In keeping with her theme, I also dug out one of my white dresses that reaches my knees and shows off a hint of cleavage. But I am wearing flat sandals as opposed to Lisa’s sky high heels. It’s early spring here in Barcelona but still hotter than the UK can ever be and Lisa can walk in heels as easily as any other woman does in her flats. I can recall only a handful of times since we moved to London where she hasn’t worn heels in some capacity.
Where Lisa and Kate are opposites in looks, I can honestly say I struggle to find where I fit in. My shoulder length brown hair is dark in the winter and then gets a lot of light streaks from the sun. My chocolate brown eyes contrast the icy blue of Kate’s and Lisa’s deep emerald ones. Kate is curvy and petite, and Lisa is built like a catwalk model, but I am somewhere in the middle. One day loving the wide hips and thin waist, the next swearing that a few more visits to the gym will finally rid me of my large bum. Not that my generous assets both behind and in front haven’t driven some men crazy in the bedroom. I even catch one of the men in suits steal a cheeky glance at me as I walk past.
I stare at the choices of cocktails on the wall behind the bar, but then order myself a Coke and a big glass of water. The thought of alcohol makes me want to puke right now and so I resolve to stay sober tonight and just allow myself to indulge in good old people watching as a form of entertainment. I scan the room, hoping to find someone who I can have a good conversation with. It’s then that my eyes latch onto someone in the corner, right at the back and tucked away conveniently near to the air conditioning unit.
He is sitting in a chair with his arms at his side and his neck arched to take in the gorgeously cool air. His wrist is thankfully bereft of any fancy watch and he is wearing a cream linen shirt open to reveal his chest. He is trim but not overly muscular and his well-toned thighs fill out his shorts very nicely and his forearms are exposed in that very enticing way by his shirt sleeves being rolled up to his elbows.
When he eventually straightens his neck to look up again, I can see the face of an older gentleman but it certainly isn’t off-putting. I would guess he is in his early to mid forties at a push. He has faint lines around his deep blue eyes and mouth but his face is otherwise smooth and nicely tanned. He has a beard and well-trimmed sideburns with salt and pepper sprinkled strategically like the strokes of a paintbrush in his inky black hair. And as he looks up, he locks eyes with me and I can feel the blush move from my cheeks and down to my chest. I bite my lip and my eyes drop to the floor but I look up just a little from under my eyelids. Bloody Hell, what’s the matter with me?!
I am sure he isn’t the only interesting and halfway decent looking chap here, but it’s like he commands your attention the second he locks eyes with you. Like you’re trapped in a beam with his focus being solely on you. I feel a tingle move all the way through me and I know exactly what that look means for me.
Then he looks away, and I almost hate him for not looking back again. We haven’t even spoken and I am wanting his attention back on me. Every sensible instinct I have is telling me to let it go before I make a fool out of myself but I take a deep breath, pick up my drink and carefully step down from the bar stool and walk towards the back of the room. My stomach is doing flips the whole time and I want to grab onto the side of the wall to stop myself from going any further.
“Are you looking for some company, or shall I take myself back to my bar stool?” I say, almost involuntarily and I feel the blush on the back of my neck climbing slowly up to the top of my head.
The man looks astonished, but the look doesn’t stay on his face for long. I can tell he is at the very least intrigued.
“You’re welcome to sit down, Honey. I have no objection.” His accent is American, but no particular dialect comes to mind. He sounds like one of those old-money cultured types, but then I look down toward his sandals and I stifle a laugh.
“What’s the matter, Sweetheart? A little lonely tonight?” He says in that silky smooth baritone of his and my stomach flips again.
“Actually, I wanted to ask: What on Earth are you doing wearing Birkenstocks? Did you leave your Crocs at home?”
Why did I say that? That’s so rude!
He stares at me incredulously for a moment, but then replies smoothly “That’s not normally the first thing a woman asks me, Sweetie.”
I wanted to have a talk with a halfway decent looking man, and he dismissed my dig with humour. Now I feel oddly bereft and I can’t allow this state of affairs to be.
“Then let me rephrase: If not your shoes, what is the first thing you think women notice?”
He smiles, “There’s no way I can answer that question without either insulting a beautiful woman’s intelligence, or being disrespectful to myself.”
I want to push further, harder, but the reasonable nature of his reply wins me over and instead I say:
“My intention was not to insult you. I was just intrigued, and admittedly a little disappointed, when I saw such a good-looking and sophisticated man wearing those monstrosities.”
He doesn’t seem too bothered by that, in fact, he zeros in on my face to scrutinise a little closer. I swallow hard.
“My footwear hasn’t stopped me from talking to pretty girls in the past, and even if it did, that can be helped by simply changing them. Could the same be said for a smart mouth?”
“Being a little under the weather means that my brain to mouth filter isn’t working to full capacity today. What’s your excuse for wearing such awful shoes?” I say, not wanting to be ruffled.
He smiles and shakes his head, and then takes a sip of his glass of water before moving the subject on.
“Hi. My name is Grayson. What’s your name?” He answers back calmly.
I pause for a moment, resisting the urge to laugh again, and my face remains impassive this time.
“Cassidy. Or ‘Cassy’, if you’re brave enough.” Jesus! Where did that come from?
He gives an amused grin “What can I get you to drink, Cassy?”
“Water. And lots of it,” I reply, deadpan.
He smiles and he calls over the waiter who then returns some moments later with a large decanter of water with two glasses.
I frown questioningly.
“I gave up over a year ago. Not my style.” He says, looking at the rim of his glass before raising it to his lips. Seemingly, this is a man with addictions far more complex than booze.
“What brings you to this party?” I ask, curious to know more.
“I am here because a friend told me it would be a good idea to come and catch up with some old colleagues. And where better to do that than in Europe? How about you?”
I smile approvingly and raise my glass. “I have this friend who brings interesting people together, and I promised that I would come tonight. It is the reason we came on this trip after all. Seeing the sights was just a bonus. But a welcome one. Is this your first time or do you come here a lot?”
He smiles back and then replies “As often as I can.”
I am finding conversation with him to be both exhausting and fascinating. I long to know more and he wants to get to know me too, but he is clearly very guarded. I have to work to get him to open up. Not normally the case when I go on a date.
Usually the guy I am with either ends up talking way too much about himself and not allowing me to get a word in edgeways, or he answers questions with a non-committal little shrug. This man gives as good as he gets, and I can tell his years give him an edge over me. But I am not prepared to give up that easily.
He looks at me intrigued. “Your friend is the leggy blonde over there. The one my friend can’t stop eyefucking?” He gestures with his head toward Lisa moving around the room like a queen, and I can see the lusty looks they make behind her back while they are the very example of Chivalry to her face.
“She is a very beautiful woman. It would be silly for him not to look. She is also a lot cleverer than most of the men in this room.” There! Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.
He smiles in admiration, if reluctantly, “I have no doubt that your friend is intelligent, and you’d have to be blind not to see how gorgeous she is. However, you know as well as I do that you have to be tough when you’re an attractive woman, Sweetheart.”
The endearment is unwelcome, even if what he says isn’t completely untrue. And although my annoyance is rising, I quash it down and move to change the subject.
“Have you seen much of the city on your travels, Grayson?”
He smiles and responds in kind, “I already know it fairly well. Have you seen much of it?”
I can hear the excitement start to ooze through my voice as I recite the tales of me going to the Gothic Quarter early in the morning, or visiting La Sagrada Familia with my friends throughout the day. I even mention my rather ambitious plan of visiting Montserrat at some point.
“Do you like travelling?” He asks, with a genuine interest.
“Oh yes. I have so many places on my list I want to see. Do you… live in one of the bigger cities in the US? I ask curiously
His face immediately changes and his mouth tightens in the corners.
“I haven’t been back to the States in a long time, Honey.”
“You don’t have any family there?” I ask, thinking about how close I am to my family back home in Bristol, and how lost I would be without them. It softens my attitude toward him a bit.
“None I am close to. And anyway, I have really good friends in London who have become like family.”
I feel more intrigued by the minute but I get distracted when he picks up the water decanter and refills first mine, then his. Quite the Gentleman. When he sets it down again, he directs his gaze squarely on me again.
“Now. Tell me about this list of yours, Sweetheart.”
I know that a part of me isn’t entirely satisfied with this response, but I don’t want to push my luck any further than I already have. If I am to remain talking with this man for the rest of the night, I am going to have to be a little more tactical. I find that being around him is a rush, far more potent than any beverage behind the bar.
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