Mister West by R.J. Lewis (animal farm read .TXT) 📕

talking to you throughout the day instantly makes me happier. I haven’t felt this way in a long time.”

“When was the last time you felt truly happy?” he asks.

“Probably my sixteenth birthday.”

“What did you do for your sixteenth?”

“Nothing, but everyone stopped to wish me a happy birthday. I felt special. Like I wasn’t invisible. At school, they sang me a happy birthday and I had lunch bought for me. I’ve never been spoiled like that before.” I look away so he doesn’t see my face. “My mom wasn’t big on that stuff. Ana actually showed up at my door in the night with a cupcake lit for me. She told me to make a wish. She said it would come true.”

He stares at me for a long beat before asking, “What did you wish for, Ivy?”

“I wished I’d get away, even for a short while. Two weeks later I was on that beach on Vancouver Island, the one I was telling you about earlier.”

He smiles at me softly. “Your dream came true.”

“Yeah, which is why it was so amazing.”

“What did you do for your twenty fourth?”

I roll my eyes and shrug. “I was at my mom’s.”

“It was over the summer?”

“August third. A week before I flew out, before I bumped into you on the plane.”

“What did you do?”

My smile is light. “I watched Bridget Jones’ Diary in my room with a bowl of ice cream.”

He’s looking sort of bothered now. “Anyone wish you a happy birthday?”

“Oh, yeah, all my Facebook friends sent me cute stickers on my wall.”

“I won’t even pretend to know what that means.”

I laugh. “Probably a good thing, Aidan.”

Our platter of wings is served just then. Aidan doesn’t touch the food for a few moments, staring at me instead with a thoughtful look. There’s no awkwardness in the quiet moments between us. We munch on the food. At one point, he leans over the table and wipes the corner of my mouth with a napkin, cleaning up the sauce. I grin at him, until he runs his thumb over my bottom lip. The action is so quick, it’s like a blink. It steals my breath away. I look into his eyes, and he stares back, unwavering.

I turn away, focusing on the TV. It’s a great distraction from him. The fights capture my attention and I find myself standing up and gravitating toward it. If the lead up matches are this fun, I can’t imagine what the main event will be like.

“You surprise me, Miss Montcalm,” Aidan tells me, coming up from behind me. His hand rests on my hip, like he’s marking me in front of everyone.

“What is surprising?” I ask him.

“If this shit is what you’re into, I’ll take you to a match one of these days.”

I turn my head and look up at him, grinning. “Can you imagine how crazy that would be?”

“I’ve been,” he tells me. “And it lives up to the hype.”

I can’t imagine.

I don’t know how it happens, it’s a natural progression I suppose when you’re in the bar scene, but we become part of the crowd. The men openly welcome us, and none are behaving inappropriately. They’re busy yammering away about UFC to care about the women. I glance around at the ladies, biting back a laugh because they look neglected. No one seems to recognize Aidan, and if they do, they don’t give a fuck.

“Someone’s gotta tell me about these main guys!” I step in. “I want to be ready to root for the right guy.”

The bustle that follows is hilarious. The men look at me with the most eager expressions. Half of them are pulling out their phones, adamantly telling me I must watch a few matches, or at least see the highlights.

“The Scottish one is the favorite,” one of them says. “He hasn’t lost a match yet.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” another argues. “The Brazilian has a record for TKO’s.”

And so the back and forth continues. I get given screen after screen. I watch a few highlights. In the background the music gets turned up and the lights are dimmed for the evening. The Prelim matches ensue, and Aidan is tethered beside me, joining in on the conversation. He describes the time he’d been to the last match in Abu Dhabi, and suddenly he’s every guy’s best friend.

“Is he yours?” a woman asks me, sidling up beside me at the bar, watching Aidan as he stands before the men. They’ve shuffled down the bar from me. He’s surrounded by the guys. His hands are up and he’s talking in detail, describing the fight he watched from up close. So close, he says, he could smell the copper scent of the fighters’ blood in the air.

I turn my attention to the pretty brunette beside me. “I’m sorry what?”

“Is he yours?” she repeats. “Because if he isn’t, you have to give us ladies a fair chance.”

Jealousy bubbles in my chest. I want to tell her he is, but I can’t lie. He isn’t mine, and she’s pretty decent for asking instead of assuming.

“No,” I let out quietly. “He’s not.”

The girl flees in his direction, but not before letting the other ladies know at a table nearby. They’re sharks circling fresh meat. Poor Aidan is going to get tried by not one, or even two, but five women. And they’re all gorgeous. I sip my beer at the bar, looking away because I don’t want to witness it. I stare up at the screen and try to ignore the way my shoulders slump.

“Ivy?” a familiar voice says.

I look up in surprise as one of Derek’s old friends appears at my side.

Shit.

“Terry,” I reply, pretending to sound excited, but I’m actually shitting bricks. I look around real quick. Is Derek here? When was the last time he hung out with Terry?

“Are you here with Derek?” he asks me, taking a seat in the empty stool beside me.

If he’s asking that, then Derek is definitely not here with him.

I shake my