String the Player

2.

There's always that asshole at every party who comes solely for the food. And once he's done raiding the buffet, his belly protruding shamelessly, he stands in the corner waiting for the opportunity for it to be appropriate to take his leave. Assholes that think they're important enough that it's alright if they are here only for the food and ignore the rest of the crowd.

"What are you doing in a corner all by yourself?" some Bollywood nepo baby yells over the loud music causing a separate sort of pounding in my head. He yells some more, but I don't pay attention. My eyes are laser-focused on the obscene six-pack he's sporting underneath the almost unbuttoned shirt and totally unbuttoned vest. Dude brought a whole new meaning to washboard.

A little above those washerwoman's wet dreams is a nice, bright red love bite on his collarbone. Bites.

"I'm meditating," I yell back.

He nods as though what I said made sense. With his thumb, he points to the dance floor behind him. "Meditate there. I'll join you."

He's handsome in that Bollywood sense. Brown hair, light brown eyes, high cheek bones, full lips, fair skin. The usual. And I'm not too opposed to what I'm seeing. He's interested if the hand that's tugging my wrist is any indication. Maybe, I am too. But I'm not that dumb to not know what he's interested in.

We'll dance a little. Maybe get a little handsy. The privileged baby will pop out his phone, take a couple of pictures. On social media, they'll go. He'll publicly apologise for those intimate photographs. I'll have no choice but to ignore. His popularity will soar. My career will be shone the door.

Yeah. No, thank you. So, cute boy can take his hands and fuck off to elsewhere.

My gaze drifts to above silver spoon baby's shoulder and snags on Pa. Finally.

The man was roped into so many conversations one would think he was the one throwing this party. I pick up my pace so I can reach him before anyone else can, and I almost succeed when Rishabh comes running and stops right in front of Pa. Aaand I no longer want to hide behind my dad. I swiftly twirl on my feet and go back the way I came from.

"Eshwar, have you seen—There he is."

Fuck me with a ten inch.

I almost start into a jog, but Rishabh is faster. His fingers grip into my elbow before I can even pray to Zeus to smite me.

"I told you to not wander away," he yells, pulling me closer to him.

I want to yell back that I wasn't the one who wandered away, these two abandoned me to chit-chat, leaving me to fend for myself. Also, if he knew me as well as he claimed to, he could've just waltzed to the buffet and found me stuffing five piping hot jalapeno poppers into my mouth.

"Rita Dhaave wants to meet you, like I said, I have a feeling she's..."

I lose track of what Rishabh is yelling as I stumble, fumble, and bumble my way while he strolls on with people parting way like he's Moses. I throw my head back and allow him to drag me by the wrist as though I'm some petulant child in need of disciplining.

I don't know why I'm not enjoying myself more. It usually doesn't take much for me to focus and put on my happy-go-lucky charm. This party is thrown in our honour. For our win. Finally, we get to take the trophy home. I'm not sure what's wrong with me tonight. I should be out there dancing, drinking, having fun, living life. Instead, I'm being dragged around by my agent who can't locate the person he wants to parade me in front of.

I should look for Liam and see if he's given my offer any more thought. Perhaps, nudge him till he gives, but when I look around, all the faces blur into one. I don't see him anywhere, and it seems like too much effort to go looking for him now.