NOT AN ALCOHOLIC

I take in some deep breaths, relishing how new I feel. Less burdened. Less worries. Adventures and new environments are really therapeutic! I thank this guy for thinking of this. And for choosing such a therapeutic site for our first day.


We park his white Lamborghini in his ample parking lot, and we step out, the large box of pizza in my hands. Time really flew by us at the beach, and only darkness reminded us that we needed to head back. That is how freaking fast time flies when you are having a good time, huh? But when life is screwing you, time drags worse than a tortoise pace. We didn't talk much except for a few jokes here and there, but it was great all the same. I feel so fresh and new.

I glance at my Porsche well parked between his two heavy machines. He had it delivered here the day after our encounter. I don't know whether I should be grateful for that accident or not, but at least I didn't end up sleeping on the street. I would have cursed this baby a million times if that had happened.

"We can take your baby out for a spin around town tomorrow," he suggests, eyeing the car as if it's a prized possession, even though he owns two different models himself.


"I do miss driving it, but I'm not a fan of driving," I admit.

"Who in their right mind would dislike driving, especially in a sweet ride like this one?" he questions, turning to me with a mix of confusion and mischief in his eyes.


"Well, me. I hate long drives. They drain me completely," I explain.

He tilts his head to the side, keeping his gaze fixed on me. "All types of drives?" he probes, catching me off guard.

How many kinds of drives are there? "Excuse me?" I reply, bewildered by his question.

His chuckle only adds to my confusion. "Forget it," he dismisses with a grin. "Anyway, I, on the other hand, happen to enjoy long rides, especially when I am the one behind the wheel. So, it is settled. Tomorrow, we will take this baby for a spin."

"Oookay," I drawl out, feeling a sense of unease creeping in. Why does it feel like he is hinting at something else? Are we on the same page here? The smirk playing on his lips, the way his eyes seem to twinkle with mischief—it is all too suspicious. "Are you trying to mess with me right now, or am I just overthinking things?" I ask, unable to shake off the feeling of being played.

He leans in, the smirk not fading.

"If being messing with you means enjoying pulling your leg, then yes, baby."

Baby? He is back to flirting again?

He majestically matches ahead of me towards the house, his figure dancing in the bright lights, and I can sense the wide, devilish grin on his face, while I am left glued to my spot in awe.

Baby? He is being a flirt again. He was all nice and cool until a minute ago, and now this? Why does he have to keep camouflaging like that? Silly jerk!

"Do you plan on sleeping out there?" His voice snaps me from my statue state, and I begin dragging my legs towards him at the doorway.

I bypass him without a word or a glance and head straight to the table, dropping the pizza on the table. I drop on the couch and wait for him so that we can munch on the pizza, and he joins me with two glasses and a bottle of... what is this again?

I had to crane my neck to read the name on it - champagne. Wow! Not beer, huh? Will he be able to sleep without his dose, though? Or maybe he added some drops of beer to the pure champagne? I don't really trust him or his love for alcohol.

"I am not an alcoholic if that is what you are thinking," he declares, catching my gaze lingering on the bottle.

I try to push aside thoughts of him and alcohol, but they linger stubbornly in the back of my mind. He'll need more than just words to convince me, that's for sure. "I still find that hard to believe," I respond, skepticism evident in my tone.

He settles onto the couch beside me, opening the pizza box and offering me a slice on a napkin. As he takes a bite, he speaks, his words muffled by the food. "You seem awfully convinced that I won't last a week without alcohol."

Hah! Fortunately, that wasn't a question. I maintain my skepticism, though I can't deny that a small part of me hopes he'll prove me wrong. "I strongly doubt it," I assert confidently.

He smirks as if amused by my certainty. "What if I do?" he challenges, and I struggle to suppress a laugh.

What if he does? I will be the happiest. He will at least prove to me that all this beauty is not a waste. "Can you?" I challenge.

"What if I do?" He eyes me, sounding dead serious, maybe to scare me into believing him, but I don't budge.

"I will give you a present," I spit out of the blue. Even I don't know what kind of present he is, but he really would be deserving of one if he could last a whole seven days without his dose. What kind? We will cross that bridge when we get there—that is if we really get there.

That made his pizza hang mid-air. "What kind?" The excitement he is wearing is a topic for another day.

"What do you want? Name it," I challenge, and I know this is like putting one hand in the boiling water to test it. But I do not really care, for some weird reason. I am as much thrilled and anxious as he is. Maybe even more than him.