Chapter 13
SAVANNAH
The back of the taxi smells like pee and cigarettes. My deep red dress is so short that most of my bare leg touches the seat. I have to breathe through my mouth to keep myself from throwing up.
I had completely forgotten about the plans with Blake tonight, so when Blake showed up at my apartment, I thought we were having a movie night. Then she handed me this dress and told me to trust her.
I’m not terribly self-conscious of my curves, but I’m not used to wearing dresses like this. In fact, I’m not used to wearing dresses, period.
But this dress is more revealing than I’d like it to be. The hem barely reaches the top of my thighs. The neckline dips low and is held up by dainty chains that loop over my shoulders and crisscross just below my shoulder blades. The back dips low.
Very low.
Scary low.
So low that I feel like I’m going to flash a plumber’s crack at least a million times tonight.
The material is ruched around my backside and my hips, emphasizing their shape. And even though it’s crazy tight, there’s a stretch to it, so I’m not struggling to breathe. Plus, the shade of red complements my olive complexion.
Blake is a magician and has applied the perfect smoky eye makeup and curled my hair, so it falls down my back in waves. In my completely unbiased opinion, I look hot.
My best friend looks amazing as usual. Her dress is short as well, but the dark navy fabric isn’t gathered like mine. It’s straight with a slit on the side. And she has actual straps instead of flimsy metal, but her dress cuts lower in the front.
Blake angles her knees toward me and bends in my direction, lowering her voice. “Alright, Missy. Spill.”
Frowning, I ask, “What?”
“There’s something swirling around in that head of yours. I can tell. What is it?”
My cheeks flame. “Nope. Just the dad stuff.”
“Liar,” she retorts.
“Only truths here.” I pinch my lips together and stare down at my lap, and I feel Blake’s eyes analyzing my face.
She gives me a chastising look. “Savannah Lynn Foster, I am your best friend, and best friends don’t keep secrets.”
I fidget with my hands in my lap. “It’s not necessarily a secret.”
Her expression is unamused.
“It’s something my father said the other day,” I start. Blake grabs my hand, urging me to go on. “He brought up my…” I struggle to find the right word that doesn’t make me cringe.
Thankfully, Blake knows what I’m trying to say and gasps. “He didn’t!”
“Shhhhhh.” I check to see if the driver is listening to us, but his head is angled away, preventing me from seeing his face. However, something about him seems familiar.
“I can’t believe he did that.” Blake shakes her head. “It’s none of his business. You don’t owe him shit.”
A tired exhale releases from my lungs. “I know, but it reminded me of how he still has that power. He still controls that part of me, and I don’t want him to. I’m twenty-nine years old, and I’ve never done more than kiss a guy.”
“That’s perfectly okay. You operate on your own timeline and no one else’s,” Blake validates.
“Thanks, but I want it gone. I think I’m ready.”
“Be sure, babe. Don’t be like me and lose it to some idiot with a mullet at a drive-in movie.”
I can’t help but laugh at her.
“I’m serious.” Her smile contradicts her statement.
“I know, I know,” I placate. “If the opportunity presents itself, I’m going for it.” The determination in my voice is unmistakable.
Blake flinches back as if I shocked her. “Oh my God! You little wild child! Let your freak flag fly!”
I shush her again, and my hands fly up to cover her mouth.
“We’re here.” The cab driver interrupts, not bothering to turn around. He pulls his cap lower over his face, and light reflects off his hair.
Blake pats my thigh. “Alright, let’s go inside and see if we can’t add a fourth to your little harem.” She pulls cash out of her wristlet, pays the driver, and leads the way to the line outside of one of her favorite nightclubs, Onyx.
“You’re lucky I love you,” I tell her as I sling my dainty clutch with a long strap over my shoulder, then we hug each other and hurry to the back of the long line.
“Cheer up! Your future cherry popper could be inside right now. It’ll be worth the wait.” Blake rubs my arms to warm me up.
After we shuffle along for a bit, a man in a bright purple shirt with the top buttons undone and white pants walks by. He stops and looks us up and down. The half smile that grows on his face makes me feel icky.
“Come with me and I’ll get you two on the list.” He shoots us a wink, and my insides revolt.
Blake takes the lead. “What’s it gonna cost us, handsome?”
“Dance with me for at least one song and we’ll call it even.” He reaches his hand out to her, and she takes it. Blake will dance with anyone. She is vibrancy personified.
Blake holds his hand over his shoulder for a moment, then lets go to walk with me. “See? Our night is looking up already.”
I roll my eyes at her as we make our way to the front. Everyone we pass stares. Some with appreciation and some with envy. It’s a little too much attention for my taste.
At the door, the promoter says something to the bouncer, who dips his head, then removes the burgundy velvet rope to let us inside.
The neon lighting is strategically placed in a way that looks opulent and doesn’t make me want to wander the room with my eyes closed.
Circle booths and cocktail tables are spaced out along the walls, lining the dance floor in the middle.
The entire place is filled to the brim with people dancing, drinking, and having a good time.
The beat of the music thumps through the floor. It’s a polished rhythm with a deep bass. The sound has Blake doing a little shimmy as we head for the bar.
“We’re going to get a few shots. I’ll meet you on the dance floor,” she informs the promoter. It’s very likely that he can’t hear her, but he nods his head and gives her a thumbs-up.
We squeeze our way through the packed bodies to get to the bar.
The shelves are backlit, showcasing the expensive bottles of alcohol, making the whole view look like a work of art.
The bartenders are all dressed in the same white shirts and black pants.
The way they mix the signature cocktails is a performance in and of itself.
Blake politely bypasses the throngs of patrons waiting to order and easily gets the attention of a young male bartender.
“What can I get for you two lovely ladies tonight?” He has a charming smile and nice eyes that I might have found alluring a couple of weeks ago.
But now?
All I can do is note how his eyes aren’t a radiant evergreen with flecks of gold, a deep fawn brown with a hint of softness, or a shimmery aqua.
“Two lemon drops, please,” Blake orders, and the bartender jumps right to it.
He hands us the two small glasses when he’s done and tells us that they’re on the house.
“Bottoms up,” I say to Blake and hold up my little drink.
She clinks her glass with mine, then together we touch our shots to the counter and down the liquid. The vodka leaves a fiery trail in its wake as it goes down my throat, but the burn only lasts for a moment.
Blake points to the dance floor with a raised brow.
I give her my answer by leaving the shot glass on the counter and motioning for her to lead the way.
She claps her hands with glee, abandons her own glass, and snags my hand, guiding me into the crowd.
We stop in the middle, and Blake turns to me as we sway and bounce with the song.
The promoter from earlier appears next to us and does some hand motions that I think are him trying to ask Blake to dance. Instead of nodding her head, Blake grabs his hand and pulls him toward her, and they dance together.
The first time Blake took me out to a club, I was as stiff as a board. I didn’t know how to move, and I felt guilty when Blake taught me how. If I were caught dancing like this when I was younger, my father would have locked me in my room and thrown away the key.
Or worse.
When he was sentenced, I went through an existential crisis. And slowly, over time, I unraveled all the lies he fed me while establishing my own beliefs. But every so often, that little voice tells me that I’m acting like, as my father would say, a harlot.
A calloused hand touches the skin on my shoulder, sending my body into alarm. And when I turn, I find Slicer. His eyes roam my outfit, lingering a little too long on all the places my normal clothing usually conceals. A prickling sensation shoots up my spine.
Slicer leans forward toward me, shouting in my ear so I can hear him over the music. “Funny running into you here! I didn’t know you went to places like this!”
Blake gently places her hand on my arm. I glance at her, and she quirks a brow, checking in on me. I subtly shake my head, letting her know that I don’t need her to intervene. We’ve perfected our silent communication over the years.
The last time I saw Slicer, he chased me into RHL, then another part of the memory comes back to me.
“How do you know my real name?”
Slicer winces. “Don’t get mad, okay?”
I don’t give him an answer. I’ll get mad if I want to.
“I saw it on your driver’s license,” Slicer confesses.
“You went into my purse?” Outrage doesn’t begin to cover what I’m feeling.
Slicer brushes me off. “It’s not a big deal.”
“I think—” I start to argue, but he interrupts.
“You should come more often,” he encourages. He doesn’t try to hide his second perusal of my body. “You look amazing! Want to dance?”
“No, thanks,” I answer.
“Aw, come on. You’re so quiet and uptight all the time. You need to let your hair down,” he argues.
My hair is down…literally.
I shake my head, but Slicer isn’t taking no for an answer. He reaches for my arm, but I sidestep him forcefully, bumping into someone’s chest and almost falling.
Turning my head, I’m about to mouth my apology, but instead, my mouth just hangs open.
I recognize him. I know him.
His piercing blue eyes, his easy smile, his soft raven curls sprinkled with silver.
Rory.