"The bricks of my defenses scattered on the ground...
The moment I looked into your eyes you won me
It was over from the start you completely stole my heart." ~You Had Me From Hello, by Kenny Chesney 

CHAPTER TWO

Andray woke up when he felt a tongue licking his earlobe. Unfortunately, the tongue didn't belong to a woman he spent the night with, but it belonged to his dog, Ellie.

"Hmmm, I'm up. I'm up," he mumbled while petting Ellie's head. He blinked a few times, stood up, and went to the bathroom with Ellie following suit. "Get out, Ellie. I'm going to pee." Ellie just tilted her head, ears twitching. 

"You're not allowed to see my Willy. You're only four!" He shooed Ellie out and closed the door. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and then went out of the bathroom. He fed Ellie and changed into a hoodie, a pair of sweatpants and running shoes. After putting Ellie on her leash, he grabbed her favorite ball and went out.

"Great. Just another day of my futile existence," he said with an exasperated sigh. He mumbled a 'morning' to the guard and then jogged with Ellie to the park. After a few minutes of jogging, he plopped down their usual park bench and played ball with Ellie. On their way home, they bought pancakes from the nearby McDonald's. After eating the pancakes, he rested for a short while and proceeded to take a shower.

Andray then continued with his daily routine which consists of him plopping down the couch, turning the TV on only to blankly stare at it, or him sleeping again and waking up when Ellie starts licking his face. Or maybe he'll be turning the TV on again, or he'll be getting his laptop to aimlessly scroll through the stuff in the internet, or maybe he'll be grabbing a good book to read.

Basically, this was how he's been living for the past three years—a bachelor's life, as some called it. He'd wake up, do his daddy duties to Ellie, and then wander aimlessly around his apartment, looking for something to do and finding nothing. He'd cook lunch, feed himself and Ellie, and then sleep through the whole afternoon or do random stuff. Then he'd cook dinner, feed himself and Ellie, watch TV, read a book, or surf the internet again, then sleep, wake up and then do the same thing. Nothing interesting was happening to his life these days— or for the past three years, after he stopped writing music.

Music had been his life. Had been. Until sh!t hit the fan and everything went rolling downhill, he thought bitterly. No, I mustn't remember that piece of sh!t. He turned the TV on and watched a re-run of Breaking Bad.

Jesse Pinkman was yelling 'Where's my money, b!tch?' when his phone rang.

"Andray, you're going tonight, right?" his long-time bestfriend, Fred, said on the other line.

"Tonight? Yeah, I'm definitely going to bed tonight," Andray retorted.

"You idiot! Tonight is the opening of Acropolis, it's at 9 pm. You promised me that you'll come."

Damn, Andray thought. He totally forgot about that. "You know I'm no fun at parties." He loathed parties. He's an introvert who would rather write ten pages of sheet music than grind into some girl's ass while drinking beer from silly red cups.

"Hey, show some love for your best friend. And who says we're going to party? We're going to rave tonight, brother!" Fred exclaimed.

"Rave?"

"Oh yeah, I forgot that you've been living like a hermit these days."

He's indeed living like a recluse all this time.

"Okay, I'll enlighten you," Fred continued, "rave is when people party hard as fvck."

"I don't party."

"Yeah, yeah. But just please go tonight, Dray. I haven't seen you in months. And I promise you that I'd let you go home anytime you want."

It had been a long time since he went to a club—eight months to be precise—and it's only because Fred had dragged him into it. Tonight was the opening of Fred's very own club called Acropolis. He had been to the club when it was being built and he's pretty sure that it'd look stellar once it's completed. Well, an hour or two wouldn't alter his life or anything. And he could surely use the opportunity to add a tad bit of excitement over his dull life.

"Drinks are on you." He hung up the phone, and proceeded to shower.

He put on a denim jacket over a red and black flannel shirt and paired it with dark jeans. On his feet were black sneakers. He petted Ellie and then grabbed the keys of his convertible Porsche—his car that he rarely uses since he doesn't go out that much. He went down to his parking space, revved up the car's engine and drove to the club.

The parking space in front of the club was already full so he decided to park on the other side. He got out of the car and saw that there's a short queue at the entrance. He's feeling a bit jittery since it's his first night out after eight months of being holed up in his apartment, with Ellie as his only living company—plus he's never good at clubs and bars and parties. He grabbed a stick of cigarette from his glove compartment and decided to smoke. He's doesn't usually smoke—only when he's nervous. He leaned his back to the wall and then sat down the sidewalk. He was done smoking and was about to stand up when a pair of feet clad in black heels tripped on his left leg.

"Sh!t!" he yelped. He heard the other person say "Ow!" He clutched his left leg and gently massaged it. Fvck, that hurt.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't see you," a warm, soothing voice said. He recognized that it belonged to a woman. He was about to confront the idiot about walking with eyes open when the woman spoke again. "Are you okay? I'm really sorry."

He rolled his eyes at the woman's question. Of course he's not okay. She just tripped on him. Good thing her heels didn't manage to puncture his leg.

"Here, take this," she said.

A dainty hand placed a dollar on his lap. He gingerly picked the dollar up and stared at it, confused. What the fvck? he thought. Hah, the woman must have thought that I'm a hobo. Judgmental b!tch. He looked up and saw that the woman's already walking away. She's wearing a white crop top and black high-waist jeans that clung to her long, slender legs like a second skin.

"Hey, wait! Hey! I said wait!" he called after her.

"I'm sorry—I really am. Please don't bother me anymore," the woman said.

"Will you just stop walking?" he yelled. She quickened her pace so he ran after her and grabbed her arm. He snaked his arms around her waist and looked at the woman's face. Her eyes were squeezed shut. He can feel the silky skin of her back, and something stirred inside him. She opened her eyes after a few seconds and his murky green eyes were met with bright blue ones. He was momentarily stunned by the brightness of the woman's eyes.

"Excuse me miss, but why did you give me this dollar?" he finally managed to say.

"Do you want more? Five dollars, perhaps?" the woman nervously replied.

Why, the woman must be a snotty-nosed b!tch whose parents were rich to give money away like this. "I don't need your money!" he snapped. He removed his hands from her waist, his hands immediately missing the feel of her warm skin.

"Well then, I'm sorry Mister. I was just trying to help you," she spat. "Ungrateful hobo." He heard her muttered under her breath.

The woman was indeed thinking that he's a hobo. He didn't know if he would be amused or be angry. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she replied while slowly backing away.

"You said something."

"I said..." The look on her face changed, her eyes turning into slits and her lips pursing.

Oh, the things I could to those lips.

"...you are an ungrateful hobo. Assh0le," she coldly spat.

His blood boiled. He grabbed her waist and their chests mashed together. He could feel the softness of her chest against his. He also felt something twitching in his pants. Fvck.

"The fvck? Are you calling me a hobo and an assh0le?" he snarled, nostrils flaring. The woman bravely met his eyes.

"You heard that right, hobo-assh0le."

The woman was amusing him. And also turning him on. What the hell, brain? Against his own will, his scowl turned into a grin. "That's original." He chuckled. He didn't know what came over him when he moved to squeeze her ass. She gasped and the next thing he knew was that he felt a sting of pain on his left cheek. "Holy sh!t!" he exclaimed, and cupped his stinging cheek.

"Serves you right, you pervert hobo!" She turned back and ran to the direction of the club.

So much for me looking for something interesting to spice up my monotonous life. He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. He walked back to his car and examined his face. His left cheek was already reddening. Well, it'd be gone in a few minutes. He tied his hair up into a bun and calmed himself down before walking towards the bar. The zing that he felt when he made contact with the woman's skin was odd, and the immediate stirring of his arousal was slightly disturbing, considering that he just met the woman—if getting slapped was considered as meeting. It's because you haven't got some in a long time, a part of his mind said.

Shaking his head at his thoughts, he decided to call Fred. "I'm already at the entrance."

"Well then come on in. Just say your name to the bouncer," Fred's muffled voice said.

Andray could already hear the loud music pounding in the background. "Sure." He hung up and walked to the club. The bouncer immediately let him in after saying his name. He saw Fred right away.

"Thank God you came," Fred greeted, and they both patted each other's backs.

"The place looks stellar. You did a good job, man. Congratulations." Andray observed that the club's interior complemented its exterior—Greek and classy.

"Thanks, man. There's plenty of room upstairs. Let's go." Fred led him up the staircase. The middle part of the second floor was open like a balcony. He peered down, subconsciously looking for a familiar head of raven hair. He saw nothing, and continued to the room. Inside were some of Fred's buddies—most of them he didn't recognize.

"Andray!" a man said. 

Andray recognized the man as Ryan, a buddy from their college days. "Ryan. How's it going man?" he said, and shook Ryan's hand.

"Good. How about you?"

Andray chuckled. "Nothing interesting."

"Is Scotch fine with you?" Fred asked him.

"Yes. It's on you, right?"

"It is. Just enjoy the night, Dray."

Andray sat down the couch and acquainted himself with the other men. He introduced himself to them and learned that their names were Matt, Theo, Bruce, and Chris. Fred came back with a waiter, who handed him a class of Scotch.

"You okay, Dray?" Fred asked him.

"Yeah." This was a lie. He's completely out of place in this club—he with the black sneakers, denim jacket and flannel shirt, and them with their suits and smart long-sleeved shirts.

"I'll be checking the place. Just holler when you need help." Fred left again to entertain the customers and to see how the club was functioning.

Andray was just bored. The other men just kept on blabbering about how to make a girl come and the sh!ts that they're doing to their girls and other nonsense. He muttered an occasional 'Yeah', 'Sure', 'Mhmm', 'Nice' and other monosyllabic words just to contribute something to the conversation. Fed up with the nonsense, he decided to wander around the club after his second glass.

"I'll walk around to see the place. Be right back later," he announced. The men just nodded their heads in agreement. He grabbed his third glass of Scotch and then went out of the room. He peered down and saw Fred talking to a blonde woman. How typical of Fred, he thought, snickering. He saw Fred and the woman go upstairs.

"Dray, don't tell me you're already leaving," Fred said.

"Not yet. I'm just wandering around."

"Good. And oh, this is Margo. She's from a magazine and we'll just have a quick interview. Margo, this is my best friend, Andray." Fred gestured to the blonde woman beside him.

He gave Margo a smile and shook her hand. "Pleasure to meet you. I'll just leave you two then." He wandered around the second floor and then decided to go downstairs.

A head of raven hair caught his eyes but he ignored it and continued to admire the interior of the club. He sat down on an empty chair by the door and stared at a nearby painting while slowly sipping his Scotch. When he finished his drink, he decided to go to the bathroom. After washing his hands and face, he went out and saw a blond man cursing angrily.

"The nerve of that stupid b!tch. I bought her drinks and even talked to her nicely. Goddammit. She should've ended in my bed tonight. Fucking b!tch. Dumb b!tch. Argh, fvck her. To hell with her luscious boobs and ass." He heard the blond man blabber.

Andray only shrugged his shoulders and walked past the man. Must have been rejected by his conquest. He went upstairs and saw that Fred is still talking to the magazine woman. What was her name? Martha? Margie? Ah, screw it. He approached Fred.

"Excuse us for a moment," he said to the magazine woman.

"Yeah, sure," she replied.

"I'm going home, Fred. Thanks for tonight."

Fred groaned. "Come on, Dray. Already? But it's still early."

"I just want to go home and sleep."

"With your b!tch, right?" Fred teased.

"Oi, do not insult Ellie. Well, she is indeed a female dog though." Andray chuckled.

"I told you I'd let you go home anytime you want so, go on, leave me here," Fred said dramatically.

"You drama queen." He chuckled and patted his friend's shoulder. "Goodnight, man. And for the record, I love the place. Congratulations again. I'll try to be back some time." He gave Fred a bro hug.

"Thank you. See you soon, Dray."

"Yeah. I'll just say my farewell to the guys." He gave Fred one last pat and went back to the room.

Most of them were already red in the face and they were still blabbering nonsense. He announced that he was leaving and the men just grunted their garbled farewells.

He went downstairs and went out of the club. He breathed in the night air and walked to his car. He stopped in his tracks when he saw that someone—a woman—was lying face down on the hood of his car. What the fvck?

The woman's wearing a white crop top, dark high-waist jeans, and black heels.

Sh!t, is this the woman who called me a hobo?

He carefully approached the woman, and tapped her on the shoulder. He got no response. He parted the raven hair away from the woman's face and saw that her eyes were closed and her lips were slightly parted, her breathing even. She's asleep, he realized. And she's the woman who called me a hobo.

"Miss? Miss? Wake up." He shook her shoulders. She didn't even stir. "Miss, you have to wake up." He raised his voice. "Miss, wake up. You need to wake up and go home." He shook her again but still, she didn't wake up. "Fvck." Frustrated, he ran his hand though his hair.

The stupid b!tch must have drank too much. He started pacing around his car, occasionally glancing at her, and started to contemplate on what he would do. Should I lift her up and leave her on the sidewalk? No, that's very terrible. Should I call the police? No, they might do her harm. But why does he care, anyway? I shouldn't give a damn about this woman. She's not my responsibility. And it's not my fault that she's drunk. Plus she's slapped and insulted me.

He looked at her sleeping face again. She looks so serene, so feminine, so... beautiful. He felt the twitching in his pants again. Fvck it. He decided that he could not just leave her alone so he searched for any information from her. He reached into her pockets and only found a handkerchief. He looked around. Still nothing.

Great. No bag, no wallet,no phone, no IDs, no anything. How could I take her back to her home? He started pacing back and forth again, desperately racking his brain for ideas.

Should I take her home? But I might do something to her especially when she's looking like that. Should I leave her inside the bar? No, that's stupid. Fvck.

And so after mustering a great amount of self-control, he decided to take her home and to keep his hands off her. He opened the car door and then proceeded to lift her up.

"Mmm," she mumbled.

"Miss? Are you awake now?" Her eyes were still closed and she just burrowed her head closer to his chest. "Jesus Christ," he muttered. He set her down the passenger seat and put the seatbelt on her. Her sweet scent wafted through his nostrils, the scent smelling like cherries. He leaned closer to her, their faces dangerously inches away from each other, her warm vodka-scented breath fanning his face. He's drawn to her like magnet and his face moved towards hers. Their noses were already touching when she grunted. He immediately backed away from her.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. I'm twenty-fvcking-eight. I shouldn't be acting like a hormonal high school boy.

He shook his head and went in the driver's seat. Focus on driving. Focus on driving, he chanted to himself like a mantra. It did work since they arrived safely.

He parked the car and then carried her, bridal-style, to his apartment. He fumbled with the keys first before successfully opening the door. Seeing that there's an unknown presence in the room, Ellie started to bark.

"Shh, Ellie. Be quiet. You'll wake her up." But wasn't I waking her up a while ago?

Ellie stopped barking. He opened the door to his room and gently laid her down his bed. Ellie followed inside and then jumped up the bed and started to sniff the woman. "She's asleep, El. I tried to wake her up but she wouldn't wake up. That mean's we'll be having company tonight," he explained to the dog. He picked Ellie up and set her on her doggy bed. He turned his attention back to the woman in his bed.

There's a woman on my bed. Wow. Maybe this night isn't boring after all.

He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her for a few minutes, his eyes raking every visible inch of her—her long, slender legs, her narrow waist, her well-endowed chest, her fair complexion, her lush lips, and her raven hair. He remembered that her eyes were blue. What would those eyes look like when she's in throes of passion? What would those legs look like wrapped around my waist? My head? What would those breasts look like while bouncing in front of my face while she's rocking on top of—he dismissed the carnal thoughts immediately.

He fixed her head on the pillow and removed her heels. He didn't bother to remove her clothes since they're not dirty and he knew she'll probably flip out if he did. He went to the bathroom to wet a washcloth, and then wiped her face and arms with it. He brushed the wayward strands of her hair and noticed that there's a red bite mark on her neck. He also noticed that her wrists were turning blue. Who the fvck did this? Was it some bastard in the club? His nostrils flared, surprising himself with the sudden anger. She stirred and he snapped out of his angry trance. He put the covers over her and hastily stood up. He grabbed a pair of boxers from his closet and went out of the