I swivel to the voice. A man moves on to the barstool next to me, where Ana had been. He must've seen my confused expression as he clarifies, "I'm Michael. I was with that douchebag who's now trying to shag your friend on the dance floor."
I follow his eyes to the dance floor. sure enough, Ana and Calum are dry humping each other, their hips grinding in sync. I revert my gaze back to this man, for he is far more interesting than seeing my friend shoving her tongue down the guy's throat.
"You're his friend?"
He turns his attention back to me and smirks. My heartbeat quickens, seeing that devilish grin on his face.
Wow... he's actually quite handsome.
My eyes stare hungrily at him. He looks much older than me. His skin is pale, which is a sharp contrast to his thick, blood red dyed hair.
"Well... you're not like your friend though."
He looks at me with interest, his blue eyes penetrating into mine. My heart is still doing that crazy cartwheel. What the hell is wrong with me?! I don't understand. I don't normally behave like this even towards beautiful men. My boyfriend is also a very gorgeous guy, yet this stranger can reduce me into a puddle of hot mess just by his presence alone.
He is one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen, but it's his eyes that lures me like a fly to the web. His blue eyes are dazzling, like a torch of ice, and when they bore holes into me, I feel suddenly naked. Exposed. My mouth is suddenly dry, as I watch his perfectly-formed lips shape out words.
"What do you think I'm like then?"
He brings his face closer to mine, his husky voice differs from other men I've seen. My cheeks are warm, from his words or alcohol, I don't know. The only thing I'm aware of is this handsome stranger in front of me.
"Um..." I peek at him through my thick lashes, suddenly nervous. "You don't play with girls," I whisper, my voice turning husky.
Michael looks at me in surprise and laughs. His chest vibrates with a low baritone chuckle, his eyes swirling with dangerous mischief. He leans forward, his nose buries in my hair, and inhales sharply. My whole body tingles, realizing he is inhaling my scent. His lips are next to my eyes, and I hear his words kiss the air, and my ear feels humid with his warm exhale.
"That's because I don't do little girls. I'm only interested in women."
My eyes widen a fraction and I fist my dress tightly.
"I'm not a little girl!" I say indignantly.
Why am I getting so worked up and angry?
But Michael draws back to his seat with a dry chuckle.
"Sure you are. Look at you, all drunk. I've never seen anyone get drunk over two glasses over tequila.
That's because it's my first time, asshole!
I shake my head angrily and grab for another glass, before shooting the alcohol down my throat. I don't know why I'm trying to prove that he's wrong. A mere stranger shouldn't affect me like this. I'm used to being treated like a girl. Thanks to my petite body, many people mistake me for a high schooler. I'm used to it now but being seen that way by Michael unnerves me.
"More," I say to the bartender with a gasp.
"Hey... you should ease down."
I turn to see Michael's worried eyes at my fifth glass.
"I'm not a little girl," I say stubbornly, my words slurring a little. The world is suddenly too noisy, too loud.
I try to stand up and wobble on my heels, but Michael quickly grabs my arm.
"You're drunk," he murmurs.
"I'm not a little girl," I say more quietly now, strand of hair plastering my cheeks.
"You're not, now let me get you out of here." He starts to tug my arm towards the door, but I pull back.
"Let go of me. I'm staying. I belong to the... adult world."
Michael sighs, his hand running through his thick hair. I want to reach out and bury my hands into his hair. Those lustrous black hair, like the color of sin itself.
What am I thinking? I have Luke! Why am I looking at this stranger with the urgency to kiss him?
"I'm not implying otherwise. But angels don't belong in this corner of Hell. You need to go back. Let me escort you."
He wraps his big hand around mine and pulls me through the dance floor. I am to shocked to argue, too flustered to say anything.
He called me an angel.
YOU ARE READING
book one // whore. "What a beautiful wedding!" says a bridesmaid to a waiter. "Yes, but what a shame. The poor groom's bride is a whore." inspired by panic at the disco "I write sins, not tragedies" michael clifford alternative universe © misjvdged