I rolled my eyes, already annoyed, as I got into the car and buckled the seatbelt, leaning my head against the window.
"You are late," Brad said, his breath still stinking of tobacco, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes at the audacity of this man.
"I was like a minute late, chill," I thought mentally, but instead, I muttered "sorry" under my breath.
"It's fine, I forgive you. But next time, try not to be late. You are always late; that isn't very ladylike," Brad said, flashing his pearly whites.
I looked at him in utter disgust and leaned my head back against the window. See who is talking about femininity; one would think he is the epitome of masculinity.
Brad started the car, and we began our ride to the party. He started going on and on about shoes and cars or something like that; I trailed off midway into his story.
I wish there were a perfect word to describe Brad, and I think that word would simply be "infuriating."
Why was I dating him then? One might ask, and there was a perfectly logical explanation: money!
Brad's dad is the commissioner of revenue, and he promised to contribute largely to my foundation. He kept his word; by the way, he donated millions. But, of course, he had a condition: I had to go out with his deadbeat son.
Brad served time for assault and had tarnished the family name. So the deal was a classic scenario of dating a polished, refined woman with a reputation to save face.
At first, the deal seemed relatively easy and it still is, arranged datings and marriages were common in this part of the world it wasn't news to me, but sometimes it's hard to get past some of the 'unique' qualities Brad had.
First, he is very, very quick to anger and totally overthinks everything; hence his history of assault. Secondly, he is a narcissist and a bit delusional. Third, we had absolutely nothing in common; I had no concern for shoes or whatever it was he had to talk about.
Fourth, he literally tries to flirt with everything, and I want to catch him doing something with any woman so I can finally break it off with him before he tarnishes my own image, which I can't risk for millions.
"...and then there are these sick slides Michael Jordan wore..."
"Can you please open the window?" I asked, cutting him off, and he raised his brows at me.
"Are you trying to say that I am boring?" Brad asked.
"What?" I replied, confused.
"Never mind," he said, cracking the window a little and turning on the radio, and we continued the rest of the drive in silence.
I had no idea why he was mad at me, and I had no interest in finding out. When we finally stopped in front of the club, Brad made a move to hold my hand, and I simply jumped out of the car as quickly as I could, begging God to let me find Angie and Stacy.
"So you are ignoring me now, huh?" Brad said, coming toward me from the other side of the car.
"I really don't know what the hell your problem is," I said, trying not to yell.
"My problem?" Brad asked, approaching me, his eyes growing wider. I think all the weed might have gotten to his brain or something because he was really acting crazy.
"You don't let me touch you," Brad whisper-yelled. I stared up at him in utter confusion my mouth agape.
"You move away anytime I even come close to you, and we have been dating for a month," Brad said.
"That's because none of this is real Brad and you know that" I said "are you high?" I asked
He suddenly grabbed my hand so tightly that I started struggling, trying to loosen his grip.
"This is the closest I have gotten to you since that night," Brad whispered, and I continued squirming, trying to free my hand from his grip.
"Perhaps if you wanted me to let you touch me you would buy me flowers when you come to see me and not smoke pot when you know exactly how I feel about that" I said keeping my voice as neutral as possible.
I slowed my breath trying to forget about the fact that he indirectly Insinuated that I am a slut. He knew the status of our relationship and that doesn't involve sex in anway form or manner but anything to keep it professional right?
"You guys are here early," Angie's sarcastic voice suddenly surfaced, letting me pull out of his grip and trying not to look as disgusted as I felt.
"Hi, Angie," Brad said, waving at Stacy and Angie, who were moving closer to us.
"We were actually supposed to be here early, but someone wasted a lot of time," Brad said totally brushing of what happened to my surprise, and Angie and Stacy giggled.
"Yeah, Jess can spend quite some time dressing," Stacy replied, and I rolled my eyes. Can everybody let it go? I was only a minute late; Brad just got there late, but I chose to ignore it and not engage them in an argument.
"I will leave you girls to talk; babe, I will meet you inside, okay?" Brad said, lifting my chin and placing a kiss on it, his breath still stinking of weed.
When Brad leaned in to kiss me, he whispered, "This conversation isn't over," before walking away.
I needed to end things with him as soon as possible before they got out of hand.
"I love that black dress on you," Angie said, giving me a little twirl, and I giggled.
"I am sure Mia was the one who picked it out; Jess has no sense of fashion," Stacy said, placing her arms around my shoulders.
When we walked into the club, the first thing I did was search around for Brad, and when I didn't see him, I heaved a sigh of relief.
We met up with Mia at the bar in the club, and I heaved another sigh when I didn't see Damien there.
"Let's do shots," Mia said as soon as we sat down.
"Yeah, let's do that; I need to get laid tonight," Stacy said, rubbing her palms together.
"You always need to get laid; you are like a mini slut," Angie replied, and we all laughed at that.
"A girl needs good dick from time to time," Stacy said with a wink, and we all made gagging faces.
"To a fun night and good sex," she toasted, and we all took the shots, the alcohol burning my throat and making me acutely aware that I shouldn't be drinking with my condition.
I didn't want them to suspect a thing. No one was ever going to find out about it; I would make sure of it.