If You're Not the One

Thank you for those who reviewed, Anon and RedSnake! It was much appreciated, and if anyone has any commentary or helpful remarks, I would be really grateful. I'm still not sure where the story is going. Well here's the next chapter- enjoy!

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CHAPTER TWO
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University life progressed well, Dorian supposed. He passed all his classes with flying colors, and he expected that he would be the valedictorian of his year. At twenty four years old, he had a lifestyle many longed for; a path etched for him which would guarantee every luxury he wished with a simple wave of an idle hand. However, his nature wouldn't allow himself to take the easy way out, and he drove himself to the extent of his own abilities.

He lifted the Corona to his lips, drinking it deeply, barely reigstering the dull acidic taste of it as it passed down his throat. The loud music pounded his head like fists, but Dorian pushed it aside as he smiled enigmatically at the well-endowed girl whose sultry, dramatically kohl-ed eyes rested on his face. It was a smile of invitation, one that signified that it wasn't of any concern of his if she came over or not. As usual, it worked. She slithered over the bar, her long dyed black hair sliding over her large breasts spilling over a tight black leather corset.

"Hello," she cooed, her voice deep and too obviously meant to seduce. His eyes scanned over her face; common, with plain brown eyes surrounded by cheap makeup and rubbery red lips. Up close, she looked trashy-hardly worth his notice. Repulsed, Dorian let a disdainful smirk fall over his expression, and turned away to his bottle of beer.

"I noticed you from over there," the girl pressed on, taking the empty seat next to him, and pressing close to him in an attempt at arousing him. Disgusted, Dorian rose from his seat and threw a few bills for the bartender.

The night air was refreshingly cool. It never got too hot in England, no matter what time of year it was. It suited him, for Dorian disliked the heat. Sometimes though, Dorian found himself missing the business of New York, the bright extravagant lights and gaudy yellow cabs whizzing past, the sheer attitude and shameless audacity of the city. England was a country of propriety and principles, and though he admired it greatly, he was American by birth, as well as at heart.

He missed his sister, Lucinda. She was younger than he by about two years; a lively, vibrant, and vivacious girl. Materialistic and fashionable, she was a great spender with no interest in studies. Despite the difference in characters, she had gotten along splendidly with Dorian.

Suddenly, he bumped hard into a young lady. He apologized briefly, then paused, struck by the woman's loveliness and a sense of... familiarity.. Dorian was no stranger to beauty. Indeed, he had experienced beauty in all its aspects; in nature's flowers and sunrises, in ancient architecture and paintings...and in women. But this woman surpassed them all, with her creamy skin illuminated by the moonlight and her glorious red-gold hair falling in rippling waves nearly to her waist.

"Are you quite all right?" she questioned him, concern in her warm brown eyes.

"I am," Dorian replied, his voice as cool and collected as always. "I apologize again for my rudeness." He looked into the Madonna-like face, the Titian hair, and graceful willowy figure. She was nearly as tall as him, which intrigued him. It would be quite easy to just press his lips into those full, unpainted ones.

A smile flickered across her face. "It's okay, I'm fine." Her voice was interesting, not quite British, but had a hint of American. It was pleasant.

"Are you American, by any chance?" Dorian asked, inquisitive.

"Oh, I was born in New York!" the goddess spoke. "My name is Margaret Browning." Recognition filled him, and he realized why she had seemed so familiar.

"Margaret Browning? All the way in England... I'm Dorian Hendra, from your elementary school," he laughed, as shock filled her face. "You've changed," Dorian added, smiling.

"Oh my gosh! Dorian, I didn't recognize you at all!" she gasped. "How have you been?"

"I've been doing well," Dorian answered vaguely. "I am more interested in as to the reason why a young, beautiful woman as yourself is walking alone in this neighborhood alone in the night time." His eyes met hers, and he was gratified to see the faint blush color her cheeks.

"I'm just coming back from work," she explained, looking down at the ground. "I should go now, it is late and I have to wake up early tomorrow."

"I'd be glad to walk you home."

"Oh no, that won't be necessary," Margaret said hastily. "My flat is just around the corner."

"I insist," he said firmly, taking her arm.

She smiled beatifically, making him blink at the brilliance of it. "Well, if you insist." Margaret turned her face from his momentarily as they walked along, missing the calculating gleam that flashed in his eyes and the shark smile that formed on his face.

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"I ran into an old school mate last night," Margaret sighed into the phone, voice dreamy.

"You call me at five in the morning to notify me of this minor detail?" Belle croaked, rubbing her eyes sleepily. Annoyance had flickered briefly in her mind, and roared to full irritation at the cheery sound of her best friend's voice on the other line.

"Yes," she spoke in that same dreadfully happy voice.

"I'm glad you met her, and all but Mags-"

"Him," Margaret interjected. "His name is Dorian Hendra."

Belle groaned into her outdated cell phone. "It is way too early in the morning for this fluff."

"Do you know, I had the hugest crush on him back in elementary school? He's gotten even more dashing with the years."

"Maggie, dearest, I would love to continue this conversation but I haven't the patience or the stomach to digest this crap right now. I have officially given up on men."

Margaret rolled her eyes. "You've said that no less than a thousand times throughout the years and you have yet to turn to women."

"Well, this time I am dead serious. Men are all bastards that deserve to be castrated in the most painful way imaginable," Belle argued sharply. "You should have met the bastards I had the misfortune to meet the other day."

Her best friend groaned. "I don't think we have the time to mentally gut and inflict medieval tortures right now. I still have to type out my paper, and classes start in a few hours."

"Let's meet up sometime this week," Belle sighed. "I have to unleash this anger on someone."

"Lucky me," Margaret replied wryly.

"I love you too, darling," Belle returned.

"So you say."

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Margaret slurped down the adequately warmed coffee from the Styrofoam cup as she finished typing out the last few sentences of her thesis. A yawn flitted from her lips, and she pushed aside the wavy strands that had escaped her tight bun from her glasses. She was about to take a five minute hiatus and lay her sore head down on the table when her cell phone rang insistently. Sighing, she picked up the phone, frowning at the unfamiliar number.

"Hello?" Margaret said warily.

"Is this Margaret Browning's number?" spoke a sonorous tenor voice. Margaret felt a smile form on her face despite her weariness at Dorian's voice.

"Dorian," she spoke with some relief. "How in the world did you get my number?"

He chuckled, creating reverberations to run throughout her body. "I have my sources."

"Hmm.. should I be afraid?" Margaret asked, jokingly.

"Yes, you should."

"Oh please don't hurt me!" she laughed.

"I won't... but only if you promise to have lunch with me sometime this week."

Hesitating, Margaret picked up a pen and tapped it restlessly on the table. "Just you and me?" she questioned.

"Well, if you are nervous, you are welcome to bring a friend. Preferably a lovely young female susceptible to my volatile charm," Dorian said.

"Okay, then," she said. "How about we meet up at this little Italian restaurant this Saturday? I'm sure my friend Belle would love to meet you."

"Well, I'll be counting the days till then. Have a nice day," he said, his voice low and warm.

"Goodbye." She hung up the phone, and sighed in anticipation. Saturday couldn't come soon enough.