Their Paid Girl

Their Paid Girl - Part 31

          The bartender slid me my drink and I looked up to see Emmanuel staring at me in awe.

          “What?” I asked, taking my drink and knocking it back.

          Emmanuel placed his order and sat down beside me – too close. Annoyed, I scooted away.

          “I didn’t know you were the type to even know what a vodka martini is,” he commented, giving his trademark grin that was starting to piss me off.

          “I work at a bar,” I told him bluntly, looping my finger around the rim of my empty glass. The bartender indicated whether he should get me a refill, but I shook my head, already feeling the faint warmth blooming inside me, creating a gentle, pleasant buzz.

          I kind of needed all of my reflexes intact when talking to Adam.

          I twisted around to stare at the dance floor behind us. There was no way I would ever find Adam in there – if he was in there – and I certainly wasn’t going back in. Turning back around, I peered deeper into the house, trying to make out what was going on in the dark, muted atmosphere. It looked as though there were sofas grouped around at the back, and people were reclining there, talking in low tones.

          There was also the lawn outside to consider, and the upstairs floor. Cringing, I decided that if I didn’t find Adam at the back or outside, I’d forget about going upstairs and I would make my escape. I definitely didn’t need to walk in on anything I’d have to bleach my eyeballs for.

          I turned to see a sulky Emmanuel staring at me. “Are we going to talk, or dance, or sit here doing nothing?” he grumbled to me.

          Struggling not to roll my eyes, I stood and patted his shoulder. “Do what you want for a minute, I need to go to the bathroom.”

          Not giving him a chance to protest that I was ditching him, I turned and headed towards the dark part of the room. The farther away I got from the bar and the dance floor, the quieter it got. I passed groups of rich-looking kids lounging on white leather sofas, some of them smoking together, some just talking.

          I got several strange looks as I walked by, and I flushed, clearly not belonging. This was stupid. Really stupid. I didn’t need to deal with the judgmental stares or groping hands. All I wanted to do was go home. Coming here had been a huge mistake, and even if I did find Adam, what exactly was I going to tell him?

          Walking faster, I neared the back of the room, seeing the open stone arch and the glint of blue in moonlight. I was almost outside on the lawn where girls were screaming as they got tossed into the pool, not looking at any of the groups I passed anymore.

I thought I heard someone say my name. A figure stood up from the largest group there, and was suddenly blocking the doorway in front of me.

Looking up, I found myself staring into Adam’s eyes. He was frowning in complete confusion, eyes widening slightly when he saw the way I was dressed: short jean shorts, a black tank top, and over that, a black lace shirt that was see-through.

“Shawna, what are you doing here?” he asked me, none too gently taking me by the arm and steering me outside. We stood underneath a grapevine, ignoring the movement by the pool.

“Oh, hi,” I said confusedly. He was kind of like Chuck Norris. I never found Adam; he always found me. But then I shook my head. No, I couldn’t get sidetracked by my jumbled thoughts or his handsome face or sparking eyes. I had to be in control of what I was saying.