CHAPTER 2

BUT THERE WAS no arrogance in his voice or on his face, it seemed like he just stated a fact. But she was seeing nothing on him that would tell her that he was a powerful or a very influential individual. Yes, he was handsome. Yes, he was strong physically. But a pretty face and strong arms didn’t equate to societal influence. He was dressed casually: his blue polo shirt which showed his seemingly nice-to-touch and nice-to-feel biceps, wasn’t even an expensive brand, and it was partnered with pair of ordinary looking denim jeans. He had no jewelry on him except for his watch, which didn’t look expensive either. He didn’t have a ring, wedding or whatever. And she didn’t know why but it gave her an urge to smile, an urge she stopped because she knew that he would see it from the corner of his eye. And he would probably wonder where it was coming from, and maybe feel a bit insulted by it.

And continuing her reconnaissance, she looked at his phone and well, it was an iPhone. Still, she knew teenagers from middle-income family, whose parents were just ordinary, not powerful nor influential, who owned iPhones. And his iPhone wasn’t even the latest model.  A wealthy man who wanted to look powerful and influential would always have the latest and most expensive model. You gotta have the appearance. The slip-on shoes he wore also looked ordinary and old. Yes, the truck was nice but she wasn’t sure if he owned it. But he crashed the truck? Well, he probably was a daredevil even with things he didn’t own. Or maybe he owned it but worked really hard to buy it? But why then would he just crash it to save some strangers? He probably would just work hard again for the repairs.

But something in her brain reminded her that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. He also probably was just considering the fact that the incident had them for eyewitnesses, and that they would certainly collaborate each other’s testimonies, aside from the photos he took of the motorcycle, so there really was no need for someone powerful or influential to send the drunken culprits to jail.

When she looked at his face, she saw that he was also looking at her, and she almost blinked at the brightness of his brown eyes.  “By the way, I’m Soren,” the man said, extending his hand to her.

She shook his hand. “I’m Misha,” she introduced herself. She had shook hands with some very rich guys, and Soren’s hands weren’t as smooth and as soft as those men’s hands. But then, she didn’t really like soft and smooth male hands.  Only girls should have dainty hands. “Soren?”

“Claire is thankful that it was her who got hit and not her daughter,” he said.

She was asking for his surname so she could probably pinpoint who he was and why he seemed familiar but he ignored it. She was certain her words were clear and that he heard her, he really just ignored it.

“But it really would have been better if no one was hurt,” he said, concern in his voice was palpable which made her admire him again. The mother and daughter were strangers to him, and yet he was looking after them like they were his close relatives.

When he wasn’t looking, Misha secretly took a photo of him.

Two men soon arrived at the hospital and approached them. The older man was Rick, Claire’s father, and the younger man was Andy, Claire’s husband. At that time, Alexa was already asleep at Misha’s lap. “No, it’s okay,” Misha said in a soft voice when Andy gestured to take Alexa from her lap. “She might be awakened.” And Andy let his son slept on her lap.

“I’m Soren,” he introduced himself to the two men, choosing again not to mention his surname, the forbidden and mysterious family name—which probably sounded so rich and famous it would immediately urge all the people within hearing distance to kidnap him and ask for some ransom money— although the family name wasn’t really necessary to mention at that time.

“I’m Misha,” she introduced herself next, also omitting her surname. But then, her surname wouldn’t give anyone a hint that she belonged to an opulent family.

“We really don’t know how to thank you,” Claire’s father said. “But we’re really grateful, really.”

After retelling the details of the incident, Soren sent the photos of the motorcycle he took to Andy’s cell phone. They then gave their contact numbers to Andy and then, Soren, the gentleman that he was, walked her to her car.

“It was nice meeting you,” he said while he held the door of her car open for her.

“Nice meeting you, too,” Misha said as she went inside her car. “And thank you for helping them.”

“Thank you for helping them, too,” he said, smiling and refusing to take all the credits although he was the one who was willing to wreck his car for Claire, smiling as he gently closed the door while she settled on the driver’s seat.  He was also the one who bodily carried Claire, which she could never ever do. What did she do really? Hug Claire’s daughter and console her, that’s it. It was the first time she saw him smile, and he had an utterly charming smile, one that could any woman off her feet. When God first showered mankind with good looks, Soren was clearly first in the line. And when God first showered mankind with good character, he seemed to be also first in the line.

“Good night,” he told her.

“Good night,” she responded.

“Wait, do you have F******k?” she remembered and asked him with a smile.

“I do,” he said after looking awfully hesitant for a while.

“Tell me so I can add you,” she said.

He flashed an awkward smile. “Give me yours and I’ll send you a friend request,” he said.

She showed him the screen of her cell phone. “Look, I’m on F******k now,” she said. “I can send you a friend request now.” She tapped on the search button. “What’s your F******k name?”

She saw that hesitation again on his face. “Soren Cortez.”

“Soren Cortez,” she said as she typed it.  Six accounts named Soren Cortez came up but she easily recognized the one that belonged to him—because it had his photo as the profile picture. “This is you?” she asked him as she showed him the face on her phone to him.

He shyly scratched his head, which she found very cute, and said, “Yup, that’s me.”

Got you! “There,” she said as she tapped on her screen. “I’ve sent you a friend request.”

And there was that awkward smile on his face again. “I’ll check it later,” he said. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

She watched him walk his manly walk to his truck. And realizing that he really was so nice and polite and helpful and probably well-off if he really owned that shiny truck that it would be impossible for him to be single made her heart flutter sadly. She would never reject that idea of him becoming her boyfriend. He turned his side towards her direction and waved and smiled at her while he was getting inside his truck and it sort of warmed her heart—look at that, he seemed sweet, too.

Lucky girl, she thought, referring to his girlfriend, if he had any. Well, she was sure he had one. Sheh wouldn’t be surprised if he had two. Or three. Some girls weren’t shy to act aggressive towards handsome nice men, and some men found it hard to reject women excitedly throwing themselves at them. Then, she remembered his F******k account and opened it. His setting, it seemed, was Friends Only so she couldn’t see his posts. And she couldn’t wait for him to accept her friend request.

Soren Cortez, she recalled his name mentally.

Soren Cortez!

Cortez!

She squinted. Suddenly, she had inkling on why he looked familiar—he resembled someone a lot, and when she finally remembered who he was, she gritted her teeth and she felt all her blood fiercely flowing up to her head and making a little tsunami there, disorienting her. She took a deep breath and exhaled hard, but the waves of blood up in her head didn’t calm down. She ignited her engine and drove towards the direction of Soren’s pickup truck, which was now starting to move out of the parking lot.

She stepped on the gas and hurtled towards the direction of the truck, stopping abruptly in front of it, her tires screeching and screaming like a dismayed banshee—with the truck stopping just a few inches away from the driver’s seat’s door of her car.