She frowns. “What do you mean?” The waitress brings us our main pasta meals.
“Exactly. I think to myself, what ring? What is he talking about? And he says the ring she is trying on… Meaning me and my ring!” I carefully twirl my pasta around my fork.
She screws up her face. “What?”
“He said he wanted to take the ring while I still had it on my finger.” I shovel in my first mouthful. “Hmm, this is good.” I point to the plate with my fork.
Her face falls. “Oh. That’s so rude.”
“I know, right? And then he continues to offer the old lady more and more money to try and outbid me.”
“What did you say to him?”
I shake my head. “I don’t remember. I was flabbergasted. I’d just been embarrassed by Mark being a dick at lunch, then this twat was trying to buy the ring out from under me.”
She shakes her head.
“The thing is, I wasn’t even probably going to buy it.”
“Then why did you?” Brielle mumbles around her food.
“Because this guy was such an arrogant ass, I couldn’t let him win.”
She reaches over and picks up my hand and looks at my ring and smiles. “It is beautiful, though.”
“I know. I do love it.” I smile. “Sucked in, Mr. Twinkle.”
Brielle frowns. “Who?’
I roll my eyes. “The jerk called himself Star.”
She bursts out laughing. “Are you kidding me?”
I shake my head. “I wish.” Lights start to flash and I pinch my temples. I get a strobe flashing light sensation and I drop my head and close my eyes. Fuck.
“What are you doing?” Brielle asks.
I frown as it continues to flash for around thirty seconds and then it suddenly stops. “Bloody hell,” I whisper.
“What?” Brielle asks.
“What does it mean when lights flash behind your eyes?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe you are going blind?”
I smirk and shake my head as my sight returns back to normal. “Thanks for the support.”
She smiles cheekily. “Could happen, I suppose.”
* * *
Three hours later, the dance beat vibrates across the floor as it echoes through Club Alto, a trendy nightclub we’ve found. This place is beyond swish, and there are beautiful people everywhere. The boys arrived and have bought half of their backpacker dorm with them. There are three guys from Canada, two girls from the US, and another couple from Perth in Australia. I gave Mark a white lie and told him I was spending the weekend at Brielle’s. I didn’t want to have to deal with confessing that I didn’t want to see him. Maybe he will grow on me, I don’t know, but at this stage I very much doubt it. Work starts on Monday and then I will get to see his true colors. His comment about stepping on people at work to get to the top keeps running through my mind, too. Who says that? I mean, even if it were true, you don’t say it out loud as if you’re proud of being an asshole… do you?
Surely not?
One of the Canadian guys, Philip, is getting ideas and keeps putting his arm around me when we speak. It’s innocent at this stage but, once again, I’m not keen. I smile anyway. I’ve turned into the fussiest woman on the planet. The only guy who has seemed remotely interesting to me in over twelve months was that jerk from the jewelry store. Too bad he opened his mouth.
“So, are all Australian girls as hot as you?” Philip asks.
I smile. “Really? You really giving me that line?”
He laughs out loud and points to me with his beer. “Look at yourself. What am I supposed to say?”
I glance down at myself and what I am wearing, I didn’t know what the normal was so I stuck to a white cable knitted tight dress that hangs off one shoulder with short black high heeled boots. One can never go wrong in a tight little dress and high-heeled boots. It’s always a winner. My blonde, shoulder-length hair is out and clipped up at one side, and I have my customary red lipstick on. Brielle is talking to the good-looking guy from the plane who seemed to swoop in on her the minute we arrived, just as I told her he would. A large group walks through the door and heads over to a blue light Smirnoff Vodka lounge area that is roped off until the hostess undoes the reserved seating sign and they all sit down. Six men and three women, seriously gorgeous people, and by the way others around them are looking, I can tell they are ‘somebodies’. Hmm, the cool click has arrived. For half an hour, I listen to this guy ramble on. Please don’t tell me he thinks I’m even remotely interested in him. A cute guy at the bar holds up his glass to silently ask me if I want a drink, and I want do. I really do. But I don’t want to be rude to the group I am standing with. I’m here to have fun, not meet men, I remind myself.
“So, tell me about Canada?” I smile.