Someone New

Chapter Six

There are some moments in life that you almost feel like you can pause. You can look around, see everything as if it's frozen in place, and just enjoy the serenity of that moment. Everything just feels right, as if for once in your life, every little thing has aligned in the cosmos to grant you an absolutely perfect moment.

This is not one of those moments.

As soon as the words slipped from my tongue, time slowed down - the tortuous kind of slow, where you can take in every agonizing second and feel the horror of it. You can't halt time to collect yourself and prepare your thoughts. You can't fast forward through the next few minutes, skipping the awkwardness and tension. You must bear through every detail and feel every second tick by, and you can't look away.

I take in Misha's face. His high cheekbones and sharp jawline could pass him off as a model. His dark eyebrows have furrowed as he processes what I just said. He has the most beautiful hair, too. It's black and falls in the most perfect natural waves, no coiffing necessary. He doesn't wear it long, something I appreciate ever since the dreadful man-bun fad, but it is apparent that he hasn't had it trimmed in a while, judging by the slightly curled ends around his ears and neckline. Misha's blue eyes are probably my favorite feature. They are a beautiful light blue, although they currently resemble a churning, stormy ocean as the realization hits him that I know his secret.

His voice drops into a low rumble as he leans toward me and asks, "What did you just say?"

The angel waiter returns at this moment to deliver our food. I swear, he's going to get the biggest tip tonight for interrupting what I'm sure was about to be a hostile interrogation. I look down in surprise at the food in front of me.

"Steak and french fries?" I can't help but giggle. Seeing the annoyed expression Misha is wearing, I elaborate. "This is just such a fancy place. It caught me off guard to see french fries." I'm sure I look psychotic, having transitioned from such a somber discussion to whimsical enjoyment of my food, but Misha doesn't seem to care. His eyes have not left my face since he voiced his question, despite thanking and dismissing the waiter.

"Alexandria. What did you say?" he repeats.

I frown at his use of my formal name. "I said that I know. I mean, I don't know details, but I know just the general story of what happened."

He closes his eyes in frustration and takes a moment before speaking again. "Who told you?"

"Cass. I'm assuming Brogan told her, although I'm not sure how he knows."

"I told him. Although now I'm beginning to regret confiding in him." Misha's beautiful blue eyes reopen and pierce through me. "It's none of your business."

"Misha," I plead, "I'm sorry. I should have waited for you to tell me. Please don't be mad at them; I practically forced Cassidy to tell me."

"Waited for me to tell you?" he laughs mirthlessly. "Lexi, I just said it's none of your business. Why would I tell some girl I've been sleeping with my life story? Why would I tell her about how it's my fault my sister is dead? How my last serious girlfriend left me because I was a mess and couldn't get my shit together? Why should I tell you any of that? A couple of fun nights does not a relationship make."

My mouth hangs open in shock. What is happening here? This night is going in the exact opposite direction of what I had anticipated.

"Misha," I begin, but my mouth is too dry. I raise my glass to take a sip of my champagne, and somehow drain the flute in just seconds. I'm too angry to form a coherent thought, so I let the unfinished sentence fade. Some girl? A couple of fun nights? I must be way off base, because I thought that we had a connection. I cried on his shoulder and told him my secrets. We laid together and laughed about the newest Drake album and talked about our mutual love of indie folk music. In just two weeks, I had begun to feel more alive with him than I had in a year with Dakota. Suddenly now, I'm reduced to just 'some girl'?