The Sister Zone ✔

October 13th, 2016 [Part Three] - Like a Virgin

"Sorry. Mind signing this for her?"

"It'd be my pleasure," Celia answers with a polite smile and takes the napkin from my hand. "So, is that your girlfriend?"

I glance at the stage, only to see Nessa singing and throwing her head back and forth like a possessed rock star.

"Nope. Never met her in my entire life." I cringe with embarrassment at Nessa's shameless performance, drawing a chuckle from Celia. "Just kidding. We're just friends. Best friends. She's a big fan of yours, by the way."

"Oh, that's very flattering. She has a really good voice," she replies, her thick eyebrows rising ever so slightly.

On a normal occasion, I would agree with her. But since Nessa's voice is getting more and more out of tune, I'm sure she's only being polite. "Yeah, maybe when she's not drunk."

Celia lets out a sweet chuckle and returns her attention to the napkin. "So, to Sidney, isn't it?"

Hmm? How did she remember that?

Suspicion stirs in my gut, but I ignore it. "It's Vanessa."

"Oh?" Celia stops writing and raises her eyes to meet mine.

"Yeah, she was using a fake name." And who can blame her? She might want to move to Timbuktu after this performance.

I chortle as Nessa rolls around on the stage, probably thinking she's the Queen of Pop herself.

"And what about you?" Celia asks. "Is Oliver your real name? Or is it a fake name too?"

"Uh, no." I tilt my head and scratch my forehead. "It's my real name. It's Oliver Morrison."

She gives me an irresistible smile. "Nice to meet you, Oliver Morrison."

A strange delight develops in my stomach. Coming from a certain someone who's now singing her ass off like a crazy girl that she is, my full name sounds like an insult—a punishment, sometimes. Yet the way Celia says my full name sounds so . . . alluring.

"Here you go." Celia hands over the signed napkin to me.

"Thanks. It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Oliver Morrison. And happy birthday."

Celia's beauty, gracefulness, and hypnotizing voice enchant me. Normally, I would offer to buy her a drink. But a faint voice inside my heart stops me from doing so. I'm about to walk back to the bar when my gaze falls on the stage.

An unexpected spark of annoyance flares within me when I see Nessa dancing in a rather lewd way around the long-haired guitarist. The tattooed man returns the affection by ogling her from head to toe, a pervert-ish smirk on his face.

What is it with women and guitarists? No. Tattooed men. What is it with women and tattooed men, huh?

All of a sudden, I feel the urge to get a tattoo.