Chapter 11: First encounter (2)

★SELENA★

My rage bubbled up like a tempestuous storm as the bartender made his hasty exit, leaving my glass empty and my craving for another tequila unquenched. Despite having already consumed eight glasses of the potent liquor, I found myself yearning for more. Tequila had become my refuge, a temporary escape from the worries that haunted me.

I had entered the club with one sole purpose – to drown my concerns in a sea of alcohol, and tequila was the only lifeline capable of achieving that. In my somewhat inebriated state, I remained conscious and aware of my surroundings, my senses heightened by the alcohol coursing through my veins.

My gaze shifted slowly to the young man who had, with his promises, convinced me to release the bartender's collar. The mere sight of his face fueled the fiery anger within me. I clenched my jaw, suppressing the inferno that raged within my chest, and balled my hands into fists, the knuckles whitening with tension, but my physical discomfort mattered little to me in that moment.

The bartender had escaped, and it was due to the interference of this foolishly handsome stranger. Had I not been swayed by his misguided assurance, the bartender would have undoubtedly refilled my glass with a ninth serving of tequila. But now, the bartender had vanished into the night, leaving me without the one thing that had momentarily lifted the weight from my shoulders.

I toyed with the idea of seizing a bottle of alcohol from the counter, but the club's design thwarted my impulsive intentions. The counter was constructed in a way that prevented patrons from accessing the drinks directly, reserving that privilege solely for the bartender.

My craving for more tequila was undeniable, an itch that demanded scratching.

"Young man!" I called out angrily, my hand snatching a firm grip on the man's jacket.

"Ye... yes?" He responded, his gaze dropping to my hands, which clutched his jacket tightly.

"I explicitly warned you before I released that godforsaken bartender's collar. I told you that if he didn't refill my glass with tequila, I would slap you thrice, didn't I?" I interrogated, my tone brimming with indignation. He nodded in acknowledgment.

"Yeah... yeah... you said that," he mumbled, his hand nervously scratching the back of his neck.

"So now it's time for you to face the consequences," I declared, a note of finality in my voice. Without giving him the chance to utter a word, I delivered a resounding slap that whipped his head to the side.

Before he could recover his composure or lift his gaze to meet mine, I unleashed two more stinging slaps on his left cheek, a calculated punishment that would leave an indelible sting.

By now, a small crowd had gathered, drawn by the spectacle. Some snapped pictures on their smartphones while others captured videos of the unfolding drama.

The young man gingerly cradled his reddened cheek, his expression a blend of shock and disbelief as he gazed upon me. Anger emanated from him like a palpable aura, as he dared to challenge me.

"Why the fuck did you slap me?!" he demanded, his tone brimming with indignation. I let out a loud scoff, unimpressed by his audacity.

"You really just asked me that absurd question, didn't you?" I retorted, my voice dripping with sarcasm. He shot me a glare that could cut through steel.

"Who the fuck do you think you are to slap me?!!" he spat, closing the distance between us with a menacing look in his eyes.

"I'm Selena, and I slapped you for meddling in matters that don't concern you," I retorted, my words dripping with sarcasm. He clenched his jaw in frustration, a reaction that only fueled my satisfaction. I smirked, narrowing my eyes at him as I crossed my arms over my chest.

As he closed the distance between us, he flashed a perfect smile, rendering me breathless with his proximity. His anger was palpable, evident in the flash of indignation that sparked in his eyes.

"And who the fuck gave you the right to lay your filthy hand on my face?" he spat, his question filled with anger.

I chuckled, tilting my head to the side. "You did, of course."

"Me?" he asked, a perplexed look crossing his features.

"Yeah, you gave me the right to slap you," I explained with a hint of mockery. "Or have you conveniently forgotten the warning I issued when you interceded in my dispute with that imbecilic bartender?" I paused, emphasizing my point. "I explicitly cautioned you that if the bartender failed to refill my glass, I would give you three slaps. So, you see, you fully deserved those three slaps I delivered."

He chuckled darkly, shoving his hands into his pants pockets. "You've just made the biggest mistake of your life by slapping me."

"Really?" I retorted, my laughter mocking, which seemed to only further stoke his anger.

"I swear to God, Selena, or whatever you call yourself," he seethed, "the next time our paths cross, I guarantee you'll pay for daring to slap me. Mark my words." With that, he stormed off in anger.

I scoffed dismissively as he walked away. "Loser," I muttered under my breath.

As I stood there, watching the infuriated yet handsome man storm away, I couldn't help but feel a mix of amusement and satisfaction. Slapping him had been impulsive, but it was undeniably a highlight of this otherwise uneventful evening.

"Barbie doll!" I heard Tatiana's voice behind me.

"Nice of you to abandon me here," I quipped sarcastically.

"I didn't abandon you, barbie doll," she protested. "You said you wanted to grab some drinks when we got here, so I went to the dancefloor with that hot dude." She gestured with a nod towards a guy standing in a corner.

"Then it's very nice of you to abandon me here just because you found a handsome guy," I teased, adding a playful roll of my eyes.

Tatiana shook her head, her dark hair cascading around her shoulders. "I didn't abandon you, barbie doll," she protested. "You said you wanted to grab some drinks when we got here, so I went to the dancefloor with that hot dude." She tilted her chin towards a guy standing in a dimly lit corner, a guy who looked equally smitten with Tatiana.

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Alright, fair enough," I conceded, knowing full well that Tatiana had a knack for finding intriguing company on a night out. "But I've had my fill of drama for one night. Let's get out of here."

Tatiana nodded in agreement, linking her arm with mine as we headed for the exit. The thumping music, the dim lights, and the cacophony of voices slowly faded into the background as we stepped out into the cool night air.

I saw the man I slapped some minutes ago, standing at the parking lot with a woman, then I did a "fuck you" sign at him before walking off with Tatiana.

The city streets were bustling with activity even at this late hour. Neon signs blinked in a hypnotic rhythm, casting an otherworldly glow on the pavement. The scent of street food wafted through the air, mixing with the occasional whiff of perfume and cologne worn by passersby.

As we walked along the crowded sidewalk, I couldn't help but think back to the drama inside the club. The stranger I'd slapped – he was undoubtedly handsome, with his sharp jawline and piercing eyes. But there was something about him that had set me off. Maybe it was his arrogance, his interference, or simply the fact that he had deprived me of the tequila I'd been craving.

We found a cozy little café nearby, its exterior adorned with strings of fairy lights that twinkled like stars. We decided to grab a late-night coffee, seeking refuge from the chaos of the club. The soothing ambiance and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped us as we settled into a corner booth.

"So, what's the deal with that guy from the dancefloor?" I asked Tatiana, finally breaking the silence.

She grinned, clearly delighted to have a chance to talk about her new companion. "Oh, he's charming," she replied. "His name's Ethan, and he's a graphic designer. We've been chatting, and he's actually really sweet."

I chuckled, taking a sip of my cappuccino. "Sounds promising."

Our conversation flowed seamlessly from there, covering topics ranging from work to our future plans. Tatiana had always been the more outgoing one, effortlessly forming connections wherever she went. Her tales of romantic escapades and memorable encounters often entertained me, and tonight was no exception.

As the hours passed, I couldn't help but feel grateful for moments like these – the warmth of friendship, the comfort of shared laughter, and the reassurance that life's dramas could be put on hold, at least for a little while.

★IVAN★

In simmering frustration, I stormed away from the bar, my steps heavy with irritation. The pulsating music and dancing crowd did nothing to ease my mood as I made my way through the club. I soon found Mrs. Meyer, lost in the throes of wild dancing on the crowded dancefloor.

"We have to leave, Eliza," I declared, reaching out to grasp her left hand. She arched an inquisitive eyebrow, her movements slowing.

"But we haven't spent even thirty minutes here," she protested.

I sighed, my tone curt, "Let's just go. I'm tired."

Eliza reluctantly agreed, and together we weaved through the labyrinth of partygoers toward the club's exit. My simmering anger was palpable, my mood having taken a nosedive.

In the parking lot, the tension was still thick in the air. Eliza, observant as ever, noticed my foul mood and halted suddenly.

"Wait, Ivan!" she exclaimed, and I paused, turning to face her.

"What's wrong?" I asked, my expression querying.

She looked at me, concern evident in her eyes. "You look very angry, Ivan. Did something happen to you?"

I couldn't help but vent, "A woman pissed me off," my voice seething with resentment as I ruffled my hair in frustration.

"Hey, sweetheart, calm down," she cooed, enfolding me in a comforting hug. Her gentle touch was an attempt to soothe the raging storm within me.

As I embraced Mrs. Meyer, my gaze wandered, and I caught sight of the woman who had slapped me earlier. She stood by the roadside with another companion, and her glance in my direction accompanied a defiant "fuck you" sign before they both walked off.

I clenched my jaw, my anger flaring anew at the memory of the humiliation. I contemplated chasing down the cab, wanting to confront her for her audacity. The thought of suing her crossed my mind, but I refrained, partly because we were in a club and partly because I was averse to violence against women.

My voice lowered to a growl as I muttered, "She's lucky we're in a club. If we ever cross paths again, she'll pay dearly for this."

After five minutes that felt like an eternity, Mrs. Meyer finally broke the hug, her concern etched into her features. She held both my hands, gazing at me with affection.

"Do you still feel angry, darling?" she inquired, her eyes searching mine.

I let out a sigh, my anger subsiding but not entirely gone. "Yeah, I still feel angry, but not as much as before," I admitted, and a seductive smile curled upon her lips, hinting at the distractions she had in mind to ease my vexation.

"I know a better way to calm your anger, sweetheart," she purred, her voice dripping with seduction. With a graceful movement, she retrieved her phone from her fashionable bag, her perfectly manicured fingers dialing a number with ease. The device was pressed gently against her left ear as she waited for a response.

"Hey, Joshua. Come to the new club on Eastway Street ASAP," she commanded into the phone. After conveying her instructions, she disconnected the call and turned her attention back to me, her captivating eyes locked onto mine.

"We are going to spend the night at an exclusive hotel. Let's just wait for my chauffeur to get here so he can take my car home," she informed me with an air of casual extravagance.

"Alright," I agreed, nodding as I leaned nonchalantly against my car, my gaze unable to resist the allure of her voluptuous form.

"By the way, who got you angry?" she inquired, her curiosity piqued. Unbidden, the image of the woman who had slapped me flashed in my mind, and I couldn't help but grin maliciously.

"A crazy bitch who I'm gonna teach a bitter lesson the next time we meet," I replied, my smirk taking on a devilish edge.