Me: You think you're so hilarious. I mean it, be ready.
Not sure what possesses me to make this rash, stupid decision. I’m not the type of guy that goes out, much lessclubbing. I’m Damian-fucking-Romano, for God’s sake, if you see me out, it’s always about business. When it comes to her though, all my logical senses get dulled. I make decisions that are not entirely in my control, just what my stupid heart decides to do at the spur of the moment. The idea of her being in a club, getting touched by strangers makes my heart beat out of my fucking chest and gives me an empty sense of dread in the pit of my stomach. It’s an uncomfortable and unfamiliar feeling that I don’t understand, but this doesn’t mean that I won’t act on it—damn all the consequences.
So I guess I'm going to a fucking club opening tonight.
Music is blasting throughout my apartment as Sophia and I get ready for the club when the doorbell rings.
“That’s probably Isabella! I gave her guest access!” I shout at Sophia as I walk to open the door.
“Making another margarita. Got it!” she says, running from the room to the kitchen.
Opening the door, I hug Isa and let her in. Me and Isabella haven’t been friends for a long time, but I’ve noticed that she can be a bit shy at times, so tonight I'm determined to bring her out of her shell, and anyone around Sophia tends to do just that.
Sophia comes to the door with three margaritas in hand, shoving one into Isabella’s hands and says, “Hi. So lovelyto meet you! Here! Start drinking. You have some catching up to do.”
“Okay,” Isabella says, unsure.
I laugh. “Sophia, be a little less intense. Jeez.”
“Well, let’s get ready,” Sophia says, then looks Isabella up and down. “Girl, we’re putting some more makeup on you. I swear, with that beautiful face, you’ll look like a model.”
We keep drinking and start putting makeup on, Sophia going a little too heavy with Isabella’s eyeshadow, claiming that her eyes are the size of a Bratz doll and she needs to take advantage of it. Honestly, my favorite part when I do go out is getting ready, not the actual going out part. But Sophia will literally drag me by the hair if I change my mind. And honestly? I’m in serious need of letting loose for once.
Working with Damian is stressful as it is, but that’s not even the problem—I can easily handle him, even when he thinks he’s getting a rise out of me, I just play into his games. Okay, that’s half a lie. Sometimes he does get the best of me and gets under my skin, but it’s kind of our thing now. One I look forward to more than I’d ever care to admit. The problem is the feelings he stirs when I’m near him. That man sure has a talent for making me have not-work-appropriate thoughts of things I would die for him to do to me.
Going out, meeting a nice handsome stranger, and dancing with my friends is the cure for these stupid feelings—wrong wording—let’s call it desire, that sounds way better. I would love nothing more than to give into the temptation. Take a bite of that forbidden apple, savor the taste well. That absolutely cannot happen. He’s my boss—my very annoying boss—I’ll just have to keep reminding myself everyday, if that’s what it takes.
I opt for a red sleeveless mini dress that accentuates my curves, paired with chunky white heels. Hair down, embracing its natural curls, and lips adorned with my signature red color, I gaze at my reflection, attempting to hype myself up. My natural hair makes me uncomfortable, but today I'm determined to break out of my comfort zone. Confidence is my goal, embracing my natural self, even with my mother's voice echoing in the back of my head.
That hair is a mess, Aria, fix it.
You look like a bird's nest.
No boy is ever going to ask you to the dance if you keep wearing your hair like that.
