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Will Rosie even know where I am?

After standing in front of his
friends
so inept and silent for a few minutes, he signals me to sit on the vacant leather couch across from them. I automatically sit down stiffly. It occurs to me that he has barely spoken two words to me since the faux rescue downstairs. It isn’t like me to follow some stranger into a dark corner and what…?

Make out?

This isn’t what I do at all; well especially not for the last ten years anyway. The past decade of my life has been spent building something, a life I thought, with my beloved. From my mid-teens I was hooked on him. The athletic guy with smouldering good looks that could earn him just about any girl he wanted, but for some reason, he wanted me. His tough, bad boy image had me addicted and I unconsciously knew that we would guide each other through the world together as one. I
always
knew it. I could see the potential in us and what life we could build together; having children, travelling... having it all. He didn’t have the confidence to match his tough exterior and from that first moment I just couldn’t stay away. I shake off the images of
his
dark brown eyes staring at me vulnerable, as I feel Jay take the seat beside me leaving only the smallest space between us. The air between us is rapidly building into a thick and tense blanket, so I take a quick breath and look up at him through my lengthy lashes carefully. He is staring at me, cold, and unemotional like he’s waiting for something.

Waiting for what?

Me to jump all over him?

I scan to the others seated around the coffee table and I am shocked to see they are all looking at me.

What are they waiting for?

I feel dizzy.

Probably a result of the alcohol I have been sculling all evening
,
my good conscious frowns.

The women seated with their partnered men are all dressed very similar. Skin tight mini-skirts that almost show the side of their behinds as they sit one leg crossed over the other. Their makeup applied thick, with heavy liner on their eyes and each of them having blonde peroxide hair. Trashy comes to mind. But who was I one to judge when I felt just as unkempt. The men seem completely disinterested in everything, the women and where they are, that they look so vague and incoherent.

Sleazy.

A waiter comes into view and without speaking places a tray of beverages on the low table in front of me. The men grab a beer each leaving the women to pour their own glasses of champagne. I’m instantly thinking about Tony and how he gentleman-like poured mine and Rosie’s drinks previously, in stark contrast to the way these guys are treating their companions.

Shit Rosie!

She must be concerned about my whereabouts. After all, I had only left to go to the bathroom and that was a little while ago now. The mere thought that I would cause such apprehension to my friend, yet again, after everything she has done comes over me suddenly. I feel the throb in my chest and am struck with the too familiar guilt for torturing her even further. I feel an elusive touch on my knee as Jay’s electric current is felt through the heavy material of my jeans and like before, a slight tremor ripples across my skin.

"What is it?"

I glance up toward his eyes where they meet just for a moment. I’ve never seen such blue eyes before.  I remembered the flood of compliments mine have been given over the years from the time I was a young girl, and they can’t honestly compare to this man's exquisite colour. Although it’s evident, like earlier that the windows are closed and that vacant emotionless stare still exists within his striking blue gaze. I take a sharp breath.

"I really should get back to my table, my friends will be wondering where I am." I surprise myself at my confidence. It was only a few moments ago I couldn't even string a sentence together. As I keep my eyes fixed on him I begin to wonder what his reaction to my sudden request for a departure might be. But as his body shifts slightly away from me and he removes his hand from my leg, I am immediately relieved.

"You have to go?” he asks completely unemotionally.

"Yes, they will be worried about me.”

I stand promptly ignoring the natural sway of my body as it responds to the sudden movement, before noticing Jay rising at the same time. He is standing between me and my exit as I am trapped between the lounges and the coffee table in front. Fear instantly strikes me, as I wonder whether he intends to even let me leave. His body is motionless. His gaze is still blank. But no sooner as the terror builds it vanishes, as he moves his body side on allowing a path for me to pass by. I look down to the floor and take two swift strides so I am free to get away. I sigh again with relief over my apprehension. Before I exit around the screens that shield us from the rest of the world, I turn over my shoulder to look at him again.

"Thank you," escapes me in one breathless motion and I smile sweetly, far more genuine than I would have thought possible. He doesn’t attempt to move from where he is stationed, but merely nods politely in reply.

As I start to find my feet again and take tiny steps out from behind the screen, I begin to feel his presence following close behind me - the cloud of thickening air swelling like a storm. I tense in reaction, and am unsure why he is trailing me.

Should I be afraid?

I risk a few more paces until I am almost at the place where I had inelegantly bumped into him, before bracing myself to look at him. His stare is still vacant, haunting almost and yes, incredibly sexy.
Dangerous.

"I think I can make it back ok on my own,” I whisper nervously.

Suddenly, a slight chuckle overcomes him as the cries of laughter escape from his wide open mouth. He has the most stunningly straight, white teeth and for some reason that’s the only thought that assembles. I notice his eyes are much softer and more sincere, like the laughter has opened up his soul. It may be the alcohol, but his soul looks wonderful.

"I, ah, have to get back to work now,” he answers. A smirk still across his lips as his eyes dart up toward the stage behind me.

Oh.

I gulp.

He was the singer on the acoustic guitar earlier?

I instantly feel my face flush, from both my complete overreaction to him following me and the way the song made me feel when I entered the room. I had noticed that I hadn’t heard the song before, but was surprised at how at ease the melody had made me feel. Ironic, considering how he made me feel when he was singing, is a total contrast to when he is before me.

"Are you staying for a while? Can I…..” he starts in his deep voice precisely knifing through the air before he is interrupted.

“Penny!”

Rosie’s familiar motherly tone cascades into my immediate air and dissolves the previous tension, as I turn over my shoulder barely in time to weather a forceful hug from her. “Oh my God, where were you?” she gushes. She looks concerned. The same rutted brow above her copious hazel eyes, that has held its place for the past few months. My heart leaks a familiar ache.

Ouch.

"I was worried, are you okay?" she rattles as she frantically scans over me from top to bottom, before her eyes move to Jay. Her face rapidly changes in appearance as she becomes wide eyed and fixated on him. Embarrassed even.

Yes he’s intense, I know!

"Oh! I’m so sorry. I, ah, didn’t mean to interrupt,” she says with complete bewilderment and nudges me, not-so discreetly I might add, in the ribs.

I instantly roll my eyes before peeking up at him. I gasp when I notice he has not taken his eyes off me. His stare has wavered to its original way where all the warmth his previous laughter had left has now disappeared. The dark intensity has found its comfy home yet again.

"I have to go,” he rudely states as he shoots daggers at Rosie. Mere moments later he returns his gaze back to me but before I have time to put together any reply, I blink and when I reopen my eyes he is gone. He has taken up his position on the single stool in the middle of the stage beside us, seemingly back to normal and completely disinterested. I take a few seconds to gather my composure, shaking the past few moments from my head and turn on my heel heading back to our table. Notably, Rosie is right next to me and links her arms immediately with mine.

"Oh. My. God,” she says under her breath directly in my ear, and in an unusually animated high pitched tone that I haven’t really heard from her mouth before.

"What?”

"Do you even know who that is?” She still keeps her voice low but its pitch is rising with her heightened excitement. I shrug my shoulders and shake my head.

No. I mean yes.

He’s Jay the mystery danger guy who came to my faux rescue earlier.

Before I can put my thoughts into a response she is already answering her seemingly rhetorical question.

"That is Jay Ryker!" she exclaims quietly. Perhaps still mindful that this place probably would frown upon groupies screaming excitedly about someone she has obviously recognised.

Jay Ryker...

Jay Ryker?

The name sounds familiar, but with the amount of confusion in my head right about now I can’t seem to put anything together that makes any kind of sense. I screw my face up in reply to my radical thoughts, and I hear Rosie sigh with disbelief.

"You know Jay Ryker! Lead singer from The Cray?" she asks dubiously, as we manoeuvre around oncoming traffic whilst keeping our course for our booth. As we continue our approach, I notice our table is deserted. Tony and Marco seem to be nowhere in sight and the empty glasses scattered around the table still haven’t been collected.

What kind of VIP room is this?
I wonder as I skim quickly around the room looking for staff to clear it.

"Penny," Rosie groans as we finally reach our destination. Still linking arms, she tugs on my entwined limb hard and with a thud I awkwardly fall on the leather lounge with her. I don’t have time to enjoy the instant comfort I had felt before when I first sat down, as her flustered glare is suffocating me.

"What?” I reply innocently with a smidgen of annoyance. I keep my eyes away from hers still raiding the room for waiters.

I could really do with another drink.

"You need to tell me everything!” she hisses. "How did you get talking to him? What did he say? What was he like?”

She rattles out the questions without taking any breaths. Her body is facing mine completely now so that our knees are firmly touching and our arms still knotted together.

"I don’t know..." I mumble, still not looking at her. "I bumped into him outside the bathrooms and he offered me a drink,” I say disconcerted. "No big deal."

A-ha!

Finally a waiter!

"No big deal?" her voice screeches with high pitched incredulity. I ignore her and unravelling our tangled arms I signal the waiter.

"I would like to order another round of the champagne please," I state confidently, waiving my arm in a circular motion around the centre of the table. The man nods, gathering the empty glasses onto the centre of his tray before scurrying away; leaving me there alone with Rosie once more.

Damn it!

I roll my eyes.

I will have to face her now.

I hesitantly turn my head so that I am directly facing her. I try to keep my expression nonchalant and casual, which starkly contrasts her astonished yet frustrated appearance.

"What?" I question. "Stop with the staring will you." I glance immediately down toward my knees.

"I can’t believe Jay Ryker spoke to you," she breathes slowly and I can still hear the sheer surprise in her tone. It kind of irritates me.

"Why is that? Am I that much of a mess?" I mumble anyway.

YES!
My good conscious screams at me.

"No Pen, I don’t mean that," she says dismissingly. "I don’t think he really talks to anyone. I've read that his band has gotten it on with just about every one imaginable. He’s never photographed with the same girl, ever! I mean he has to be at least thirty right? I don’t even think he has publicly had a girlfriend, and he’s hooked up with way too many women to be gay.”

Her bulging eyes are pulsing as she spits out the words. She definitely loves the celebrity gossip sites; not that I can blame her. It used to be one of my favourite past times, to check on what is happening in the world of the famous and the beautiful. It’s also one of our common interests in our friendship; well it used to be anyway.

"I can’t believe he spoke to you,” she continues.

I immediately roll my eyes.

It’s really not that big a deal.

"Look, he probably does this all the time. I can only imagine where he was expecting the drink to lead."

My drunken thoughts trail off to the image of his privately appointed table. The way the trashy looking women were draped over those creepy guys and their eyes so obviously disinterested. So vague.

I was probably expected to recognise who he was and go all 'ho' on him.

I shake my head in disgust. That’s definitely not the type of person I am, and I’m immediately irritated that he thought I would be. I have only ever allowed one man to enter my bed. I had been in a couple of other relationships and to me they were intimate, but they never quite got to that moment when I knew I wanted to have sex with them. With
him
, it was a feeling I knew before I really
knew
. We hadn't even been together all that long before I gave him my virtue. I just always knew. I sniff sombrely at the memories of our unspoken connection and I know if I hadn't had so much alcohol in my system these thoughts alone would be enough to send me to the asylum. I shake my head. It doesn’t matter to me how well known and hot this guy is, that’s not the girl I am or intend to be. Ever. No matter what emotional state I am in.