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She was right-swiping every guy without looking.
To put it plainly, once I had that realization, I was no more fun at that strip club. Until I received the next text.
Juliana: Duly noted. Before we chat more, I should let you know that this isn't really Juliana. This is Mei, her best friend. I manage her account and set up blind dates for her.
See what I mean? Bizarre.
Bizarre, but... the miracle I needed.
A way of trapping Juliana into actually speaking with me—in person. All I needed to do was convince this Mei character that I was the right guy for Juliana. And I did, easily. Went above and beyond. Why? Because I know everything there is to know about Juliana Brooks. Her taste in music. Her hobbies. What makes her tick. What makes her laugh or cry or roll her eyes. And the kind of guy she thinks she's interested in. So, I cherry-picked my answers accordingly, assuming her friend would connect the dots.
I landed a blind date within the hour.
It's only now that I'm starting to wonder how many other blind dates she has planned... Breathing sharply through my nostrils, I force down the rest of my drink, noting the leggy blonde approaching the bar. When she sits two seats down from mine, offering me a side glance, I decide to familiarize myself with her.
In less than five minutes, she's halfway in my lap on one of the sofas.
"I'm a model and a part-time actress," she says, running a manicured hand down the front of my suit. When I answer with an uninterested mhmm, she inches closer, the hem of her dress scooting higher up her thighs. "What about you?"
Thinking of a response, I sip my second gin and tonic, the alcohol warming my insides. Knowing I don't intend on entertaining her—or any woman—long enough for them to sniff out my falseness, I lie through my teeth, keeping things vague. "I work in finance. Trading crypto, primarily. I'm a numbers guy."
She sighs in my ear. "Wow, you must be really successful."
I graze a finger along her thigh, earning a shiver. "Tell me more about yourself."
She lights up at the attention—and away she goes. "Well, I was scouted in my hometown when I was fifteen at a fair. I started out locally, doing smaller print shoots and catalogs. Then I moved to New York and began walking in runway shows..."
Her voice drifts off into the background of my consciousness, which is too preoccupied with Juliana. I imagine her sitting at our table, dressed in her best, waiting anxiously, debating whether she's been stood up. No, no, he'll show, she tells herself, her knee bouncing restlessly, but with every passing minute, that confidence wanes. So much so, that when I do finally show and provide no explanation for my lateness, she'll realize I have the upper hand and that she'll need to work harder to earn my attention.
I check my watch. Eight minutes past seven. I'll give it another five. I really want her to be—
Like a sixth sense, my gaze gravitates toward the exit. Through the double doors, I spot a striking woman in blue. Subtle hints of auburn mark her otherwise dark locks. Her dress is modest, but with fabric tight enough to reveal a figure I'd undoubtedly drop to my knees for. Unable to tear my eyes from her, I watch her march across the marble, powerful and full of determination. But then... disbelief holds me hostage, her every step sinking my backside farther and farther into the couch.
"...my agency booked me a suite for the night. I have a shoot nearby. Buy me another drink, and I may just invite you to join me..."
Juliana passes by the double doors, aiming for the hotel entrance, oblivious to my existence. My heart contracts... stuttering in its rhythm... then springs back to life, like the first breath following an electric shock. I shoot to my feet, practically dumping the blonde onto the ground.
"Ow!" she grunts. "No need to be a jer—"
Without so much as an apology—not even a glance in her direction—I bolt after Juliana, the rest of the woman's remark drowned out by the blood raging in my ears.
I weave between sofas and dining tables and bargoers, nearly tripping over my two feet out the double doors. Like the release of a bucket of water over my head, the lobby's brightness blasts through my senses, sobering me up the instant my vision refocuses. Only to watch the revolving doors swallow up my temptress in blue.
Shit.
More than a few finely dressed business types shoot me strange looks as I book it across the polished marble. Alone in the achingly slow revolver, my breath puffs among the silence. I swipe a quick hand through my locks and button my suit jacket, searching for Juliana through the glass, to no avail. And once I'm out on the sidewalk, it's even worse.
Much the typical Friday night in The City That Never Sleeps, hordes of people bustle to and from, creating for me a maze in which Juliana—the solution to all my misfortunes—resides. Reckless, I dive nose first into the sea, swimming with and then against the current, my head bobbing and turning like some aimless plank of driftwood. Until I spot my life raft, one street over, crossing an intersection with her hands tucked beneath her armpits.
My heart jumps to my throat, propelling my legs forward in a mad dash. In mere seconds, I've crossed the walk at the last possible moment, narrowly missing a collision with a passing taxi. "Juliana, wait!"
She freezes, her shoulders going rigid. I gain more ground, coming right up behind her, embarrassment nipping at me as I huff and puff in her ear. "Jul—" Her legs snap into motion, resuming her purposeful pace.
Seriously? She didn't even look at me. Heaving a sigh, I chase her bouncy curls once more.
"Oh, Jules, I wasn't even—"
She twists on her heel, a deadly whirlwind of contempt and hostility. Closing the distance between us, she jabs a finger into my chest. And God, I can't help but love the way she tilts her head back—and back some more—to meet my eyes, even when there's hate swirling in hers.
