Find Me Alastar

“Please, join us.” She gestures to the chairs at the table. My eyes widen in horror. Is she kidding?

Thomas obviously likes the look of my about-to-be-bashed friend, dropping into the seat without any

hesitation. Alastar stays standing and I look down at the table to avoid his stare.

“Is that okay with you, Emmaline?”

My angry eyes snap up to him. “My name is Emerson. Please call me that.”

He raises his eyebrows in question. “Is that a yes?”

“Fine,” I snap.

He sits down.

This is just great. I want to punch him in the nose across the table. I lift the menu to hide my scowling

face.

“Are you eating, too?” Thomas asks.

“Yes.” Brielle smiles. “Your accent is Irish, yes?”

Thomas smiles. “Guilty.”

Brielle giggles shyly.

I roll my eyes. Give me a fucking break. Now they are going to sit here and flirt and Alastar and I are

going to ignore each other. Perfect.

The waitress comes over. “Are you all ready to order?” I open my menu annoyed. “I will have the

pasta.”

Brielle starts to order and my eyes wander to Alastar who is staring at me openly. Stop watching me,

asshole.

“What?” I mouth angrily. I’m so pissed off with this guy I can’t even pretend he doesn’t shit me.

He holds both of his hands up in the air, mocking my venom. I’m not even joking. I’m so mad I could

cut out his kidney with a breadstick.

“How have you been?” he asks.

Oh, you mean how have I been since you made me feel like a dirty whore? “Great, thanks.” I snap.

“You?” He shrugs. “I’ve been better.”

My eyes narrow. What’s that code for? My wife found out I slept with you and now I’m sleeping on

the streets. The waitress goes to him next and he orders his meal as I watch him intently. What am I going

to do? Do I pretend he didn’t hurt my feelings or do I lay it all out on the table and give him a chance to

explain? Who am I kidding? He doesn’t want to explain. His phone beeps and I watch him type in his

security code: 2457. Why do I watch people’s phone codes? It’s such a bad habit.

Hmm, unless… I have an idea.

I take out my phone and text Brielle.

Get Alastar’s phone.

She reads her text and frowns at me I raise my eyebrow. I text back:

His security code is 2457.

She picks up her drink and smirks into it as she texts back.

What the fuck for?

For some reason I find that funny and I drop my head to hide my smile. Thomas has now gotten up to

go to the bar and Alastar is still texting someone on his phone. I reply:

Check his incoming messages during the early hours of Saturday morning last week.

She reads the texts and her eyes widen before she gives me one curt nod.

Distract him.

Shit, how do I do that? He places his phone down on the table and I know that I have no time to waste.

It’s now or never. “Alastar, can you come and dance with me? I want to talk to you.”

His eyes hold mine. “Really?” He frowns as his eyes flick to the two desperate girls dancing alone on

the dance floor.

“Yes, really.” I stand abruptly. He goes to pick up his phone but I take it off him and place it back

down on the table. “You wont be needing that,” I reply as I drag him away from it. We approach the dance

floor and I quickly fill with dread. This is the worst song I have ever heard. He rolls his lips to hide hisText property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

smile. “You like this song?” he asks as he wraps me in his large arms.

Crap, he can’t touch me. Hell. I didn’t think this plan through at all. He starts to get closer and closer

until I can feel his breath in my ear. His arms are warm and tight as I rest my face on his chest. God damn

it, why does he have to be such an asshole?

“Were you sick on Saturday morning?” He smiles.

“No. It was a night I would rather forget, though.”

His face falls.

Guilt fills me, why the heck do I care if I hurt his feelings? Screw him and his pretend feelings. He

really has hurt mine. We turn and I look over to the table to see Brielle talking to Thomas and she gives

me a nod. “Lets go back. I don’t like this song,” I announce.

He shakes his head in confusion and we go back to the table. Alastar sits quietly with his hands linked

in front of him. Brielle and Thomas are deep in conversation about where Thomas works.

“What do you do for work, Alastar?” Brielle asks.

“I’m a photographer for magazines,” he replies.

Huh, typical. He probably is a serial model screwer. I nod and sip my drink. Stop it. You’re acting

frigging crazy. It was a one-night stand-get the hell over it.

Brielle starts to talk to the two boys and I read my message from Brielle.

4. 00 AM Saturday from Thomas

“Where are you?”