Chapter Twelve
Twelve
Caine
The club is dark, loud, and full of people. Considering the alternative is being back in the hotel room with Margot, I’m not impressed. Margot looks equally unenthused. “I may not be a party person.”
I spot the bar across the room. Maybe taking the edge off will help. “Let’s get drinks.”
Sipping on a Jack and Coke, Margot looks a little more comfortable.
It’s fun to watch her scan the room, taking in the squirming, moving mass of bodies as people dance and mingle, all decked out in a wide array of costumes.
Jason and Chucky are cuddling in a corner booth.
The Creature from the Black Lagoon looks like they’re already plastered and doing a sloppy electric slide with a zombie Pikachu.
Everywhere you look, there’s a fantastic costume, and the dim lighting and booming music only add to the chaos.
Head on a swivel, Margot takes it all in.
“Did you never have a club phase?” I catch her elbow to guide her through the crowd.
“I was married and starching dress shirts during my peak party years.” She laughs. “Did you?”
“I did.” I gaze around the room. “But I fear I’ve outgrown it.”
“You’d rather be at home with your tablet,” she teases, voice barely carrying over the fray.
I’d rather be at home with you.
How I’m supposed to survive the night with her looking this good is beyond me. Before I can respond, Riley appears at my elbow with a throaty, “Hey, Caine.”
I nod. Margot smiles and waves.
“Come to VIP; the whole crew is over there.” Yelling to be heard over the music, she tilts her head toward a staircase that leads to what I now see is a partial second story overlooking the dance floor. Resignation fills me.
Suck it up.
It’s for food pantries, for fuck’s sake.
It’s not as if I hate everybody upstairs. I like plenty of them perfectly fine. I’m the problem, and my struggle with feeling like I have to meet some old expectation.
Margot looks at me questioningly. I don’t know if she could hear Riley or not.
Snaking a hand around her waist, I steer her toward the stairs.
Riley moves with us. As we climb, I get a better view of the second floor and who’s up there.
I’m relieved to see it’s mostly people I either barely know or like.
There are a few individuals from my season and others that I’d rather not run into.
As we head toward a plush horseshoe-shaped booth in the corner, I shift closer to Margot. “You want the outside?”
She looks over at me, surprised. “I can do the inside. I’m feeling pretty good tonight.” Leaning until her lips are right over my ear, she whispers, “I can’t believe you remembered that.”
The warmth of her breath is intoxicating, makes me want to grab her and kiss her right here, bet be damned.
I shrug. “I remember what matters.”
Technically, the Book of Margot remembers, but I’m writing the book.
Margot gets overstimulated easily when she’s stressed, so she’ll try to sit on the outside of a booth or table to avoid having a person speaking on each side of her.
Since I found that out, I’ve subtly made sure she gets the chance to have the outside if she wants.
As a general rule, Margot doesn’t ask for things that might inconvenience someone else.
Riley slides into the booth first, and Margot follows.
I recognize the woman on Riley’s other side as Alondra, from my season, and give her a wave, not wanting to shout a greeting.
Riley introduces Alondra and Margot and immediately begins telling them a story.
Conversation picks up, but I’m mentally counting down the minutes until we can get out of here.
There’s a hotel room with a Yorkie and a bed with a ridiculous pillow pile I can’t wait to get back to.