I need air!

“I insist,” he says, following me out the door “Now I'm going to take your hand and lead you to my car. Can I?” he asks steadily stopping me from falling down and breaking my face.

Without saying anything more, my arm raises itself automatically. He swiftly catches it and guides me to the back of the club where the parking lot is situated.

He leads me to the space beside Valentina's car. Of course, the shiny black Lamborghini is his. He opens the car door for me and I enter dazed.

Wait! What am I thinking? I feel my breath heavy as regret washes over me.

Soon he is in the driver’s seat. The car starts, and the engine makes a thunderous roar. I like it, powerful and so regal; a class apart! My eyes were suddenly all wide open

“Do you like the car?” he asks me, trying to gauge my expression.

“Are you honestly asking me that? Who doesn't like a car like this?” I say, laughing, calming down. Ah, it’s the tequila. It’s working its magic!

He laughs and nods. Wow, how beautiful he is, I think to myself.

“When we leave through the gate, I need you to lower your head,” he says, gently cupping my face like a child.

“Why so?” I query innocently, puzzled at the weird request.

“There will be the paparazzi and they tend to be quite invasive and you wouldn’t actually like that kind of attention, would you?”

“Gotcha! Thanks for looking out for me!” I reply. I smile, ducking down.

We drive through the gate, and only then do I understand what he asked of me. There are hundreds of paparazzi outside the pub’s gate. I don't know if I like it or not. On the one hand, I’m not going to come off as another bitch in her hoity-toity boots, but on the other hand, I already feel like one.

“We've passed danger,” he says, and I compose myself in the leather seat. “Sorry, but I expected you wouldn't want to be on the front page of all the newspapers tomorrow.”

“Yeah, it really wouldn't be cool,” I say, a little shaken. I don’t like this situation. “I live in the city centre, near a cafe called Bistro Real. Do you know where it is?” I say a little desperately.

“Yes, I know,” he answers. “But don't you prefer to go somewhere else? I think it would be nice to talk a little more.”

Okay, I am not feeling good at all about this situation. I don’t like the direction of this conversation. I look out the window, peering at the passing lights, not looking at him.

“You're quiet,” he notices, frowning. “Back in the pub, it seemed like you talked a lot.” He laughs a little.

“Well, I don't usually get in the car with strangers,” I admit, as if I am a little girl. My God...

“Where are you from?” he asks, changing the conversation.

I sigh, entering an internal battle of whether to speak or not. But what could he do? I did put myself in this situation, so...

“Panama,” I reply.

“Americas,” he says, focused on the road ahead. “I love this city. It completely comes alive at night…the beaches, best of the best parties...all the metropolitan hype. I have a yacht over there. And I like the women here,” he says casually.

“Of course, you do; I do not doubt that,” I blurt, a little annoyed but softly enough I pray he didn’t hear me. I frown. Of course, he would like them. I think to myself, trying to find the words to say next.

“I'm from Seville,” he says, trying once again to flow the conversation along.

“Yes, I know, but who doesn't know that, right?”  I say, laughing sarcastically, and he, to my surprise, laughs too. “Is your team Sevilla?” I ask. Good question. I always wanted to know that.

My question makes him chuckle.

“Yes, I started in the youth categories there.” He smiles, momentarily lost in thought.

“What the hell! I thought there was hope for you.” I start to laugh.

Him not understanding my question, he makes a face. Seriously, even with a grimace he is beautiful.

“I'm into American Football” I continue. “Yeah, I support the international. That's why I never liked you. But now it's different,” I suddenly add without thinking.

“Different, how so?” He asks as though he is inquiring me.

I think you are too beautiful. I want to kiss you now, can I? Too bad I don’t dare tell him that. My nervousness speaks louder as I rub my hands together.

“Because you changed teams once you got better,” I reply, hoping I am not too rude. Good, Selena you might have just managed to fix it.

A few minutes pass. Until he breaks the silence.

“Are you living here?” he asks curiously. Oddly enough, his questions are making me relax some of my facial muscles.

“Well, not living. I'm going to spend a month here studying,” I answer.

“Well, what are you studying?” He alternates his gaze between me and the road.

“I do fashion design. But I want to specialize in fashion journalism. That's why I'm taking an extracurricular course at the University here.” I pause to think, God, stop talking; he doesn't even care.

“You can't tell anyone anything; you know… about all this here.”

He catches me off guard.

“As if I wanted fifteen minutes of fame. Sorry, but my house is not around here,” I say, irritated.

“We're going somewhere else,” he says.

“I need to go home. I won't be another one of your nights out. I'm not some bitch who gets laid and then leaves. To my house now, please!” I say, sternly. I need air.

He is silent. He knew I was right. We arrive at the front of my building five minutes later. I open the door and quickly exit. I don’t even care if I lifted my skirt or not. Ah, fuck!

“Can I have your phone number?” he asks me with that piercing look.

“I don't think it's a good idea. And please, tonight never happened. Thanks for the ride, Hunter. Enjoy your night. Bye.”

I slam the car door, but not too hard. I go straight to the apartment, not looking back even once.

Air, I need air!!!