Page 13 of Thirst

I gasp as I come to a stop. Inside is the man I saw sitting at the bar while I was on stage. His dark skin still manages to glow in this low light, and I can smell his cologne from here—something masculine and intoxicating. I inhale it and feel like it’s working a spell on me as he stares with dark brown eyes and the confidence of a man who knows exactly who he is. Right here in this exact moment, I know I'm looking at the most gorgeous man I've ever seen.

He licks his deliciously full lips and flashes a toothless smile, before making my insides quiver with just one word.

“Hello.”

AMARI

Nine

Icame for Von. After Shawn followed him around for a couple of days, he tracked the annoying asshole from the casino to his apartment, and from his apartment to this strip club, Fantasies on Fourth. Shawn reported it all back to me, and most people would have just let it go by then. Not me. I remember everything, and I don't forgive. I came in tonight with plans to peep the scene and create a plan for murder, but something happened as I sauntered through the club, trying not to draw attention to myself. I felt a pull in my chest, and the air thickened as the woman at the top of the pole on stage caught my attention in a way that nobody ever has. It struck me like lightning to the chest, and instead of thinking about Von, all I could do was look at her.

I can't explain the way watching her made me feel. I've been to plenty of strip clubs in my hundred and fifty-six years of life, and I've hooked up with more strippers than I would tell anyone. Killed my fair share of them, too. I'm not caught up in the fantasy of desiring a woman whose job it is to convince you that they want you. I'm not new to this, I’m true to this. But this woman emits something that reaches out and clenches my face in its grip. It forces me to pay attention to her and fills me with confusion. Who the hell is she, and why do I feel the way I do when I look at her? The feeling nearly knocked me off my feet as I tried to sit at the bar, and as much as I wanted to pull my eyes away from her and track down Von, I couldn't look away. It was like she Influenced me. In all this time, all of this death-defying life, I have never had anyone captivate me the way she just did.

She stands at the front edge of the small booth decorated in all-red and a sheer nightgown, looking like a model made to seduce and steal hearts from unsuspecting people, smelling like fresh flowers gardened in heaven. Her brown skin is aglow, her lips covered in gloss, and her cheekbones sculpted by an invisible creator who knew exactly what they were doing. She's ten times more stunning now than she was on stage, which didn't seem possible while I was watching her show, but now that she's in front of me, I'm floored.

“Hello,” I manage to say as I try to keep myself from looking like a fool who can't keep from staring.

She steps into the booth, red heels glistening beneath the dim lights. “Hi. How are you?”

“I'm good,” I reply, feeling confidence return to me the more I speak. “Come have a seat.”

“Have a seat? You don't want me to dance for you?”

“Nah, not just yet,” I answer truthfully. “Maybe we can get to that, but for now I just wanna talk to you.”

She frowns but tries to cover it with a smile. “Okay. You have a strange look on your face. It’s like you're trying to figure me out or something. You good?”

“I am trying to figure you out,” I reply. “I'm trying to figure myself out.”

She frowns again but forces herself to sit down. “Alright. Well if I'm not dancing, at least tell me your name so I can know who I'm talking to.”

This is usually the part where I start to lie. I don't like people knowing who I am. I want to be forgotten, even if our time together is something unforgettable. But with her, honesty feels more natural and appropriate.

“My name’s Amari. And you are?”

“Aaliyah.”

I swallow hard as I feel the name immediately being etched into my heart with a cold chisel. “It’s nice to meet you. Is that your stage name?”

She shakes her head. “No, but I like knowing that people think it could be. That’s why I dance to so much of Aaliyah’s music. It helps to keep the stalkers away.”

“Smart. You get a lot of those?” I ask, wondering why I already want to kill anyone even thinking of stalking her.

“Stalkers?” she asks with a giggle. “Nah, I wouldn't say so. Some people are more intense than others, but nobody is following me home.”

She may have spoken too soon.

“Well that’s good,” I say. “Although I could understand someone’s intense intrigue.”

“Where are you from?”

“I'm from here. Why do you ask?”

“There’s something different about you,” she says. “I can't quite put my finger on it, but it’s … something. You don't talk like most of the guys I've met.”

“What do the guys you've met talk like?”

“Well, they don't say intense intrigue, that’s for sure. Plus, you're dressed to the nines in a strip club. Red suit, red earrings, red nose ring, shining gold chain hanging from your tie clasp to your jacket pocket, and not even a single hair out of place. You're well put together.”