This dress could make a bamboo look hot. Its wide neckline exposes my collarbones thoroughly. It hugs my waist, the fabric over the chest falls in layered, flaring folds down the hips. It ends mid-thigh. But of course she can’t see most of that in my selfie. The hotter detail than the dress is my pony, hair not covering my collarbones is the whole point here.
Wen: ‘Babe, this Marco guy is going to fall flat on his ass. Be ready to witness his death.’
I grin.
Me: ‘Yeah, sure. I’ll send you a snap of his dead body.’
“Excuse me.” A thick voice comes from my left.
I look up and take in curly blonde hair, dark-blue eyes, a square-shaped face, definitely a handsome guy standing in front of me. The image I had of him was far uglier than he actually is. He has a face I could easily cast as a side character in my books. And to ruin my date before it even starts, the face I usually reserve for every main character flashes in my head.
“Are you Avira Bennett?” he asks with a polite smile.
I stand, offer an awkward chuckle, I’ve just taken a small tour of content in my head while staring at his face. “Yeah. You must be Roxion.” I extend my hand, politely.
He takes my hand quickly. “Nice to meet you, Avira.”
“Same here, Roxion. You have a nice name, by the way.”
He releases my hand and sits opposite me, grinning. “You too, beautiful and unique, just like you.”
My cheeks heat at the first compliment of my life from an outsider. In the next moment, the hairs on my neck prick with a strange, ominous sensation.
“This is my first time in San Diego,” he says, looking out the window.
“I hope you like the city.”
He nods with a smile, a friendly one, not the grumpy scowl of some bastard. Don’t think about him, Avira. Remember he wants to get rid of you.
“So, what are your hobbies?” he asks.
“Writing.”
“Writing?”
“Short stories on blogs.” I can’t tell him my pen name before we’re literally married. I can’t risk letting people in the underworld know about it, or I won’t be able to attend any signing events. My father and my so-called adopted brother will force me to change the name.
“Ah, that’s a cute hobby. Can I get a subscription to them?” He smiles like he genuinely wants one.
I nod, returning the smile. “Why not. Give me your number and I’ll send you the link.”
I hand him my phone. He saves his number and returns it to me.
The waiter arrives to take our order. He chooses seared dry-aged ribeye and lobster mac and cheese.
I grin. “I also love the lobster mac and cheese,” then, looking at the waiter, “same for me, please.”
“So you’re a Formula One racer. I heard people in your profession have the reflexes of a cat. Can you show me some stunt?” I tease.
He laughs. “I would love to, if this place weren’t so sophisticated.”
I scan the surroundings. “No one will know. Let me toss this glass at you.”
He laughs harder. “You are very interesting. I was expecting something else.”
I throw the glass toward his left, and he catches it so quickly, placing it down as if it had always been there.
“Wow. Impressive.”
