Strangers in the Storm ✔

Chapter 2: Eyes Full of Trouble

DAMIEN 

Damien never thought his friend losing a COO position to his boss's new girlfriend would be a good thing, but he jumped at the opportunity to get drunk and forget about everything for the night.

While he was certain he'd have to numb his mind with an absurd amount of booze to stop thinking about what awaited in the morning, a perfect distraction bumped into him and spilled her whiskey all over him.

His phone buzzed and he frowned at the screen. Mona.

"What?" He answered.

"I can hear music around you." Mona's bitchy voice reached from the other end.

Damien pinched the bridge of his nose, "Probably because I'm in a bar."

"You told me not to let you go to bars until your mother's CT results came back, literally a week ago!" Mona raised her voice.

"Yeah, well, I was young and naive back then." Damien pinned the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he took out the wallet to pay for the bottle.

"I swear you're a douchebag sometimes." Mona grunted. "Now I have to feel guilty for not being a good sober coach."

"No one's blaming you, Mona." Damien sighed. "Look, it's not even 1AM, I've plenty of time until dawn."

"I'm going to stop by your apartment in the morning and if you're not awake at 7AM sharp to drive your mother to the clinic, I am going to throw such a tantrum you're gonna wish you've never met me."

"I wish I've never met you all the time." Damien chuckled.

"7AM sharp, Damien! I'm not kidding!"

He sighed, "You never are, Mona."

Mona hung up and Damien took a moment by the counter to gather himself. Mona was, without a doubt, his best friend. Three years ago, he met her in a similar bar to this one, and after spending the entire night trying to get into her pants, she finally told him she was a lesbian. Not before she squeezed every single penny out of his pocket, though.

What was supposed to be a casual hook-up turned into real friendship. Real friendships, however, came with painful truths and annoying phone calls.

As always, she was right. He shouldn't be here.

Damien took the bottle of Blue Label and walked back to the booth. The redhead waited for him there, her legs up on the leather seat, her eyes set on her phone and her finger playing with the lock of her hair.

Perhaps she didn't notice it herself, but Damien admired the certain carefreeness she emitted in her loose red dress and with her hair splayed over her shoulders. The other girls in the bar struggled to fit into their tight dresses, constantly having to tuck their bellies in and pull their hems down, and rushed to the bathroom to fix their rouges and their mascaras.

Roxanne lifted her hair up and threw it over the backrest, revealing her slender, smooth neck. Damien's eyes glided over her décolletage, her perky boobs, big enough to fit perfectly into his hands, over her slim waist, tightened with a white belt, and her long, silky legs.

She was either very confident or she put comfort above appearance, and something about that tickled Damien's imagination.

In her loose, fluttery dress, she looked like a butterfly.

A red, beautiful papillon.

He approached the table and put the bottle down, "Sorry for waiting."

"Blue Label?" She squinted at the bottle, her gorgeous doe-like eyes narrowing.

"Let's say that you spilling that whiskey was a sign from the stars you shouldn't be drinking something that cheap." He poured a glass and handed it to her.