Find Me Alastar

“You?” He shrugs. “I’ve been better.”


My eyes narrow. What’s that code for? My wife found out I slept with you and now I’m sleeping on the streets. The waitress goes to him next and he orders his meal as I watch him intently. What am I going to do? Do I pretend he didn’t hurt my feelings or do I lay it all out on the table and give him a chance to explain? Who am I kidding? He doesn’t want to explain. His phone beeps and I watch him type in his security code: 2457. Why do I watch people’s phone codes? It’s such a bad habit.

Hmm, unless… I have an idea.

I take out my phone and text Brielle.

Get Alastar’s phone.



She reads her text and frowns at me I raise my eyebrow. I text back:

His security code is 2457.



She picks up her drink and smirks into it as she texts back.

What the fuck for?



For some reason I find that funny and I drop my head to hide my smile. Thomas has now gotten up to go to the bar and Alastar is still texting someone on his phone. I reply:

Check his incoming messages during the early hours of Saturday morning last week.



She reads the texts and her eyes widen before she gives me one curt nod.

Distract him.



Shit, how do I do that? He places his phone down on the table and I know that I have no time to waste. It’s now or never. “Alastar, can you come and dance with me? I want to talk to you.”

His eyes hold mine. “Really?” He frowns as his eyes flick to the two desperate girls dancing alone on the dance floor.

“Yes, really.” I stand abruptly. He goes to pick up his phone but I take it off him and place it back down on the table. “You wont be needing that,” I reply as I drag him away from it. We approach the dance floor and I quickly fill with dread. This is the worst song I have ever heard. He rolls his lips to hide his smile. “You like this song?” he asks as he wraps me in his large arms.

Crap, he can’t touch me. Hell. I didn’t think this plan through at all. He starts to get closer and closer until I can feel his breath in my ear. His arms are warm and tight as I rest my face on his chest. God damn it, why does he have to be such an asshole?

“Were you sick on Saturday morning?” He smiles.

“No. It was a night I would rather forget, though.”

His face falls.

Guilt fills me, why the heck do I care if I hurt his feelings? Screw him and his pretend feelings. He really has hurt mine. We turn and I look over to the table to see Brielle talking to Thomas and she gives me a nod. “Lets go back. I don’t like this song,” I announce.

He shakes his head in confusion and we go back to the table. Alastar sits quietly with his hands linked in front of him. Brielle and Thomas are deep in conversation about where Thomas works.

“What do you do for work, Alastar?” Brielle asks.

“I’m a photographer for magazines,” he replies.

Huh, typical. He probably is a serial model screwer. I nod and sip my drink. Stop it. You’re acting frigging crazy. It was a one-night stand—get the hell over it.

Brielle starts to talk to the two boys and I read my message from Brielle.

4.00 AM Saturday from Thomas “Where are you?”



I frown at Brielle and gesture to Thomas with my chin. Who him?

She nods subtly and shakes her head as if she doesn’t understand, either. What the hell? He left me because his brother asked where he was. I start to feel my pulse throbbing in my veins. What the hell am I doing sitting here playing nice?

I put my phone down onto the table and glare at Alastar. He raises his eyebrows in question.

I shake my head in annoyance. Thomas and Brielle continue talking and I stare down at the table. I think it was better when I thought he had a reason to leave me. In my twisted mind I had been justifying us hooking up by thinking that the attraction between us had been so strong, he just hadn’t been able to fight it. But no, I was just another number.

“Are you married, Alastar?”

Fuck it, I’m just coming out with it now. Who cares? It’s not like I have anything to lose. He obviously doesn’t care.

Alastar narrows his eyes, annoyed at my question. “I have answered this already.”

I glare at him. “That isn’t a fucking answer.”

“No, I am not fucking married,” he growls.

“Don’t you dare swear at me!” I’m outraged. Of all the nerve. Irish swearing sounds mean.

“You swore first and it was a stupid question.”

My mouth drops open in horror. “Was it?” I snap.

“It was,” he half yells.

My eyes flick to our two companions who are, rather wisely, staying silent.

“If you’re not married, tell me why your little brother here texts you in the middle of the night and asks where you are? Your wife or girlfriend had obviously called him to find out where you were.”

His eyes flick to Thomas. “How do you know that?”

Brielle gives me a subtle don’t do it shake of the head.

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