Chapter 4
ANNA
“No coke or accepting drinks from guys.”
Jenny places a hand on her chest, feigning offense. “What do I look like?”
“Like you’re easily influenced and a ‘yes’ girl when you’re drunk.” I give her a pointed look as we take a step closer to New York’s newest and hottest nightclub. We’ve been waiting in line for thirty minutes now, but it won’t be long before we’re in.
I had no desire to go out tonight, especially after the argument I got into with my parents and sister, but Jenny forced me to.
She needs the distraction after being with her family, and she knows I need it too.
Still, this is the last place I want to be.
It’ll be crowded and busy. I don’t want to wait forever in line for a drink that’ll cost an obscene amount. I can’t afford to be spending money.
But it’s one night and I’ll be with Jenny, so I guess it couldn’t hurt.
“Trust, after taking those edibles that one time, I’m afraid to even pop a Tylenol,” she states with a shudder, making me laugh.
At the time, it wasn’t funny, but now that it’s been a year, we can look back on that night and have a good laugh. She was so overwhelmed by the edible she called 9-1-1, thinking she was dying.
I wasn’t with her; otherwise, I would’ve been able to stop her from taking so many. She hadn’t realized they take a while to kick in.
Major fuckup; lesson learned.
“I’m really sorry about your parents,” Jenny says after a beat, her features softening.
I shrug despite feeling a shift in my stomach. “It was going to happen sooner or later.”
Jenny and I met freshman year when we were assigned the same dorm.
We became best friends though after we drank a few too many Four Lokos and trauma bonded.
Three years later, we’re still trauma bonding, but without the Four Lokos.
They’re actually part of our trauma now; we can’t look at them, or smell them, without getting sick.
We’re also on scholarships and part of the small percentage of students whose parents aren’t swimming in money.
We quickly realized we didn’t fit in when our classmates talked about visiting Monte Carlo in a private plane, the fashion shows they sat front row at, and the Birkin they were going to pick out.
With that said, Jenny and I know a lot about each other, like my parents’ overbearing, controlling tendencies and her family’s dependence on her.
“It’s horrible they would disown you for what you decide to do with your life.” She folds her light brown arms against her chest.
I lean against the cold wall and sigh, blowing at the bangs on my forehead. I knew they wouldn’t react well to the news, but I didn’t anticipate them turning their backs on me. Today was rough and it’s only going to get rougher.
I stop adding and subtracting our bills when the bouncer lets us know we’re allowed to go in.
“Just one night, let’s pretend everything’s okay.” Jenny takes my hand in hers, staring at me with hopeful eyes. “Let’s have a good time. Yeah?”
Once my mind is set on something, it’s hard to shut it down, but I know if I don’t stop thinking for one night, I’ll spiral. So, I smile and nod. “Yeah, come on.”
We walk hand in hand inside, the blaring music already drowning out my loud thoughts. The noise grows tenfold once the door shuts behind us.
Salt is supposed to give underwater vibes, and it’s delivering—from the jellyfish-like disco balls that take up every inch of space on the ceiling and the intricately designed, color-changing seaweed on every surface, to the bubbles floating around us and the ripples of water projected on the walls.
“This is fucking insane!” Jenny shouts over the deafening music, gripping my hand tight as she marvels at the place.
I do the same. It’s chaotically loud, trippy, and crowded. A college student’s and stoner’s dream come true.
We step aside before going to the bar, running through our do’s and don’ts.
“I think we’ve gone over everything,” I say.
“You think we look okay?” Jenny sweeps her gaze over herself and then at a group of hot girls that walk by us.
There’s a bit of hesitance in her voice, and I get it. We’re not wearing designer clothes unless you want to count the dupe Prada skirt I’m wearing. I bought it off a woman on the side of the street. It was originally sixty dollars, but I managed to get her to lower it to twenty-five.
“Yes, we look hot.” I brush my straight black hair over my shoulders, adjust my snake-print mini skirt, and retie the string on my sleeveless burgundy crop top.
It does nothing to hide my breasts, but I guess it’s there for aesthetic purposes, and it also has a lace trim.
“I know we’re not wearing thousand-dollar outfits, but it’s all about confidence… Or whatever those self-help books say.”
She giggles and I feel her uncertainty fade away as she fixes her dress’s thin shoulder straps.
“Remember: no getting drunk.” I hook my arm in hers as we slip past the crowd and amble over to the bar, attempting to avoid getting bumped and stepped on, but it still happens.
She shoots me a mischievous smile, placing her right hand to her heart. “I promise to behave.”
Though I need that reminder more than she does because I have a tendency to get carried away.
Once we get our drinks, we make our way to the dance floor.
I don’t know how long we’ve been dancing for, but the only time we stepped away is to get drinks.
The crowd seems to have gotten larger and tighter.
Sweaty bodies grind against each other and get a little handsy.
Fortunately, most of it has been girls, which I don’t mind.
There’s something invigorating about girls having a good time together even if we don’t know each other.
It’s the occasional guy who thinks it’s cute to grab my ass that bothers me.
So, I do the equally cute thing and use the tip of my heel to stab their foot.
Jenny makes a gun motion to her head, rolling her eyes theatrically. “I swear they don’t get the hint.”
After I’ve had the pleasure of stomping on the fifth guy of the night, I say, “Thank God I chose to wear these.”
The joys of being a girl. You want to look hot, but sometimes, you have to be in pain. I guess it’s worth it if you get to share your pain with someone else.
“Do you want to go—” She stops mid-sentence, her hazy eyes going round at whoever is standing behind me. A lazy grin spreads across her face when her eyes bounce back to mine.
My brow furrows, but I don’t get to turn before the guy behind me leans in and says, “You won’t step on me, will you?”
I would recognize that accent anywhere. My brain has already thought of what to say, but my mouth works faster, thanks to the alcohol. “I don’t know. Are you going to touch me without my permission?”
“No, of course not. I know better,” he haughtily supplies. “I have manners and all.”
I scoff a laugh at his pompous voice. “So use them.”
I hear him chuckle. “You’re going to dance with me.”
“That sounded more like a demand than a question. No.” I grab Jenny’s hand, pulling her through the crowd until we find a good spot to dance in.
“That was Sylas. He just asked you to dance with him! Why the hell did you say no?” she asks, a sluggish laugh tumbling out of her mouth.
“Because he’s a client and the last person I want to dance with.” Freshman Anna would have caved at a guy’s attention. Junior Anna knows better.
“He’s behind you.” She flashes him a lopsided smile before drawing her attention back to me. “I’m going to get a drink. Have fun.”
“Jenny!” I gape at her as she walks away. “This wasn’t the plan! We need to stick togeth…” My words get drowned out by the music and those singing. I raise my hands at her retreating figure. “What the—”
“I’m ready to try again.”
I spin on my heel, staring unimpressed at Sylas. He stands in front me, wearing an amused smirk.
“No thanks,” I clip, irritated with myself than him.
It’s hard not to gawk at him. He’s insanely attractive, with a square stubbled jaw, dimples on each cheek, and messy dark hair that looks like he’s run his fingers through. Then there’s that stupid British accent. It’s hot. Despite my brief analysis, I will not cave.
He drags his teeth along his bottom lip and chuckles, releasing it. “Just one dance.”
Of course, he probably assumes he’s going to get what he wants. They always do.
I smile at him, bright and big, and his own widens in response. “No. Fuck—”
As I’m about to turn him down, I spot Jenny dancing with a guy. She looks like she’s having a good time and must sense me looking because our eyes collide and she smiles wickedly. If that isn’t enough reassurance, she spins, snaking her arms around his shoulders, and makes out with him.
I should say no. Should walk away. I don’t even know him, but it’ll be one dance. “Ask me again and make it sound desperate.”
He laughs, throwing his head back before he sobers. “Will you please do me the honor of dancing with me? I really, really want to dance with you and no one else. Pretty please, dance with me. Please Anna.”
I pretend to be frustrated and sigh deeply. “I guess if you insist.”
Sylas takes my hand in his and turns me around, pressing my back to his firm chest. “You’re such a brat,” he husks in my ear, splaying his hands on my hips. He squeezes them hard until my ass brushes against him.
“And you’re desperate and easy,” I counter nonchalantly.
“Fuck yeah, I am,” he rasps.
And I’m fucked because that shouldn’t have sounded as hot as it did.
One dance, then Jenny and I are leaving to grab takeout.
It’ll only be one dance.