I hit send and go to the kitchen. Even though I’m starving, I can’t think of anything to make. Toast could be a good option since it’s not rich with spices, but that would mean carbs, and if I’m going to pull off that dress tonight, I want something lighter. Nerves rattle me, but the job is more important than my anxiety of being out at a club.
Opening the fridge, I opt for Greek strawberry-flavored yogurt, which is easy to swallow, and it’s not sugary. I keep telling myself I’m nervous about the party, but in actual fact, it has nothing to do with the nightclub. The reason my body is in disarray is because I’m going to meet Colton King for the first time. And even though he’s a player and would never look twice at someone like me, I can’t deny he’s gorgeous.
Settling on the stool at the breakfast bar, I spoon some yogurt into my mouth. The smooth, creamy taste of the yogurt hits my taste buds, and I’m happy with my decision.
My thoughts go back to Colton. He’s one of those guys you have a crush on in high school or college, but he’s unattainable because he’s far too lovely. He’s far too perfect, and those are the ones you need to steer clear of because they’re trouble.
A rugged, chiseled jaw, with a sharp nose, and gorgeous teal eyes. His tousled brown hair always looks messy, but it’s sexy because he’s wearing it. The smooth, tanned skin that’s adorned with a touch of ink on his shoulder. But it’s the one on his toned torso intrigues me. The tattoo that sits on his ribs, the dreamcatcher, is striking, and I find myself curious. I wonder what it means. Is there something that brought on the decision to mark his skin for life?
I’m almost certain no man would be caught dead with something so feminine on them, which begs the question—was that for someone special, or what meaning does it have for him?
His clothes look like every item was tailored for him because his body is perfectly sculpted with dips and peaks of toned muscle, from his broad shoulders down to his tapered hips, and those deep-cut oblique muscles that point to low-hanging jeans.
I’m lost in the reverie that is Colton King, and I know I’m in trouble. I’m not meant to salivate over him. I’m a professional, and he’s just a story I’m meant to write.
Shaking my head of my errant thoughts, I focus on my pastel pink yogurt and try to not imagine him without his shirt on. Even though I’ve studied all his photos with an eagle eye.
I know I shouldn’t care, but I can’t help myself. I’m naturally curious. Shouldn’t all journalists be? I try to convince myself it’s part of my job to ask questions, but deep down, I know it’s not the case with Colton.
My breath is stolen when I walk into the club. There are blue and purple strobe lights illuminating the large, open-plan space. Those wearing white, or any pale color, myself included, seem to be illuminated more so than those in darker shades.
People crowd the bar, so I forgo the area, heading toward the throng. Instead, I make my way past the dance floor and head deeper into the club where I find booths decked in dark leather.
The dance floor is bigger than my living room, and it already has bodies swaying to loud music, gyrating to the rhythm of some Latin pop star I can’t remember the name of right now.
Even though the song is catchy, I need to find Blythe and Colton before anything else. I notice a second-floor landing which surrounds the perimeter with dark railings keeping everyone from tumbling down onto the lower level.
My gaze trails along the faces. Even in the dim light, I find Colton surrounded by at least a dozen good-looking women, all draped over him. A blonde sits astride his lap and has her arms holding onto his neck, which has my stomach twisting with an unwarranted feeling—jealousy.
“There you are.” Blythe comes up behind me and offers me a friendly grin. “Come. I’ll introduce you to Colton if I can get those famewhores off his lap for long enough.” She rolls her eyes, which makes me laugh. Thankfully, I’m not the only one who doesn’t like the fact that they’re stealing his attention.
But do I want his attention on me? Or is this purely part of the job?
I follow her through the throng, and we reach the steps leading up to where the model himself is seated. The moment Blythe is spotted, the fangirls seems to scatter, except for the blonde who looks like she’s glued to him.
“I need to speak with Colton,” Blythe sneers, glaring at the half-naked woman. For a moment, they’re in a standoff, but Blythe is no match for her. Once he’s freed from the woman, Blythe turns to me. “This is Colton King,” she introduces, gesturing to him.