The Shards of Serenity Read Online Free Page A

bartender.
    “Guys, it’s been fun; but I see someone I need to talk to,” I told my friends, hoping that’s all the explanation they’d need.
    “Uh-oh, looks like Markus is getting hot in the pants again!” joked Simone, as the feelings of her second mojito began to take effect.
    “I thought you only found your prospects online,” said Allison, reminding me of why I never actually liked her.
    “Very funny. Anyway, I’ll be back,” I said, as I collected my composure and approached the object of my eye.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    SERENITY DAVIS
     
    It took four hours for my first post-traumatic episode to end, and only four voicemails from my insane ex-husband to remind me why I was so shaken. Throughout his messages he told me he hated me, he told me he loved me, and most frighteningly of all, he told me he’d find me. Before I could catch myself receding back into a tear-stained position, I decided it was time to do something different; and so I smashed my moral compass and went to the local bar.
     
    Upon arrival, I was taken aback by everything I saw. Washed up middle-aged couples danced without a concept of rhythm, while drunk women threw back shots, and men gazed at them like vultures. Echoes of my strict upbringing bounced through my head, as I wondered if I’d become as heedlessly sinful as most people my age. Before anxiety got the best of me, I decided it didn’t matter, and that the most important thing was making it through the night with my sanity intact.
    I sashayed to the bar with an awkward confidence, and quietly placed my order with the bartender. “I’ll have something fruity,” I uttered; hoping I’d be able to stomach whatever ethanol-smelling concoction he mustered up. With little delay, a glass filled with neon-purple mystery was presented in front of me, and I slid a twenty dollar bill forward. I realistically had no concept of how much drinks cost or what an appropriate tip might be. I’d been raised to believe that R&B music was inherently evil and that anything on television after nine o’ clock was the product of Satan.
    As I took my first sips of the grape-flavored cocktail, my eyes scanned the room sheepishly. After a minute of eavesdropping on conversations and taking in the plastic décor, I noticed one pair of eyes glued to me that I honestly didn’t mind.
    Standing at six-foot-two with gelled brown hair, a matching goatee, and pure ivory skin; he was the essence of masculinity with a style that was refreshingly chic. I subtly smiled as I noticed him walking my way; his eyes fixed on the vacant seat to my right.
    “I’m not one to approach strangers,” he started, in a smooth baritone voice that awakened my lower half. “But, may I have this seat next to you?”
    “It’s a public place,” I said, sounding unintentionally cold. “Feel free.”
    “So I’ve met a lot of women in my life,” he continued, as he adjusted himself upon the high stool. “But, they’ve all virtually been the same. They say they want a relationship, but they’ll settle for dick. They say they want a home, but they’ll live in any house. They say they want happiness, but they settle for mediocrity. Now, I might be inebriated, I might be rash, and/or I might be completely misreading you. But, looking into your eyes, even from across this building, I see something different. There’s strength, there’s pain, and there’s a glowing sense of beauty. What’s your name?”
    “My name’s Serenity,” I slowly stated; feeling my jaw drop, pussy moisten, and mind wonder what the fuck I’d gotten myself into. “That was almost as beautiful as it was insane. Do you always walk up to women and start freestyling poetry?”
    “I’m a poet, but that wasn’t poetry. And no, like I said, most women settle for the three things I mentioned.”
    “So, you give them mediocre dick at your house?” I joked, feeling a mix of calmness, playfulness, and uncharacteristic interest.
    “I feel like we’re