Cheater

5. Chloe

While dancing with my friends, I’m tapped on my shoulder. I turn to see a nice-looking blond-haired, man-bun wearing guy in dark jeans and a red button-down shirt smiling at me.

“You wanna dance?” he asks.

“Thanks, but I’m having a special night with my friends,” I reply.

I feel bad as the smile falls off his face, so I add, “You can dance with all of us for a song or two if you really wanna just dance.”

Alannah gives me the side-eye. Our friend Coraline sees her do this and her head jerks back slightly, her nose wrinkling. She’s giving Alannah a look like… what’s the side-eye about?

Cor knows I’m not the type to tease and lead someone on. Alannah is either giving me that look because she’s annoyed I’m inviting him to dance with us or because she thinks I should go for it. Probably the latter.

“Dance with us, man,” Jeff, another friend of ours invites.

He’s a lawyer at the firm Alannah works at, and he’s tall, built, dresses well, and presents himself as very metrosexual. He pings gaydar and leaves many unsure which way that cookie crumbles. If you ask, Jeffy will tell you he loves cookies in all forms. He loves to come out when we dance and it makes us feel safe because he’s big, strong, and protective.

He also swears that in addition to being into buff, attractive metrosexual men like himself, he especially loves curvy, dark-skinned high-maintenance girls a lot, too. He’s currently trying to get out of the friendzone with the curvy Black beauty Coraline, but whether he wants her for a night or a lot longer than that is a mystery we’ve debated. At length.

As far as Cor and Jeff go, she’s not having it and keeps telling us that although dating him could be a dream come true since she’s attracted to him, she’s sure Jeff is going to either realize he prefers men over women, or he’ll never settle down because he wants to keep helping himself to both. And she’s not only unwilling to share, she says she’s also completely unwilling to ruin their friendship.

While Jeffy knows Coraline’s stance, he told Alannah, me, and our married friend Maddie who is also out with us tonight, to “watch and see” him accomplish his goal with her. He swears he’ll wear her down eventually. He’s not giving anyone a clue as to whether he’s got real feelings or if it’s just a challenge to him as he’s definitely the competitive type, so we’re all trying to stay neutral on the issue.

The guy in the red shirt looks at Jeff with concern. “Thanks, but I’m more interested in one-on-one.” His eyes ping back to me. “Can I buy you a drink instead? Chat by the bar? I won’t keep you from your special night with your friends for long.”

I give him what I hope is a non-bitchy but also non-flirty smile. “Thanks anyway, but I’d prefer to spend the evening celebrating with my friends. Thanks, anyway.” I then add, “And… I’m engaged, so…”

The guy’s eyes rove over my empty left hand. I see the diamond on my ring practically wink at me from Alannah’s hand.

Now Coraline’s eyes are on Alannah’s hand, too.

Shit. She’s gonna ask questions. No, more like she’s going to stare at us until we spill. Cor’s superpower is that she can often make you spill your secrets with one of her long stares.

A guy dressed in a suit with the vibe of a secret service agent and the build of a side-by-side refrigerator is suddenly in our little huddle and clapping his hand on the red-shirted guy’s shoulder with a serious expression.

He states, “That’s it, pal. Already warned you. You’re officially barred from Downtown, effective now.”

The guy in the red shirt looks thrown. “Huh?”

“You heard me,” the guy in the suit advises aggressively, like he’s looking for a reason to throw this dude on the floor, step on his back, then handcuff him.

“You’re mixing me up with someone else, man,” Red-shirted guy defends. “You and I have never had a conversation.”

“When a woman doesn’t welcome your advances, you back off, sir. Anywhere and everywhere, but especially here because this place is under my watch.”

“You’ve got me mixed up with someone else,” Red Shirt asserts. “I just got here, I’m on my first drink, and I haven’t approached any other women tonight. Miss, was I bothering you?”

He looks at me for help. But before I’m able to answer, the security guy clips aggressively, “Ah, so you’ve got a twin? A twin who’s here tonight?”

“No.” The guy looks like he’s about to piss his pants.

“You’re outta here. Don’t make me get physical, pal.”

“This is bullshit,” Red Shirt retorts, looking toward me again. “Right? I’m not bothering you, am I?” He looks back at the guy in the suit. “Man, call a manager over here. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“He’s not-” I start, about to say he’s not bothering me, but the security guy already has the red shirt-wearing guy in a hold where his right arm is bent unnaturally behind his back as he grips the guy’s other bicep and moves him away from us.

“A manager? You’re outta here, Karen.”

“Somebody call for a manager?” A man’s voice sounds from behind me.

Most people nearby are no longer dancing, instead they’re staring.

“I’m the owner,” the voice adds. “If you’re bothering other guests, you’re no longer our welcome guest.”

“I wasn’t,” Red Shirt calls over his shoulder as the security guy continues to march him toward the door.

The owner turns his back on the red-shirted guy and looks directly at me. And I’m awestruck as his dark eyes slowly coast over my body from eyes to toes, then back up to my eyes again. It’s like it happens in slow motion.

This guy is one of those head-turners. Heads turn everywhere he goes, I’m sure of it. My body tingles as my spine straightens.

He’s tall, built, somewhere in his thirties, dressed in an impeccable suit with a navy-blue shirt. His inky-dark hair looks soft, tousled in that stylish way that screams rich guy who doesn’t give a shit if he needs a haircut. His lips are full. His jawline is chiseled. He looks like he belongs either on a soap opera or a red carpet with a supermodel in a designer dress as arm candy. He’s a walking, talking thirst trap.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” Coraline says from behind me. “Five movie star hotties had an orgy thirty-odd years ago and made a pretty baby.”

“I’m sorry about that,” the club owner says to me, and I suspect he had to have heard Coraline, but he doesn’t visibly react. “We endeavor to ensure guests feel safe here at Downtown and all our establishments. I regret that you were harassed.” His hand is pressed to his chest with what looks like sincerity as he stares straight into my eyes.

“I…” I swallow and shake my head. “Actually, he just asked me to dance. Nothing bad happened. If he had plans to harass me, he didn’t have time because your security was here quickly.”

The man’s eyes are on my mouth as I speak. And it’s making my face burn hot.

He hands me a business card. “Glad to hear Shep’s doing his job. I’m Derek Steele.”

I look at the card in my hand, not seeing anything on it because my eyes are bouncing quickly up to meet his again.

“Of course you are,” I hear muttered. Cor again.

He not only looks like a soap opera star; he’s got a soap opera star name.

“For legal reasons, we write up a report whenever we bar somebody,” Derek Steele goes on, “so would you come with me to the office, please? I’ll get all the details so I can write this up.” His hand lands on the small of my back and my eyes hit Alannah’s briefly while on the move. She’s nodding with a positively delighted look in her eyes.

“The bar or a table out here should do,” Jeffy pipes up. “Unless I’m coming with.”

Derek Steele smiles wide at me. “Protective friends. Good stuff. The bar it is.”

Although that hand on my lower back should feel fairly benign, it’s not. Because although my dress has spaghetti straps on top in front, it’s also crisscrossed over most of my back, which means his hand is touching plenty of bare skin. I’m exceedingly aware of its presence and grateful for the fact that the dress is velvet because hopefully the thick fabric is hiding that my nipples are now erect. He doesn’t let go until we’re at the bar in front of the two empty seats Alannah and I sat in earlier.