THERE’S NO WAY I’M TELLING anyone this, but I’ve never been to a nightclub before, let alone a celebrity haunt like Velvet. I’ve got butterflies in my stomach as we walk to the back entrance of the club. I assume the bouncer recognizes the guys, as he lets us in with nothing more than a glance. And as soon as we step into the dark hallway, it’s like entering another dimension.
A girl checks our coats and bags, and she must see high-profile celebrities all the time, because she barely bats an eye at Loaded God Complex. Then Alisha is taking me by the hand and leading me through a doorway and up a flight of stairs, and as we climb, the volume of the music increases.
“The bottom floor is for regulars,” she says, leaning close so she can speak into my ear. Her breath smells like cinnamon sugar, and it sends goose bumps across my skin. “Celebs use the top floors. Come on.”
She continues guiding me up the stairs, and the bass gets louder, thrumming through my veins and into my chest. My heart wants to pound in time with the music.
When we reach the top of the stairs, another bouncer stops us.
“Hey, Brian,” Alisha says, and he arches a dark brow at her, his shaved head gleaming under the neon lights outlining the door.
“Back again?” he asks.
“I just can’t get enough of you.” She reaches out to touch his head, but he swiftly blocks her hand and opens the door.
“Go on. And no trouble tonight.” His gaze cuts to Lucas over my shoulder, and somehow, I’m not surprised.
Alisha leads the way into the nightclub, and the music hits me full force.
The dance floor writhes with bodies, and velvet—yes, velvet—couches are set up in tasteful arrangements throughout the large space. The bar teems with people, and I try not to stare when I recognize actors and actresses, singers, and even some big-name YouTubers among the crowd.
“Let’s get a drink,” Alisha says, raising her voice to be heard over the music.
Jordan steps up on my other side, and we head to the bar together, weaving through the packed space. I glance back over my shoulder, but we’ve lost the guys, so it’s just the three of us.
“What do you want?” Jordan asks.
“Whatever you’re having.”
Her smile is bright, and she leans over the bar and wiggles her fingers at the bartender, who sweeps over quickly to serve us.
“Hey, ladies.” His voice is smooth, his smile easy and handsome. I wonder briefly if you’re required to be attractive in order to work here. Probably. “What’re you drinking?”
“Redheaded Sluts,” Jordan says, and my eyebrows rise. “We’ll start with three.”
I step closer to the bar, watching with interest as the bartender mixes Jägermeister, peach schnapps, and cranberry juice, then shakes the concoction up with ice and strains it into three shot glasses. The resulting drink is bright red, and Alisha and Jordan grab theirs with vigor. I pick mine up and just hope I can get it down in one go.
“Bottoms up!” Alisha says.
We clink our glasses, and then I lift the Slut to my lips, close my eyes, and drain it. It burns going down, a balanced mix of bold and sweet, and my eyes water as I set the empty shot glass on the bar.
Jordan tousles her blond hair with her fingertips, then reaches for my and Alisha’s hands. “Let’s dance.”
While I’m a touch—okay, maybe more than a touch—socially stunted, one thing I do enjoy doing with people is dancing, so following Jordan through the throngs of people and onto the dance floor doesn’t make my knees shake with nervousness. Instead, I feel a surge of excitement rising in me as the song starts to transition, and then the next song starts, and Jordan throws her hands up.
“I love this song!” she yells, but it’s so loud in here that no one even turns to look at her.
Alisha and I laugh as we gather into a circle, starting to move to the music. The beat pounds through me, and with a martini and a shot burning through my bloodstream, I feel like flying.
The nervousness and stress and anxiety that usually drag me down during social situations finally release me of their clutches, and in this moment, in this place, I’m free. I can breathe.
And I dance.
My hips sway, and I run a hand through my hair, letting the rhythm move me. The music crescendos, and I shake my head, loving how my hair feels flying around my face. Alisha’s braids bounce against her back as she jumps to the beat, and Jordan has her eyes closed, hands in the air, the neon lights turning her pale hair bright pink and blue.
I toss my head and turn around, and a bolt of electricity goes through me when I meet Dex’s eyes from across the room. There must be close to a hundred people in here, but somehow, I find him, my eyes drawn to his like there’s a magnetic pull tugging us toward each other.
Despite the women hovering in Dex’s vicinity and the many bodies between us, most of them lean and glittering and scantily clad, it’s me he’s looking at.
The guys stand around him, mouths moving as they talk and laugh, but Dex just stares at me, one elbow on the bar, his free hand tucked into the front pocket of his jeans.
And even though it’s dumb and will only hurt me in the end, I smile at him, and I hold his smoldering gaze as I twist my hips in a circle and run a hand down the tight black minidress and over my curves. And still, he doesn’t look away.
My body tingles, and I think I might be in trouble.
I turn back to the girls, and they both move in close, grinding against me, their bodies warm and soft and sensual. The liquor makes my head pleasantly dizzy, and when the song ends, I clap along with everyone else, hungry for the next one to start.
But then a hand touches my elbow. I turn, and it’s Dex’s eyes I’m looking into. They’re ice blue in the neon light. This close to him, closer than I’ve ever been, I can see how fine his eyelashes are, like soft golden thread.
He leans in, and my body goes rigid when his mouth brushes the shell of my ear. “Get some air with me.”
I glance back at the girls, and their eyes are wide, surprised. Guess they didn’t expect this.
Turning back to Dex, I nod, and he slides his hand down my forearm, his fingertips leaving a trail of fire burning across my skin in their wake. Then his hand is in mine, our fingers entwining, and he guides me across the dance floor, through the crowded club, and up another flight of stairs. We pass a couple making out against the wall, and watching the way they grope each other makes me burn even hotter.
If Dex pressed me up against a wall right now, I wouldn’t stop him.
Dex pushes through a door, and the cold night air hits me full force, almost stealing the breath from my lungs. My skin is still hot and gleaming as he leads me across the rooftop lounge, where a few people linger about, smoking and drinking and laughing.
