A story based on Can Yamans Turkish dizi.
Ozgur Atasoy.
Rich, handsome, Club/bar owner and DJ lives in an exclusive rooftop penthouse in Istanbul.
He's a Player.
A lover of beautiful things and he can't resist one night stands with beautiful women...
Ozan ends the call, with a thoughtful look over at me, then he starts trawling through his phone.
"You were quick getting her number in there..."
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I lean over to see what he's staring so intently at, and a photo of Deniz appears on his screen. "Are you stalking her Instagram?" "It's not stalking. I'm just getting some background info." "What? Are you in love already?" "Noooo..." He scoffs at me, but I know this man. "Oh, Lord. Ozan. You've met her once!" "Well, sometimes that's all it takes."
I shake my head at him, not that he's taking any notice of me.
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"Well, what did she say? Is Ezgi with her?" "She didn't actually say Yes, but they're together, definitely. She was careful with her answers." "I told you, she's a lawyer! I know what I'm talking about." "She said that Ezgi was working on our Latin night."
That's something at least. She can't be that mad at me. I reach down to feel the outline of my own phone tucked firmly in the front pocket of my jeans. Then I make myself a coffee and retreat to my office on the pretense of checking my emails. Ozan heads back onto the kitchen.
Once I'm alone, I open my laptop and get out my phone, immediately going to Instagram, so I too can scroll through, first Ezgi's profile and then Deniz's, finally back to Ezgi again. There are no photos posted today that could give me any clues as to their location.
I keep being drawn back to one picture of Ezgi in particular.
Her hair is wild and curly and her face is clear of make up. She looks fresh and clean as though she smells of laundry detergent. Sometimes that's better than any perfume and yet it's often hard to find. It's the 'just got out of bed' look, that screams, I'm naughty, but nice, that I'm attracted to.
She's sat by a railing, outside, peeking demurely, over her naked shoulder at the camera. An oversized white shirt falls off her and the only other item of clothing she's wearing are a pair of grey fluffy socks, that she's about to roll down. I know as I look at that photo that I want to do the same. In fact, I want to rip them off of her feet and run my big hands up and down her calves and then hold her ankles...and pull them apart.
