[not my best set..... ]

"You look beautiful," Zach smiled as I met with him at the Warehouse front door. I felt myself almost blush and wondered how long I could go ignoring the butterflies he gave me. 

"Thank you," I said and we went on our merry way. What was it about him that made me feel so.. comfortable? We were laughing and chatting like we were the best of friends. The only difference was that when he brushed my arm I felt like shivering. Once there, I excused myself to the bathroom. As I finished and exited, my phone rang. 

"Hello?" 

"Hey!" I could hear my brother's grin straight through the phone. 

"Oh, hey Momo, what are you so thrilled about?" 

My brother Mohammed was the most flamboyantly gay Muslim in all of Dubai. Well, and probably the world too. The throw pillows in his penthouse apartment had glitter on them. 

"I just hooked up with Rafael Nadal!" he squealed, giddy. 

"Excuse me?" I giggled. "Is he gay?"

"No, but he's drunk."

"That'll do it. So you just HAD to call me I suppose?" I joked, leaning against the wall of the tiny hallway that led from the bathrooms to the main ballroom. 

"Yeah. I'm so in the mood for a drunken chat with my sister. How are things with you? Where are you?"

"Charity thing. Black tie event, you know," I shrugged. "I'm here with what you would call a 'delicious specimen'." 

"Excellent, have you bo.ned him yet?" he gushed. He must've been drinking vodka, it always turned him into a gossip queen. 

"We're just friends." 

"That won't do," he pouted. I was glad he was feeling jovial. Just last weekend he'd called me in a state of depression over the whole Dad situation. Our father had disowned him about four years ago and the relationship between them was always growing worse. "Why are you guys friends?"

"Well, I want to stay away from relationships. Besides he's too nice for me." 

"Timea, I hate you. You are as cute as a button and every straight man with a functioning pen.is would fall for you. Now why the fu.ck are you wasting that by becoming celibate?" he thundered, slurring a few words.

"I'm not celibate!" I hissed into the phone, and a man exiting the bathroom gave me a curious look. "Look, you wouldn't understand this when you're acting all drun.k and hor.ny."

"What are you wearing?" he asked suddenly.

"Elie Saab--" 

"Good. Then march yourself out there in your fabulous gown and presumably Louboutins, and you tell that delicious specimen that you are incredibly stupid to ever think you could force yourself to resist his sexy as.s. Do that for me."

I bit my lip. "Mo..."

"You know I'm right. If you don't do it soon, some other girl's gonna scoop him up and you'll realize you should've done it sooner."

I rolled my eyes. "Why are you always right? Even when you're drunk."

"I got the wisdom, you got the good looks. Someone's gotta carry the burden." 

"Oh shut up. Go... convert Rafael Nadal." 

"Don't mind if I do..." he said mischeiviously. "I'm leaving Spain in a few days. Maybe I'll stop in and see you before I go home."

"I'd like that. Bye bye." 

"Ciao."

I put my phone back in my bag. Despite my brother's insanity and extreme intoxication, he was saying exactly what my intuition was telling me. Why was I so set on torturing myself? Being with Zach wouldn't suddenly trap me like I seemed to assume it would.

 Zach. wasn't. Ari. 

I needed to remember that. With new intentions, I set out to find my date, who was probably wondering where the heck I had gotten to while on the phone with Mohammed. I looked around and finally I noticed him in the middle of the dancefloor. Just as I was about to approach him and maybe initiate some serious grinding, I stopped at the edge of the crowd. He was with another girl. She was gorgeous, curvaceous, and practically having an orgas.m on him. 

I turned around and went for the door before Zach could turn and see me. 

It was a sign. 

Definitely a sign.
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