Butthe longer I stared at her, clutching the neck of my untouched bottle of beer,the more I saw the complexity of the color. Shimmering violets, illustriousindigos, royal and dark.Purple Mountain’s Majesty. It glimmeredgemstones every time she turned her head underneath the old wagon-wheelchandelier in whoever-the-fuck’s house itwasand mymouth quirked at the side, as “Mr. Polo” kept trying to grab her attention. Hefailed, every single time.
CouldI really blame him? No. Not really. She was the type of girl whose attentionyou wanted. The type that makes you wonder if she’s daring in ways other thanher choice of hair color.
Andthen, there washistype—Mr. Polo, with his perfectly gelled hairand pressed pants. A piece of Ivy League scum, waving around a wad of hisdaddy’s money.
Okay,maybe I was only assuming he was Ivy League. That was up for debate. I couldn’tdiscern his intelligence at first glance, but I could tell from that littlealligator embroidered on his shirt that he had money.
Guyslike that look down on blue-collar guys like me, and they don’t have any realinterest in girls like her. Guys like that, only want another notch in theirbelt. Guys like that, never pick up on the complexity of hair color, of thosestrands of glistening, purple-hued sapphires.
Theycan't.
Thatwas my job, apparently.
Mycousin, Trent—the reason I was even at this lame party in the firstplace—nudged my arm with the back of his hand. “So, uh … are you justgonnaeye-fuck her all night and let that douchebag have acrack at her, or are yougonnago over there?”
“She’snot leaving with him,” I snickered, tightening my fist around the bottle of mynow-warm beer.
Trentshrugged, bringing the mouth of his to his lips. “Sureshe isn’t.” He rolled his eyes as he tipped it back, swallowing half of it downin one gulp. He sighed his satisfaction and wiped his mouth with the back ofhis hand. “She’s pretty hot.”
“Mm,”I mumbled my reply with a slow nod of my head.
God,she really was, but … it wentbeyondhot. I was too far away from her tosee the fine details, and the light was too dim, but I could tell from where Istood, that she was of unusual beauty.
Sounusual in fact, that she had held my attention for the entire twenty minutessince we’d arrived.
Shewas too polite to give Mr. Polo the cold shoulder, but her disinterest inwhatever he was saying was laughable.
“Can’the take a hint?” I muttered to Trent, but mostly to myself, and he shruggedagain, downing the other half of his second beer.
“Maybeyoucould go give him one … youfuckingpussy.”
Myeyes rolled in his direction. “You and I both know, I’mnota pussy.”
“Whichis why I don’t understand why you’re standing overhere,and not talkingto this fucking chick you’ve been eyeballing all night.”
“Allnight,” I echoed. “Give me a break. You act like we’ve been here forhours.”
Ishifted my gaze back to her. She was rummaging in a black bag for something.The bag was emblazoned with patches and buttons, a few from bands I recognized,and my lips twitched with the beginnings of a grin.
Whatthe fuck was my problem anyway? I was perfectly capable of playing the game;find a chick at a party, or wherever, whisk her away, show her a good time. ForChrist’s sake, I wasn’t what I’d call a man-whore, I didn’t sleep around on aweekly basis like my jackass of a cousin, but I wasn’t a stranger to aone-night stand either.
So,what the fuck was keeping me from walking over there and working my magic onher?
Iasked myself this question, as I swallowed around my tightly knotted ball ofnerves, but, I already knew the answer. She wasn’t the type of girl you bangand run. I knew this, after only twenty minutes of staring at her and thathair. She was the type you settle into. The type you let rock your world for afew weeks, a few months—hell, maybe even forever. If I went over there andintroduced myself, I knew she would swallow me up and she’d have to physicallyremove me from her life, to make me leave.
Ididn’t do that shit. I was too young, too disinterested, too … too …
Butthen, just as I was about to shrug the whole thing off and forget I everstarted thinking about a lifetime with a girl I didn’t even know, Mr. Polo wentahead and put his hand on her shoulder while she was still busy reaching intoher bag. She shrugged him off once with what looked like a nervous giggle andthen again with irritation. Her brow crumpled, her shoulders tensed and when helowered his hand to take a hold of her arm and tried to lead her away from thewall she stood against, she tugged back, shaking her head.
Mystomachcurdledand my veins blistered against myboiled blood.
“Holyshit. What an asshole,” Trent muttered from next to me, and I glared withnarrowed eyes at all of the other assholes in the room surrounding her. They weremilling around, completely oblivious of the guy trying to take advantage ofthis poor girl.
Fuckthem all.
“Dev,you should go kick that guy’s fucking ass.”
Decidingto make my move, I nodded affirmatively and plonked my neglected beer onto a table.I shoved my way through the living room and into the kitchen where theoffending asshole was continuing to tug her along, ignoring her protests.
