More Issues Than Vogue | ✔️

Chapter 1

I started deeply regretting this obviously bad decision, contemplating on moving back to San Francisco. I turned to the left, hoping to find some guardian angel, when I caught the sexiest man I've ever laid eyes on, staring at me.

Whoa.

I blinked a few times, wondering if I should have glued a pair of false eyelashes on so I didn't seem so deer-in-the-headlights star struck. I suddenly felt conscious about every hair on my body. The tousled mess on his head fell just above a pair of thickened eyebrows and his high cheekbones played in tune with an outlined jaw. I tucked some hair behind my ear and looked back at the sweaty bartender, trying not to swoon from his glistening green eyes, but I felt them burning a hole through my side. My cheeks were on fire and I knew it wasn't from the alcohol.

Quickly, I analyzed his figure from the mental image I had taken in my head. He had lean arms that were practically bursting out of a crisp white long-sleeve collared shirt. It seemed like an expensive shirt too. I distinctly remember a watch on his right arm, silver with a black face. And was that a beauty mark above his upper lip? I could have died right then.

Everyone moved in hip and cool motions while in their tight dresses and button ups. There I sat in a blue and white striped boat-neck dress that had been on sale at J.Crew last year. My feet were straddled into the suede red Mary Jane heels that I've had since junior year of high school. They were my favorite and most cherished pair of heels in dire need of retirement, but it was the only appropriate footwear I could go out in public with. I had done nothing with my hair but let it air dry into tangled waves and the amount of makeup I had decided to put on consisted of two swipes of mascara, a hint of blush, and some lip gloss. I was a pathetic excuse for a woman.

The attractive man was probably looking at me, hoping I'd leave.

Just as I was about to hop off this awkwardly tall bar stool to end this embarrassing night, I felt a tap on my shoulder. When I whipped my head to the side, I began drowning in the same green eyes I had fallen for a few minutes before.

"Hey," His voice, smooth and deep, rumbled through my body. My eyes trailed down to lips, perfect and pink as he talked. "I haven't seen you at this club before, are you new to town?"

I stared at him as if he was a foreigner and I didn't speak a bit of his language. He smiled at my dead silence almost blinding me with his pearly white teeth. "Oh, uh, yes! I just moved here. Is it that obvious?" I cringed at the sound of my own voice. It was strained and high pitched, a result of three shots and a heart beating at the pace of a running puma. I hadn't been this nervous talking to a guy since I first met Matt.

Wait...Matt who?

"You could say that," He suggestively raised a brow, "You're the only girl wearing a dress long enough to cover her dignity and you brought a purse to the club."

I looked down at the cross body bag that held my phone, keys, wallet, and chapstick. When I turned to the rest of the dance floor, not one other person had anything in their hands that wasn't a drink. As if that weren't enough, I took this time to notice that a lot of people, girls in particular, were staring at our conversation at the bar. From the confused looks on their beautifully designed faces, I knew they were wondering why a handsome guy like him was talking to me.

"Ha," I pretended to giggle. "You caught me."

He stifled a laugh and I felt stupid. The hottest guy in the room came over to tell me that I'm a loser. "It's okay, I like that. It's a change of scenery. Most girls here try to hard, they do too much - the hair, the nails, the makeup."

Is he trying to call me ugly too? When I scanned around again, all I saw were flashy colored dresses and sky-high heels. Even though I knew he was probably attempting to compliment me, compared to them, I seemed as if I were dressed for a Taylor Swift concert rather than a club in Manhattan.