ARIEL
The loud bass inside the club syncs with the pounding in my head. I knew I wouldn't love the club, but I guess the cocktails make up for it. The bars back home do not live up to the taste of the beverages.
And Cia was right, there are fewer people who seem to be leering or simply staring. I have that problem every time I leave the house so I suppose this is an improvement.
"Ciao." I hear a thick drawl behind me that makes my muscles tense. On second thought..
"Hi, I don't really speak Italian." I shrug at him, hoping he would just go away. He is not bad looking, I just don't see the appeal of men. I never have. Even my first boyfriend. He was fine I guess, but he was obsessed with sex. And it felt like our whole relationship was just based on if I put out.
I've only dated two guys and I do not understand the fuss.
"No worries, Im from Long Island." he smiles cheekily.
"Oh my mom's from there aswell." I don't know why I said that, I thought I didn't want to continue this conversation.
"Yeah? Well no offense to your mom but I like Boston more." He says. I snicker. The alcohol has lowered my inhibitions. By alot.
"No its-"
"Bruce! Bro let's go!" someone calls behind him. He turns to look then gives me a guilty look.
"Please go, Im waiting for someone anyway." I wave my hand. Technically not a lie, Cia is in the bathroom and I am waiting for her. Bruce, as I now know him, leaves with a smile.
I sigh, partly out of relief as I stand up to go to the bathroom myself. If I sit at the bar alone then people will approach me. It's kind of inevitable.
But as soon as I walk off the main floor and into the dark hallway, I run into a wall, my nose immediately sends a painful sting through me making me wince and step back.
The wall is clad Armani, and as I trail my eyes up, they meet forest green ones, looking down at me from their 6 feet something height. It's a person.
My eyes slightly widen when I see who it is.
Griffin M.
I have run into this man more than 10 times in just 3 years after he graduated Princeton and still, I do not even know his last name. It's not that many times, but considering they were all coincidentally, I don't think it's natural at all.
I met him for the first time my freshman year of college through some friends at a frat party. We barely spoke then and all the other times we saw each other around campus. He was tall, muscular and huge, his form brooding and his expression always dark enough that I never even attempted to strike a conversation.
His deep green eyes always seemed to stare into mine every time he so much as glanced at me. Just like they were right now.
After he graduated, I never thought I would see him again, just like I thought I would never see anyone from highschool again. Only it didn't prove to be true in his case. Somehow I ran into him two weeks after his graduation at a cafe. We didn't speak.
Then we saw each other in California when I was visiting my parents in junior year. Then in Florida one time, and once when I was in New York for my cousin Mary's wedding. And countless other bizarre run ins with this tall dark haired guy. And then there was 2 months ago. I was in Colorado with my mom, and I felt eyes on me at the airport. And there he was, staring into my literal soul.
It was like a freaky coincidence and every time I saw him I could feel my heart pick up and goosebumps disrupt my skin. We kept running into eachother and I always put it off as a less than likely coincidence but it was always in America. How the heck did he manage to be in Rome at the exact same time as me? We were on a different continent, no way this was a coincidence.
The bass of the music now synchronized with the pounding of my heart and I had just opened my mouth to speak when his rough, deep voice vibrated through me in a way music, no matter how loud, never could.
"Are you following me?" His voice made a pleasurable shiver run through me before his words finally registered.
"What?" I said, my tone surprised. "I was going to ask you that. It was semi-normal and convincing till we were in America but this time we're in Europe." I feel my eyes widen for effect. Griffin's mouth twitches but his stone cold expression comes back a second later.
"Which is why I am asking, are you following me." he drawls, his tone do casual I feel anger start to build at his nonchalance.
"No. I am not. Why would I, you're just some guy I played truth or dare with once in college and haven't been able to stop seeing since." My tone is annoyed. "I don't even know your last name." I raise my eyebrows as if that proves my innocence.
"And you probably never will, Storm." he says, his face remains completely stoic but I see amusement briefly glint his eyes at my sharp gasp. But it's gone before it could be considered an emotion.
He's so expressionless.
__________
Flashback
"Truth or dare Griffin." Brad grins at the brooding guy sitting technically next to me, but on a far away couch.
"Im not fucking playing." He grunts.
"Dude you're in the circle. Rules are rules, truth or dare."
Griffin, as I now know his name, sends an icy glare in Brad's direction before he groans. Brad is stronger than me, granted I can only see the side of Griffins face, that glare looked very scary.
"Dare." he gruffly says. "Don't make me get up and do not ask me touch anyone." the guy warns. He's scary. I don't know why I let Heather convince me to play.
"Okay, give the person to your right a nickname." Brad rolls his eyes. "There I gave you a third grade one." He smiles but immediately recoils when Griffin moves to grab his drink.
If his friend is scared then I should be scared. I look at the person who is on his right but my pulse quickens when I realize its me. Oh no.
I slowly drag my eyes up to meet the dark green ones staring back at me and I feel mine go wide in a mixture of nerves, fear and, as much as I hate to admit it, the sheer shock of how pretty his face is.
The next word he utters leaves me burning red in the face and my heartbeat erratic.
"Storm."
____________
"Don't call me Storm." I frown.
Griffin's expression darkens at my words.
"You didn't tell me, what are you doing in Rome if not following me." I accuse.
"I live here, Ms. Russo." he says. Oh. "But that in no capacity explains why you are here, when you live in California." his eyes glint satisfaction when I remain silent. Darn it.
Before I can respond with a smart comment, he's gone, walking in long strides with the help of his ridiculous height.
He is so-
Wait, how did he know my last name? Or where I live?
