Not only was she vapid and privileged, but she surrounded herself with a group of fucked up friends. The partying and hardcore drug usage grew old; I became tired of the scene and broke up with her. We were friends with benefits for months later, but that all came to a grinding halt when she found a wealthy restauranteur interested in making her his wife.
"Don't sound so excited about seeing me. How long has it been?"
"I can't remember," I grunted out before scanning the room to figure out where Tony dropped off my coat and scarf. “Hey, it was great seeing you. Take care."
I moved to walk around her, but she blocked me. Pressing a hand to my chest, she leaned in.
"You still look . . . great. I've followed your achievements over the years, and I'd hoped you would be here." She placed the opposite hand on my back and pulled me closer. "I'm alone if you want company."
Anyone who overheard this conversation would not have mistaken her intent. Bronwyn wanted to fuck. The difference was that I wasn't interested. First, she was a married woman. Second, she was annoying. And finally, she didn't stimulate me intellectually.
"Have a happy new year." I moved out of her reach and added a curt nod before turning on my heel and walking away.
She followed behind me, but I lost her by ducking into the first available dimly lit room. I hoped I'd found where Tony hid my coat. I had completed my obligatory rounds. I had taken part in small talk. If I hopped in my car, I could make it downtown in time for fireworks on the river.
I closed the heavy door behind me, muffling the laughter and loud voices from the raucous party.
"Need a break, too?" a husky, feminine voice called out from a darkened corner of the room.
"I'm sorry. I hope I didn't disturb you." I spun to open the door and step out.
"Wait. You didn't disturb me."
There was a click of a lamp switch, and soft light filled the space. I turned and strode further into the room. Nestled in an alcove was a loveseat in front of heavy, emerald green draperies. A small table to the left of the sofa held a plate of sweets and a silver champagne bucket.
The owner of that voice had a curtain of straight, chestnut hair that fanned over her shoulders and flowed down her back. She wore a black satin skirt with a fitted sparkly blouse. Long, gorgeous tanned legs ended in hot pink heels. A rich, berry pink lipstick emphasized golden skin and lush lips. She looked as if she had just returned from an island vacation.
She sat straighter in the seat; her eyes roamed over me, devouring every inch of my body. That wicked mouth mesmerized as it curved into a smile. I itched to kiss that pink lipstick off of it.
"You didn't answer my question. Did you slip away for a break?" Her voice was low and raspy. I imagined how she would sound when she breathed secrets into my ear as her nails scraped along the sensitive skin on my back.
"Are you alone to harass innocent passersby?" I returned a smile and took a few more steps near the sitting area.
"Innocent?" She chuckled a hearty, throaty laugh. "I made a conscious decision to drink my way into the new year. That would be more fun than being out there pretending to be joyous." She held up the orange-labeled bottle of Veuve Clicquot for emphasis. "There's too much pressure in life to always be on. In this room, you can be as happy or as grumpy as you choose. This is the room for real people. Sit down. Rest your heels." She moved her skirt out of the way and patted the neighboring sofa cushion.
I could stick around for a few minutes longer.
I walked over and took a seat next to her. The nearness sent electrical currents through my limbs. She smelled like she looked—dark and mysterious. I bet she tasted like the winter, delicious with hints of currants and figs.
Bottle still in hand, she stood and began twisting the wire cage surrounding the cork. Deftly, she turned against the stopper until it released. My companion didn't flinch at the pop and kept the contents from projecting across the room. She dropped back onto her seat.
"To new years, new lives, and new friends." She took a dramatic swig and handed it to me. Our fingers briefly touched before I held the bottle high.
"To new friends." I tilted the bottle to my lips and downed the liquid. The effervescent bubbles rolled down cold and tickled my nostrils.
"I feel like this is a party from 2016 that keeps being recycled every year. Same people. Same food. Same jokes. If I can't change the party, then I can change my contribution to it."
The hot pink satin heel dangled off her foot as it flexed and retracted. My eyes followed the line from her foot to her calf. She nudged the bottle against my jacket.
"If we will be friends, I ask that you call me Colette."
"Friends don't let their friends go without dessert." I nodded toward the plate.
She picked up the plate of macarons and a large slice of red velvet cake. She glided the fork through the cake and held it to my lips. When I opened, she slid the morsel into my mouth. I chewed as she took a forkful for herself and groaned approvingly.
"Good, huh?" I asked, watching her mouth as it moved. I liked women who had a healthy appreciation for food . . . and sex. This time, I took the plate and handed over the bottle. I plucked a red macaron from the plate and held it to her lips. After she bit into the cookie, I tossed the remaining bite into my mouth.
"Tell me something that nobody knows," she said.
"I'm only here to network. I'd rather be home."
"Climbing the good old-fashioned corporate ladder. I've always said that it isn't what you know, rather who you know. Cheers." She held the bottle up in salute before taking a gulp and passing it to me.
"Well, don't leave me out here. Tell me a secret."
"My New Year's resolution is to have fun. There's a belief that the person you ring the new year in with is the person that you spend it with. I want to live life on the edge, not play it so safe. All work with no play makes Colette a very dull girl."
"I find it hard to believe that you're a wallflower."
"I'm not. I'm the right woman to have fun with." The flirtation in her tone contradicted the seriousness of her facial expression. "Judging from the fact that you're alone and sitting with me, I would say you’re the perfect man for fun."
That statement was an approval to take our interaction where I’d wanted it to go.
"You have a bit of frosting on your mouth,” I murmured. She ran her tongue over her lips. "You missed it, let me get it." I glided my thumb over the full, cherry-colored pout. The lipstick smeared across her lovely lips. She placed a small kiss to the pad, then inhaled a sharp breath when I raised my hand to my mouth, flicking at my lipstick-stained thumb.
Taking her chin in my hand, I angled her face to mine and sampled those perfect lips. She tasted like champagne and cake. Her mouth was so warm and so wet as her tongue entered my mouth and tangled against mine. The kiss lasted until we were both breathless, then we continued as if our lives depended on it. We pulled away but remained mere inches apart. Her small, shallow breaths misted my lips as she let out a sigh.
"I'm not sure I got it all," I whispered against the corner of her mouth while caressing her face. I tingled and ached for more.
This time, she leaned in and kissed me. Sucking my bottom lip and moving over me to straddle my hips. Each move ground against my hardening cock.