He is real. A novel. Alisa Roft

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СКАЧАТЬ that in real time everything took about five seconds. Possessive instinct sparkled in me. And to whom? To a man who I did not really know.

      Misha, of course, was not interested in all this; he took a packet of Marlboro light from his jeans pocket and put it on the table. He threw his hand on the back of my chair, put his arm around my shoulders, and suddenly I felt so good and warm in my heart because he was here and now, side by side with me.

      – And I thought that athletes do not smoke. – I said jokingly, and took a cigarette out of the pack.

      – You will be surprised, but they not only smoke. – He snapped his lighter, giving me a light. – Order the whiskey – you are an expert. – He offered and gave me the menu with alcoholic beverages.

      Although not being a bartender, I really knew a lot about whiskey.

      – I can do without the menu. Have you ever tried Macallan?

      – No, but I’d like to try.

      I decided to parade my knowledge, pointing to an expensive single malt whiskey. I have no idea how things stand for Misha in terms of his financial possibilities, but ordering even a couple of shots will cost a considerable amount. I never take my wallet to a date, and have never encountered such a situation where it could be useful.

      – Two shots of Macallan, – Misha turned to the barman who approached us.

      The bartender poured the golden drink twenty-five years of age into shots, Misha and I picked them up, touched their rims with the clink and drank quickly. Throwing back my head, in order to take a sip, I felt a sharp pain in the muscles of my neck. They constantly ached after the nights spent at work, because I had to twist my head so that the hair would stream as if in the wind, fly up with each movement, and fascinatingly, a little disheveled, fell on my shoulders. It seemed to me that it added sexuality. I restrained my emotions, preventing them from reflecting on my face, and the warmth of alcohol with caramel tinge, which began to spread over my body, quickly drowned out the pain.

      Misha ordered another couple of shots. We talked at ease. I was listening to him with interest, asking questions, being eager to find out as much as possible about him, and to understand what kind of person he is, but he answered somehow evasively. He tried to tell jokes, and I laughed at them. He tried to flirt, and I was embarrassed when he touched me. Everything seemed to be an interesting game that I really enjoyed playing with him.

      Misha ordered another couple of shots. Then he treated the bartender. The latter asked to leave a credit card as a pledge, reaching out his hand with the card to him, Misha gave his permission to withdraw the tip, specified – a couple of hundreds. And the eyes of the young bartender shone with joy, with respectful gratitude.

      A dub tip, goes as it should be, fifty is already flattering, a hundred rarely happens, and two hundred is actually an exception. He might be coming off like a big shot, I thought. Now I could only continue making guesses, because my friend, still did not want to tell me anything.

      – Do you want to take a walk? – Misha suggested, and I gladly agreed.

      ***

      After midnight, the sea was smooth, Misha and I were strolling along the surf line, walking on the damp, cool sand feeling a little drunk with the whiskey I had chosen. The night beach, filled with empty plastic sun loungers with tables, was lit by lanterns that were stretching along the coast, mounted on high metal pillars. And in the darkened areas, inaccessible to light, hiding from the unwanted eyes, there were loving couples. Besides them, pretty drunk tourists, and Ethiopians, waiting for the moment when these tourists leave their clothes on the beach and go swimming in the sea, in order to search their pockets, no one else could be met.

      – What else do you know as well as whiskey? – Misha asked his question.

      – So you think I will just tell you all my secrets? – I jokingly answered.

      – C’mon, don’t be so secretive. Everyone has their own story, for example, I am interested in yours.

      The story of my life would have sounded a lie to him, made of concocted moments. I couldn’t tell the truth. I can imagine his disappointed and surprised face when I say that in fact I’m not a bartender at all and have never been one. During my time at the strip club I was friends with the barmaids, that’s why I know some features of their work. Or about the period spent under mind-blocking pills. Yes, or about the addiction to whiskey. You can actually recall much more, but I think we shouldn’t.

      – Look, girls like to talk nonstop, then you will get tired of listening to it, – Walking with a relaxed gait, I now and then clumsily bumped my shoulder onto Misha’s shoulder, slightly pushing him.

      – But, everything begins with communication. – He noticed unintentionally.

      – Although, in most cases, a guy meets a girl not to talk. – I threw him a hint.

      – I don’t argue here, – he got it quickly. – Do you want to skip the official part? – By his sly smile, it could be understood that he is not so much a supporter of the “official parts”.

      – Well, I don’t know, – I answered with the air of mystery in my voice.

      He stopped, pulled me to him. He put his hands on my waist and looked straight into my eyes, so heartfelt, silently, beyond all bounds deep, which made me all perk up, immediately I wanted to cuddle up to him even tighter, with my whole body, and I embraced him tight. He lowered his head, I could fell his wavy breath on my lips.

      They say, the very first kiss in your life is unforgettable. That’s nonsense. In my opinion, the first kiss with any person who you really love is unforgettable. After all, we rarely meet such people, and it is always interesting to kiss them for the first time, and that naive, the very first, nobody knows when happened kiss becomes secondary. It becomes an echo of the ridiculous moment of the past, which used to seem so significant.

      Yet during our first meeting with Misha in a cafe on the beach, when he was telling me about something at sunset, I constantly focused on his lips, imagining how they would kiss me, and mind it – everywhere. From time to time, I pretended to be a kind of interested listener, thinking about other things absolutely irrelevant to our talk.

      He kissed me confidently, passionately and rudely at the same time, giving all of him to me and experiencing the whole storm of emotions. He embraced me greedily, squeezing me in his “bear hug”. I could feel his wet full lips, my arms wrapped around his big neck, sliding on his strong shoulders. I didn’t want to let him go, I didn’t want to leave him and being with him I didn’t want to stop. He managed to ignite a strong physical attraction in me. He’s just a very attractive guy, I said to myself, the common reaction of hormones to a so-called tactile contact. And also he is maddening sexy, excitingly masculine, strong… Well, well, stop, that’s all, turn on the light, throw a wet blanket on me, a kick in the ass will also work, as long as my hormones stop their rage.

      I stopped, Misha did not open his eyes at once.

      – And what did you want to talk about? – I looked at him with calm, confident eyes, as if I had everything under control (in a simulant but convincing way, it was as easy as a pie for me to imitate many emotions in a life-like manner).

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