Find Me Alastar

“What?” she gasps as she puts her hand over her mouth in horror.

“I know. So, I leave, Alastar follows me, then I lose my shit.”

“Understandably.”

“And we have this huge yelling match in the street which makes him go all weird, and he turns around

and tells me that it’s probably better this way because he had to let me go anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t fucking know.” I bite into my breakfast with renewed vigor. “And then he said something to

me and I got the weirdest sense of déjà vu which weirded me out.”© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

She frowns. “That’s still happening?”

I nod. “Worse than ever.”

“God, this is like The Vampire Diaries on crack,” she mutters into her coffee.

I nod. “Then he more or less told me to go back to Mark because he was giving me my freedom back.”

She frowns as she chews. “Didn’t he just go ape and demand Mark get his hands off his girlfriend?”

“Yep.”

“Fucking hell. I’m confused.”

“Join the club.”

“What are you going to do?”

I shrug. “Go to work and beg for my job back.”

“Fuck.”

“And that stupid bitch from reception who busted me with Alastar is just being a grade A cow.”

She laughs out loud. “Seriously, that is the story of this whole trip. Emerson Mathews, good girl

extraordinaire, gets busted jacking off a guy in a closet at her first work function.”

I cringe and shiver. “I will never live that down. I’m going to need therapy to recover.”

She sips her coffee as she watches me. “In all seriousness, what are you going to do?”

I sit back in my seat. “Nothing. That’s it.”

She shrugs. “It was fun while it lasted, huh?”

I smile regretfully. “It was. He was the perfect guy in every sense.”

“And crazy as a coconut,” she mutters dryly.

I nod. “Yes. Unfortunately, that, too.”

The acid in my stomach is sky high. I don’t think I have ever been so nervous. I’m probably going to get a

stomach ulcer over this. It’s pouring with rain and it’s dark, just like my mood.

It’s all his bloody fault.

I am on the bus on my way to work. It’s Monday morning and I’m about to face the music that the

ridiculous Irish fiasco has caused me. Since I met that twat my whole life has become one big mess.

I went out with the gang on Operation Hump Hank on Saturday night, and we had fun, but the night was

marred by my thoughts of Alastar, wondering where he was and what was he doing. On the upside,

though, Hank did get a girl’s phone number.

What must this look like from the outside?

I jack him off in a closet and get busted by a vengeful bitch from reception. I avoid Mark for three

weeks, and then, in the middle of dumping him, my knight in shining armor comes to defend my honor in

what is, quite possibly, the most absurd display of affection I have ever witnessed from a man. Oh, lets

not forget the smartass delivering tequila and cream to Mark’s parents. What a fuck up.

To make matters worse, I have spent the whole weekend pining for him, checking my phone

constantly. Hoping, even praying, that he calls me. Of course, he hasn’t. He was obviously serious when

he told me I had my freedom. But now that I have it, I don’t bloody want it. I want to feel his big, strong

arms around me. I want to hear the velvety, deep voice, and that beautiful accent of his.

I hate to admit it, but I’m missing him. I’m missing the thrill I felt when he called me Emmaline-the

ecstasy I felt when we made love, and the safety I felt when I slept in his arms. I’m not supposed to feel

anything, I know. We were casual. I close my eyes in regret. The thing is, I know he felt more, too. He

showed his true emotions when he became jealous on Friday night.

What does he feel, though? Does he feel this connection between us or is it just an ownership,

competitive guy thing? He must feel something. You don’t go all crazy if you don’t feel anything at all.

Who am I kidding? Of course he feels something. I can feel it in the way he kisses me and holds me. Is he

feeling shitty this morning, too?

What a mess.

I get off the bus and trudge through the rain with my piss ant umbrella. This shitty thing does nothing at

all and my pants are wet from the horizontal wind. Just stop raining, I don’t have time for this shit.

I walk through reception and put my wet umbrella into the pot next to the door then make my way over

to the lift. “Excuse me?” Stephanie calls from behind.

I turn. “Yes.” What does she want now?

“You can’t leave that umbrella there.” She points to my umbrella.

I frown. “Why not? It’s an umbrella stand and that’s what it’s for.”

“It’s for client’s umbrellas. Not staff.”

I glare at her. I swear, this bitch is going down today. I am so not in the mood for her bullshit. “Well,

Stephanie.” I fake a smile. “I don’t have an umbrella stand next to my desk and, since there isn’t a single

umbrella in this stand…” I widen my eyes as a silent challenge. “I’m using it.”

Her eyes hold mine in defiance. “I’m going to have to report this to the management.”

I fake a smile once again. “I look forward to it.” I turn to walk out but my inner bitch can’t help

herself, so I turn back. “Stephanie?”

“Yes.”