Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Novalee
Vortex isn’t just where I come to blow off steam. It’s where the lines blur—the good, the bad, the glitter-coated lies I tell myself. This is my playground, hunting ground, and escape rolled into one. I come here to forget, lose myself in the bassline, and find something, someone , who makes me feel anything other than hollow.
It’s worked before. It’ll work again tonight.
Inside, the air is thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol, the flashing lights casting everyone in shades of red, blue, and purple. It’s loud and chaotic, just the way we like it. Annabelle’s already bouncing to the beat as she pulls me toward the bar.
We don’t even make it there before a couple of guys offer to buy us drinks, but I wave them off. “Not tonight,” I shout over the music, and Annabelle grins gratefully at me. Tonight isn’t about hooking up.
Tonight is about celebrating her.
When we finally make it to the bar, I spot another reason I love coming here so much. The hot-as-hell bartender who has been working here since January is on duty, and as usual, his mop of black hair falls into his face just the way I like it when he grins at me, his silver nose ring so damn sexy, like the rest of him.
He’s impossibly tall, like a hot lighthouse cutting through a sea of people. His height has this way of making the crowd part around him, as if they instinctively know not to block the view of something that good. His light gray eyes are hidden behind that curtain of hair, and my fingers itch to push it aside to see them properly.
His eyes are something else—a shade of gray that’s almost silver—and I’m convinced they’re the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. Well, second-most beautiful.
Nothing beats the ice-blue eyes that flash through my mind.
Abort, abort!
“Jack and Coke,” I yell before Hottie even has a chance to greet us, cutting off whatever smartass remark he’s about to make.
He smirks, already reaching for the bottle. “Going wild tonight, Sparkle?” he asks, using the nickname I pretend not to like.
He knows my drink order better than the other bartenders who work here. Though, that’s not saying much.
“We’re celebrating my last night as a stripper!” Annabelle announces with a squeal.
I shoot her a glare, but it’s half-hearted at best. She’s just too damn happy for me to be mad, even if I don’t like her giving out details about us.
“Congrats.” Hottie’s smirk softens into something more genuine. “Guess we won’t be seeing you around here as much.”
She beams at him. “Not as much, no. I’ll still come by sometimes to dance for fun.”
“Fun, huh?” he teases as his gaze flicks to me. “And you, Sparkle? Sticking around?” His eyes lock onto mine as he finishes pouring my Jack and Coke, setting it in front of me with a smooth flick of his wrist. His gaze shifts to Annabelle, eyebrow raised in that teasing way he does so well. “Vodka cranberry?”
Annabelle nods, her blue wig bouncing with the motion.
“Nope, I’m not quitting. Blondie here has found her Romeo,” I share, taking a sip of my drink and letting the burn of the whiskey soothe something deep in my chest.
He snorts, his back to us as he mixes Annabelle’s drink. “Romeo and Juliet aren’t a romance, so maybe choose another metaphor.” He shrugs, placing the vodka cranberry in front of her.
“Because they die in the end?”
Wouldn’t have thought that a guy like that has some brains behind his pretty exterior.
“Not really a happy ending.” My heart twinges painfully at his words.
There can be romances without happy endings. I know that all too well. I never got my happy ending.
But the fucking romance was real.
He studies me for a moment. “You’re not the type to believe in happy endings, are you?”
I snort, reaching for my drink. “Happy endings are for fairy tales. And kids.”
“Maybe. Or maybe they’re just for people who don’t stop looking for them.” His voice is too quiet, too sincere, and I don’t like how it makes something inside me twist.
“Spoken like someone who hasn’t been burned enough.”
God, I need another drink already.
I down the rest of my Jack and Coke in one go, setting the empty glass back on the bar with a little more force than necessary. Hottie’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and I grin at the reaction.
“Another one, please, but make it strong this time, okay?”
“That one was pretty strong,” he argues, but he’s already reaching for the Jack again, pouring a more generous amount over the ice, topping it off with a splash of Coke. He slides it over to me with a look that’s half-impressed, half-amused.
“Thank you,” I say gleefully, taking a sip. The warmth of the whiskey spreads through me again, and I feel the tension easing from my shoulders.
Annabelle has already turned around to scan the crowd with that bright-eyed excitement she always has when we go out. Since I’m not planning to find any company tonight, I take the opportunity to talk a little more to Hottie.
“I’ve never asked.” I lean on the bar, making sure my tits look good while looking up at him with a playful smile. “What’s your name?”
He chuckles—a low, sexy sound that makes my stomach flip. “Oh, now you wanna know?”
“What?” I grin, taking another sip of my drink. “Can’t a girl ask for her favorite bartender’s name?”
“When I asked about yours, you gave me a dumbass answer and didn’t even ask for mine in return, so I figured you didn’t care.”
“I didn’t then.” Lie . “I do now, though.”
His chuckle comes again, and damn, it’s even sexier the second time. “Will you tell me yours?” he asks, leaning in a little closer as if we’re about to share some big secrets.
“Glitter.”
“Again, with the bullshit answer. Nobody’s name is Glitter. That’s a fucking stripper name.” He laughs, and a teasing grin spreads across his lips as I stare at him blankly, waiting and watching as his gaze flicks between Annabelle and me twice before the light bulb goes off in his head. “You are a stripper.”
“Ding, ding, ding,” Annabelle jokes, turning back to us with a wide grin.
“What’s your real name, then?” he presses.
“Nah, sounded like you don’t like fucking strippers , so you don’t have to get to know them better.” I shrug, not giving an inch, setting my empty glass on the bar as Annabelle empties hers. “Dance?”
“Yes!” She beams, slipping off the barstool.
I’m about to slide off my stool when Hottie’s hand catches my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. I glance down at his tattooed hand, following the inked designs up his forearm to his bicep, appreciating how the tattoos add to his perfectly lean and muscled frame.
He’s so damn hot.
When I meet his eyes again, the flirtatious glint is gone, replaced with something more sincere. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
His earnestness catches me off guard, and I’m not sure how to respond. I’m not in the mood for sincerity, and it’s a little too real for what I’m looking for tonight.
Or ever.
Yet the way he says it, soft and without pretense, scrapes against the edges of Glitter, threatening to peel back the layer she hides behind. I can’t let that happen. People like Hottie don’t get to see the cracks underneath.
They don’t get to know me, not the girl who used to cry herself to sleep when she thought no one could hear. Not the girl who swore she’d never need anyone again.
Nobody knows me.
“All good, Hottie , no foul, no harm.” I pat his hand on my wrist before he lets go .
“ Hottie ?” he questions, his grin returning. I shrug, hopping off the stool and grabbing Annabelle’s hand to pull her toward the dance floor. “Is that my stripper name?” he yells after us with a laugh, but I ignore him. We let loose like we have almost every night for the past six years until she got her serious boyfriend. It’s hard to shake the feeling that this might be the last time we do this. But I’m not here to get sentimental.
This is my escape, where I don’t have to think about my problems, life, or past. So, I push the thought away, bury it deep, and make myself enjoy it as if it’s just another night and there are a hundred more to come.
While we dance, guys try to get close, their hands reaching out, trying to touch or pull us in. It would be so easy to let one of them succeed, to let him drag me to the bathroom stalls and forget everything in the haze of skin on skin. But I promised myself no guys tonight.
This is Annabelle’s night, our night.
I grab her waist and pull her close, pressing our bodies together, moving in sync with the beat. We’re putting on a show, and we both know it.
When the heat of the crowd gets to be too much, I lean into Annabelle. “Wanna go outside for a smoke?”
She nods, and we make our way through the crowd, pushing past eager hands and hungry looks until we’re outside, where the cold air hits us like a welcome wave. We head to our usual spot in the small alley next to the club. It’s lit well enough that the bouncer can see us but far enough from the front door that we don’t have to deal with catcalls and bullshit.
As we round the corner, I spot him. Hottie. He’s leaning casually against the brick wall, a blunt between his fingers. He looks up as we approach, a half-smile playing on his lips as he sees me pulling out a cigarette. We stop at the alley’s entrance, but he doesn’t stay put for long, sauntering over to us, a confident swagger in every step.
“Needed a break from all the dancing you’ve been doing for fun?” Without the bar separating us, the sheer difference in height becomes impossible to ignore. I look up at him, and damn—my gaze travels up and up like scaling a skyscraper. He’s at least a foot taller than me, six-foot-four compared to my five-foot-four frame, and it’s dizzying to have to crane my neck just to meet his eyes. His black T-shirt is cropped just above his belly button, giving me a good view of his abs, which are inked with random tattoos that somehow all work together.
Damn, scorching hot doesn’t even begin to cover it.
As much as I might want to jump him here and now, I have rules. I don’t shit where I eat, and this club is the place I come to blow off steam and keep my thoughts from spiraling when I don’t want to go home alone.
“Happens sometimes.” I shrug, taking the cigarette Annabelle just lit, pulling in a quick drag before passing it back, but it barely scratches the itch. My attention keeps drifting to him, the slow, deliberate way he inhales, the faint curl of smoke escaping his lips, and most of all, the unmistakable scent of what he’s smoking. It’s rich, heady, and hits me like a siren’s call.
I want it. The blunt, sure, but more than that, the act itself. The intimacy of his fingers brushing mine, the shared breath of smoke, the indulgence. My gaze flickers to his hand, to the glowing tip, and I swear I taste it on my tongue even before I’ve had it.
Of course, he notices, and the next thing I know, he’s holding the blunt out, just inches from my lips, his eyes glinting with an unspoken challenge.
No one has ever had to challenge me to get high.
I lean in, taking a long drag while keeping eye contact, noting how his lip twitches and his eyes darken. He’s probably imagining me sucking his dick.
You have no idea how much I’d love to do that for you, buddy.
I blow the smoke out slowly, leaning back like it’s no big deal, even though it’s hitting just right. He holds my gaze for a moment longer before he turns to Annabelle, who’s been watching the exchange with mild interest.
“You too?” He holds the blunt out to her.
Annabelle shakes her head, smiling politely as she hands our cigarette back to me. “No, thanks, I’m not into that stuff.”
He nods and takes another hit, his gaze flicking back to me. There’s something in his eyes again, like he’s trying to peel back the layers and see what’s underneath all the glitter.
Yeah, no.
This isn’t about connection. It’s about distraction, about numbing the ache long enough to get through the night. That’s what Vortex is for. What this alley is for.
Annabelle nudges me. “Come on, let’s go back inside. I want to dance more before we leave.”
“Yeah,” I agree, flicking the butt of my cigarette to the ground like I didn’t just spend the last thirty seconds unraveling under his gaze. “Thanks for the hit.”
“Anytime, Sparkle,” he replies smoothly, the weight of his gaze heavy on my back as we head back inside.
The noise and the heat wrap around us once more, and we dance for another couple of hours, the drinks still flowing.
Every time I glance over at the bar, I catch Hottie watching me, but soon, the alcohol does its work, and I’m too drunk to care.
We stumble out of the club when we call it a night, Annabelle giggling as she clings to my arm. We find an Uber, and I slide into the back seat, settling into the only position I can handle in a car nowadays.
Curled up sideways with my back against the door.
Annabelle chatters away, her excitement still bubbling over as I let my head rest against the window, trying to keep the memories at bay. But the hum of the engine isn’t just noise. It’s a ghost, slipping through the cracks of my buzz, tugging at memories I’ve tried to bury. Ace’s laugh, Rosalee’s hand reaching for mine, the sharp sting of loss that still feels fresh even after all these years.
I close my eyes, leaning into the glass, praying that the alcohol is strong enough to drown them out.