Isabelle #3
The club is twenty minutes from the hotel, so of course I call a car.
I'm not going to walk that far in heels.
The driver doesn't say much, just nods when I give him the address, and I spend the ride staring out the window, watching the lights of the island as we drive.
By the time we pull up to Amnesia, I can see that the club is well and truly alive. A thrill runs through me.
The bass is so loud I can feel it in my chest before I even get out of the car.
There's a line stretching down the block, beautiful people in barely-there outfits, their faces lit up with anticipation.
But I don't get in line. I walk straight to the front, where a bouncer the size of a small building is checking names on a list. "Isabelle Montague," I say, my voice confident.
He scans the list, then nods and steps aside, unhooking the velvet rope. "Enjoy your night, Miss Montague."
I smile and slip past him, ignoring the scrunched-up faces of the clubgoers waiting in line who don't have my money or my last name. I've never waited behind a velvet rope in my life. I strut into the darkened interior, ready to throw myself into the night ahead of me.
The club is everything I'd hoped for and more.
The music is deafening, a pulsing, hypnotic beat that I can feel thrumming through my entire body.
The space is massive, all strobe lights and lasers cutting through the darkness, illuminating bodies moving in perfect chaos.
The air is thick with heat and sweat, and the faint smell of alcohol and something sweet I can't quite place.
Everywhere I look, there are beautiful people—men with chiseled jaws and women in dresses that leave nothing to the imagination, all of them dancing like they're possessed.
I make my way to the bar, weaving through the crowd, and order a vodka soda.
The bartender is shirtless and gorgeous, tanned with his skin gleaming with either oil or sweat, dark brown hair longer on the top and shaved at the sides.
He flashes me a grin as he slides the drink across the bar, ignoring at least five other people clustered around me to talk to me for a moment. "First time here?"
"Does it show?" I ask, taking a sip.
"You look like you're ready to have a good time." He gives me a pointed smile, and I look at him from beneath my lashes as I take another sip. He's hot, and I bet I could fuck him tonight, but I'm not ready to commit just yet, not when there's a whole club full of men that I can pick from.
"That's the plan."
He winks and moves on to the next customer, and I take my drink and head toward the dance floor. The crowd swallows me up immediately, bodies pressing close, and I let myself get lost in it. The music is so loud I can't think, can only feel, and I close my eyes and start to move.
This is what I came for. This anonymity, this freedom.
No one here knows who I am. No one cares that I'm supposed to be poised and perfect and present. Here, I'm just another body in the crowd, just another girl looking to lose herself in the music.
I dance until my feet ache and my skin is slick with sweat, until I'm four vodka sodas in and I'm full of a buzz that's half alcohol and half adrenaline. Hands brush against me, and I don't pull away. I let them touch, let them get close, because it doesn't matter. None of it matters. I'm free.
Gorgeous men grind up against me, hands sliding over my body, fingers teasing at the edge of my dress until I spin away and find someone else.
Hard, muscled bodies, long fingers, the scent of cologne and sunscreen and alcohol filling the air.
The flashes of strobes illuminate more dancing bodies, couples grinding and making out, some with their hands sliding into each other's clothing.
I think I see at least one couple fucking in the middle of the crowd, the man pressed up tight against his partner's bikini-clad ass while she bends and arches and swings her hair around in wild circles.
When I'm finally too parched to continue without a break, I make my way back to the bar for another drink, my hair sticking to my neck and my dress clinging to my body. The bartender grins when he sees me. "Having fun?"
"The best." I push my sweaty hair to one side, knowing it must be wild now from the salt air and humidity.
He's giving me that look that says he's thinking about what it would be like to fuck me on one of these barstools right now or bend me over the bar, and I flutter my lashes at him, letting him know I'm not averse to the idea.
Briefly, I imagine taking his hand and leading him into one of the bathrooms, letting him fuck me before I come back out to find my partner for the rest of the night.
I've never been quite that promiscuous before, and the thought is thrilling.
He makes me another vodka soda, and I take it and turn back to the crowd, leaning against the bar to catch my breath. The club is even more packed now, the energy electric, and I feel like I'm vibrating with it. I scan the crowd, taking in the faces, the bodies, the sheer chaos of it all.
Tonight is going to be a night to remember.