wicked • davina claire

prologue

"JAMES?"

The young man cursed under his breath as the blonde girl sat up, pulling the silk covers up to cover her upper body.

He had almost done it - almost managed to slip out of the bedroom unattended when his godamn pinky hit the edge of the godamn purple nightstand and then he was grunting like a gorilla giving birth for 15 minutes straight to try in vain to numb the pain. Now, his little...tango partner was awake and the awkwardness had reached an all time high.

Truly, this was the worst part of one night stands.

"James?" She said again, flashing him a sleepy smile.

He tugged on his navy suit roughly, bright green eyes searching for his Oxford shoes. "What's that...sugarplum?"

In all truth, the young man had forgotten blondie's name. All he could remember from last night was leg, and a quick peek at the her defined thigh muscles and curled toes confirmed his memory.

"You're leaving already?"

Running a hand through his midnight black hair, he hummed indifferently and glanced at his reflection.

Blondie had a full sized golden mirror propped on her wall next to an obscene amount of hanging plants. At first, the mirror seemed pathetic — a vapid accessory in the woman's already materialist endeavors. However, as he shrugged off his navy suit and rolled up the sleeve on his tattoed arm, opting for a careless I-just-rolled-out-of-bed look in front of ostentatious thing, he began to appreciate her eye for interior design. It was just tragically unfortunate the blondie wasn't as good at catching a hint.

"Hello? Earth to James? I asked you a question."

"James" turned around, snatching his phone and keys from her nightstand. "You did, didn't you baby?"

"Wow. So you're that guy."

"What guy?" He barely spared her a glance, quickly shoving his phone into his pocket. "Sugarplum."

"Don't you sugarplum me!" Blondie roared. "You've said that since last night. Do you even know my name?"

" 'Course I do," His hand was on the door now. "Mindy, was it?"

Her face grew red.

Oh dear, definitely not a Mindy.

"It's Claire, you arse!"

"Mindy, Claire!" He waved his hand around. "Sweetheart, I'm terrible with names."

"Or maybe it's because you're a horny jackass with mommy issues that wanted me for a night so you didn't bother to learn it!"

He felt his blood boil at her accusation, which to be frank, wasn't necessarily far fetched. In fact, most of what she said was true, except for the mommy thing.
He didn't have one. Not anymore.

Claire carried on with a smug air, noticing his frown. "I see," She chuckled. "Mommy didn't love you enough, so you've decided to sleep with different women every night to feel some messed up kind of love. I get it now. Real mature, James."

He burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"Sorry," He wiped his eyes, still laughing hysterically. "It's just weird."

"What's weird?" She parroted.

"I could of sworn you were telling me about your abusive father three tequila shots into our date last night, sugarplum, and about how you hate being compared to him. Properly ironic that you're using my mother against me right now."

Her plump lips curled into a smirk, "It's amazing what a sob story can do for you, even pull scruffy looking guys like you."

Ouch.

He shook his head, mentalling kicking himself in the shins.

Why do I always pick the crazy ones?

"So, you lied about that?"

Claire nodded, malice shining brightly through her blue eyes.
She was waiting for him to snap, but to her utter disappointment the young man laughed again.

"Whew!" He exhaled, smiling at her brightly. "Thanks for making me feel better. I thought I was the only one spinning tales."

"Huh?"

Instead of answering, he twisted open her apartment door and walked out.

The blonde shuffled her way into the corridor. "You can't just walk away! We were having a conversation, James."

"Well, now it's over!" He grinned cheekily, turning around. "And the name's Judas Mikaelson, love. Hopefully, I won't be seeing your pretty face again!"

And then he was gone, down the elevator and through the complex doors - never to be seen again.