Forbidden Surrender(7)

“Don’t say that.”

“Look, I have some mace in my bag. If anybody tries to get frisky with us, I’m going to melt their eyeballs.” I pictured Riley as the female version of Rambo.

“All right, fine. If we get abducted, it’s your fault. I just don’t want you saying I’m a party pooper.”

She laughed. “I’ve never said that. You just like to be cautious, which I respect. Remember when you warned me about Danny? You were right, he did turn out to be a creep.”

Riley had dated Danny a few months prior. When she brought him over to our apartment he kept giving me shifty-eyed stares. I expressed my concerns to her and it turned out he had done time in prison for theft. He wasn’t even the worst of Riley’s extensive dating history. I honestly didn’t know how she found some of these guys.

Upon entering, we found the place was full of mostly locals. There were a few expats in the corner who sounded British and were probably out for some adventure. Somewhere there was a speaker putting out exotic tribal music. The hypnotic beats were catchy but it certainly was a far cry from American pop music—no Miley Cyrus here. When we found a seat at a table and ordered margaritas, I found myself easing into the atmosphere.

“Man, check this place out.” Riley sounded excited. She pointed at the decorations around us. “Animal bones hanging on the walls, a shrunken head behind the bar, and a beat-up sign that says ‘Ompad’. Isn’t it cool?” She whipped out her phone to snap some pictures.

The distinct sound of a shot glass slamming against wood alerted us to a commotion brewing near the bar. A group of onlookers surrounded two men with tumblers in hand and a bottle half-full of amber liquid between them. The one on the left was a juggernaut of a man; a gruff beard and mean stare completed the intimidation factor. The gathering of curious spectators obscured my view of the man on the right.

“What’s going on over there?” Riley asked.

I knew we shouldn’t have gotten closer. The feeling in my gut that whatever was going on over there was trouble told me we should leave, but intense curiosity pulled us near the action like moths to a flame.

We settled at a table nearby, giving us front row seats. It was when I saw who the figure poised on the right was that I realized why my alarm bells had gone off.

Vincent.

What was he doing here? He was wearing a white button-down and khakis that showcased his lean muscular build. By now the crowd around the bar had grown considerably, tantamount with the noise level. Most huddled around Vincent’s side. Some of the admirers included beautiful, curvaceous women that were all but rubbing their breasts against Vincent, and a pang of jealousy hit me from who knows where.

Riley shouted to me over the ruckus. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Yeah, it’s Vincent,” I said. “Looks like he’s in the middle of some kind of drinking game.”

I couldn’t hear her response over the cheering. The only two words I managed to decipher were “fucking” and “hot.”

I leaned in closer to her. “I can’t hear you.”

“I said you should go over there. This could be your second chance to win him over.”

“What? I don’t even know what he’s doing. He might not even remember me.”

“You pinched his goddamn nipple, of course he’ll remember you. Go find out.” She nudged my shoulder but I remained steadfast in my seat. As serendipitous as this encounter was, I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of approaching Vincent in this strange social situation. If Richard had been right about the meeting going well, talking to Vincent could sabotage our efforts rather than help.

“Let’s just watch them a little first.”

We witnessed the burly guy down his shot, slam his glass against the counter, and grunt something in Afrikaans. I couldn’t understand it, but if I had to guess by the tone, it meant “Is that the best you got?” He then reached into a nearby bag sitting on the counter and produced a large clear jar. I squinted my eyes to identify the contents. Thin strands, black dots scurrying.

Cobwebs and spiders.

The crowd didn’t seem surprised, instead they clamored approval like they were at a sporting event. Why would he have such a thing? And here of all places. I hate spiders.

My disgust and surprise must have been palpable because Vincent turned his head in my direction as if attuned to my specific frequency. For the second time today, we locked eyes. A part of me wanted to hide from the embarrassment of this morning, another part of me knew my company had important business to conduct with him.

Before I decided whether I was going to wave at him or shrink behind the crowd of bodies, a ghost of a smile touched his lips.