“Owen?”
This time I recognize the voice, and it’s male. I glance up to see Victor standing directly in front of me, blocking my view.
“I have drinks, man,” he announces, and I nod when I notice two whiskeys in his hand.
“Thanks,” I mumble and crane my neck to peer past him.
Melissa’s voice continues to drone on in the background.
Victor sits down next to me and nud
ges me hard in the side with his elbow.
“Ouch.” I rub the painful area. “What the fuck, dude?”
Victor ignores me and addresses Melissa directly. “I can take this from here,” he tells her.
“Um, what?” She gives him a funny look.
“Owen has shit for brains right now.”
“Well, that’s not good.” I see Melissa shake her head in my peripheral vision, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the entrance for one fucking millisecond.
She’s probably bordering a fucking panic attack right now, and I’m to blame if it happens. Obsessed doesn’t even begin to describe the way I’m acting right now, but I don’t fucking care.
“He’ll be alright.” Victor nudges me again, but more gently this time. “Right, man?”
“Huh?” I stare at him in a daze.
Victor smiles at Melissa. “See?” he says confidently, although I’m not doing my best at selling Victor’s convincing story.
“What about his speech?” Melissa’s eyes dart nervously between us.
“He’ll wing it.” Victor shoots her a wink and a smile.
Melissa is like the fucking queen bee, guarding the hive. She looks reluctant to leave my side, but Victor nods reassuringly at her again.
“Don’t worry, I can take care of Owen. He just needs some TLC from his best friend.”
“Okay.” Melissa gives him a nervous glance, but she stands up and hesitantly moves away from us, most likely to do something else behind the scenes. I don’t fucking know, secretary and assistant type shit.
Victor takes a sip of his whisky and stares at me.
I don’t blink and stare at the door some more, and I’ll keep staring forever if that’s what it takes.
“Dude, are you alright?” he asks, and waves his hand in front of my face as if he’s trying to break my trance.
“Yeah,” I respond robotically.
“Then what the fuck is wrong with you?” His voice is high and stringy.
I look at him and laugh. “Nothing.” I take a sip of my drink.
“You seem really distracted, Owen,” he says.
“I am not,” I deny, although I don’t really have a valid fucking point to back myself up with either.
“Does this have anything to do with your fail-safe plan?” Victor asks.