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I was one of the last ones to arrive, having lost track of time. It was late evening, and I decided to walk back to my car instead of driving home. I had caught the light from the grand ballroom, and could hear the music from inside. It was comforting, despite knowing I would not be welcome there.

I stood for a moment as I averted my glance from the grand entranceway to the crowd of revelers dancing and socializing. I saw Marika in the crowd, dressed in black leather and making her way to the bar. I was drawn to her and that was how I found myself sitting at the bar just a few steps away.

I was enamored. She was beautiful, and the combination of toughness and elegance drew me in. I would not believe it until the next day, but it was not her beauty that I was attracted to, it was her grace.

“Whiskey on the rocks,” she said as she looked up from the bar. I felt a chill up my spine. Her eyes were stunning like emeralds and the color change, from dark brown to green, was intense and discomforting.

“Another?” I asked.

“Please.”

I went to the bar and ordered two more whiskeys, making two rocks glasses full. I brought the glasses over, handed her one, and set the other on the bar behind her.

She looked into her glass, “Do you know why I like whiskey so much?” she asked me.

I laughed nervously as I tried to find a place to look that was not her face. “No,” I replied, “do you want to tell me?”

“Everyone asks me that,” she said, “and I don’t know. It’s something I like, so I do it.”

“You seem bitter,” I said.

“I’m not.”

“Then why do you drink so much? You hardly drink at all.”

“It helps me get over things,” she said. “It helps me forget.”

“Forgive me. I’m not trying to pry,” I said.

She looked at me, straight into my eyes. I felt like she was looking right into my soul. “The only thing that hurts is when people look at me because of what I do for a living.” She snorted. “You have no idea.”

“If I could just make it all disappear,” I managed to say.

“NO! That’s the problem. No one cares. No one likes to know how the sausage is made,” she said.

“I’m sure not,” I said.

She looked me up and down and seemed to like what she saw. She drank her whiskey in gulps as I clumsily drank mine. As I emptied my glass, I felt lightheaded and was about to tell her I had to go, when she moved on top of me and kissed me. It was a forceful kiss, the kind that left me breathless. She looked at me, “I think I like you.”

“I like you too,” I said. “Great, another drink.”

She poured me another drink. I drank it before she could. The burn was peppered with my heart racing and my ears ringing. I looked at her, “I’ve had enough.”

“You haven’t had enough yet,” she said.

“I have to go,” I said. “You’re too much for me.”

“I think we are not supposed to like each other,” she said. “I think we are not supposed to like each other like this.”

“I can’t hear you anymore,” I said.

“I don’t want you to go. I’ll go with you.”

I felt warmth in my head and my knees were weak. “I can’t go,” I said.

“You can’t go?” she asked. “I’ll walk you to the car.”

She stood, took my hand, and led me out of the room as I stumbled next to her. She opened the door for me and as she closed it, she kissed me again. “You are pretty drunk,” she said.

“So are you,” I said. “Have you driven here before?”

“No,” she said. “I’ve never been here before.”

“I think you should have plan B,” I said.

“I have to make my way home,” she said. “Besides, I’m a good driver.”

“I’m going with you,” I said.

“No, it’s alright,” she said.

“Yes, it is,” I said. “Drive there and I will drive us home.”