Chapter 16
I CAN’T HEAR YOU OVER THE BASS AND BETRAYAL
“You look fine, girl,” some stranger yelled in my ear.
My stomach soured as the half-shouted, dubious compliment slashed through my enjoyment like a laser strike. The Crescent Club’s bass thumped as I aimed a flat look at the interloper.
Flashing lights revealed attractive-ish features. Surfer-blond, a square jaw, and the kind of smile that probably worked on girls who were into that cocky type.
I wasn’t.
In other circumstances, if I hadn’t spent my week knee-deep in alien bullshit, maybe I’d have laughed and played it off. Tonight, though, I felt too tense and frayed for this. Setting my teeth, I started to turn back around—not fast enough to miss the guy giving me a blatant once-over.
My annoyance ticked up another notch. I stopped dancing. Somehow, he took that as an invitation.
“So what’s your name, babe?” he shouted over the music, leaning in too close. The biting scent of whiskey and too much cologne filled my nostrils.
Babe? Really? I rolled my eyes so hard I almost saw last week. He made a grab for my arm, and I pulled it close to my side, edging away from him. “Sorry. Thanks, but no thanks.”
“What?” he yelled, stumbling closer.
Ugh. I knew people came to clubs like Crescent to meet someone. For the night—or hey, maybe even longer. I’d been there.
Tonight, though, I was here to dance. To dance and forget.
Maybe that made me lame. It’d been a while since I’d cuddled with anything that didn’t have chapter headings and a title page. But that wasn’t what I was looking for.
I just wanted to dance.
Preferably without the groping.
But dancing alone apparently broadcasted an invitation. And some guys were pushier than others. As he stepped further into my personal space, I got the distinct feeling this Prince Charming would be one of them.
I searched until I found Amelia. She was leaning against a tall, thin, dark-haired man about our age, her head tilted back at a flirty angle. I vaguely recognized him. Had he happened to be here, or did she invite him?
Guilt prickled. Had she mentioned meeting somebody? I didn’t think so, but then again, I’d been so distracted lately. Preoccupied. It was taking a toll on my friendships, too.
I swallowed hard and darted a glance at my current problem: the blond-haired man still eyeing me like a carnivore eyes a filet. My lip curled.
Seeing me looking, he opened his mouth, but I gave him my shoulder. I hated to interrupt Amelia, but he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
Luckily, she happened to turn her head my way then glanced past me, at the Prince Charming encroaching on my personal space. She gave an exasperated eye roll and nodded, mouthing, One second.
My shoulders sagged with relief. Backup was coming.
I waited while she rose to her tiptoes, her leather minidress riding up dangerously high as she whispered something to her dancing partner. He grimaced, his eyes flicking toward me and my admirer, who was currently doing a hip-thrust dance in my direction. Gag.
Amelia disengaged and crossed the floor, dodging a group of dancing girls. I let out a relieved whoosh of air when she looped her arm through mine and tugged.
“Sorry,” she said to Mr. Pushy, who stopped dancing (if it could be called that) to give Amelia his best slimy grin. Her return look could’ve frozen lava. “We have to go to the bathroom in pairs.”
Before he could respond, she was towing me through the dancers.
The DJ booth pulsed in the center like a glowing altar, and the bass vibrated the floor.
Around us, lights slashed across bodies, blurring motion and shadowing faces.
The effect was eerie enough, I nearly shivered.
The thud of music mingled with voices, shrieks, and laughter.
I was getting jumpy again. I fanned myself as we escaped the press of bodies. Amelia steered us toward the hallway leading to the bathrooms.
“Thanks for the rescue,” I told her, raising my voice over the bass drop and accompanying cheers.
“No problem.” She tossed her dark curls and smirked. “I don’t know how he couldn’t tell how disgusted you were by the look on your face.”
Another reminder of how bad a liar I was. I bit my lip, giving her a sidelong look. “And who’s your dance partner?”
“Oh.” She smile dimmed. “That’s Emerick Kensington. His dad works with my dad.”
I raised my brows and nearly stopped walking. Somebody from her father’s social circle? That wasn’t her normal type. She avoided that crowd like the plague.
Interesting.
I studied her as we cut through the line waiting on drinks. Her olive skin was flushed from the dance floor’s muggy heat, but somehow her sultry makeup had stayed perfect. She glided in her gold strappy heels like she’d been born in them, while I clomped behind her in my far more sensible boots.
We were night and day. Total opposites in a lot of ways. But she grounded me.
I’d needed this night out with her more than I’d realized.
We pushed into the women’s bathroom. A few girls mingled at the sinks, checking their lipstick, fixing flyaways, and chatting in too-loud voices. We wove around them, and Amelia stopped at the floor-length mirror.
“Yeah, Emerick’s…just fun,” she said, her dismissive tone brushing aside any more questions before I could even ask them.
She adjusted her skintight tube dress. It did spectacular things for her long legs.
Half-turning, she raised an eyebrow at me.
“That guy who came up to you wasn’t too bad to look at, though.
You could’ve let him buy you a drink, at least. You look like you could use one. ”
She wasn’t wrong. I sighed, turning to my reflection.
I’d been ready to wear jeans, a tank, and a jacket to hide the nasty discoloration on my arm.
It’d only gotten worse in the past day. Amelia had taken one look at me and tossed me a slinky silver dress she’d found in her closet.
I hadn’t put up a fight because…well, it was a cute dress, and after spending the last few days pale, bruised, and sweaty, maybe a cute dress was exactly what I needed, too.
Amelia also wasn’t stupid. She’d noticed the finger marks while I changed. I didn’t think she’d completely bought my claim that they’d come from the explosion at Finke, either. But she hadn’t pressed.
It technically wasn’t a lie. Something had exploded. Just…not what the media was saying.
I’d been stretching the truth an awful lot lately. More so than I ever had with the best friend I thought of as a sister.
My insides twisted. I pushed aside the thought and smoothed the borrowed dress. It clung to my frame in all the right places, and despite how straight-as-a-board I looked next to Amelia’s goddess-tier curves, it somehow gave me a hint of cleavage.
Plus, it had pockets. Cleavage and pockets—what more could a girl ask for?
I’d at least won the argument about the shoes. I could walk in my flat black ankle boots. Amelia’s deft hand with makeup didn’t hurt my look tonight, either. Dramatic smoky eyes, razor-sharp eyeliner, and fire-engine red lipstick. Way more glam than I usually wore. But I hadn’t wiped it off.
I contemplated the girl in the mirror. Maybe it wasn’t a bad thing to look…different for a night. To be someone different. Someone not dealing with all the insanity I had been.
Robots and aliens and whatever the hell was happening with my hand.
I tugged the dress’s sleeve down over my arm. With all the marks hidden, I could almost convince myself it hadn’t happened. Almost. Not quite. The buzzing panic had dulled with time, but the jitters were still there. So was the compulsion to check over my shoulder.
What had happened, though—I’d come to terms with one big truth: there was nothing I could do about any of this right now. I couldn’t change the mess I’d stumbled into. Nor could I explain it. Not really.
Not yet.
I could start looking for the why. Solving the mystery.
And tonight, I was safe enough here, in the crowded dance club, wearing this pretty dress and a full face of makeup, dancing with my best friend.
Besides, if aliens were going to stage a full-on invasion, they could’ve already done it. I’d seen those robots. We wouldn’t stand a chance.
They were clearly here for a different reason. And if I was lucky, that reason had broken into a million pieces when that artifact had dissolved.
Really, that’d be the best-case scenario—
“You sure you’re okay, Rae?” Amelia’s concerned tone cut through my thoughts.
Too late, I realized I’d been staring blankly at myself. I blinked and met her eyes in the mirror instead. Her expression was uncharacteristically serious, her mouth compressed.
She stepped closer, lowering her voice and nudging me with her elbow. “You’ve been out of it tonight.”
When I tried to smile and failed, she turned her attention to her hair, raking her fingers through her curls.
Her shoulders drew tight though, before she said, “I know yesterday probably shook you up. You’ve been under a lot of stress these last few days, with work.
Your shitty car. Not to mention midterms. You know if you need to talk or if you need help with…
well, anything.” She grimaced and dropped her arm, flicking an uncomfortable glance past me.
“Even, like, money for Faith or something…”
My jaw dropped open in surprise. “A—”
“I know,” she cut in, rolling her eyes. “I’m just letting you know I’m here.”
I forced my mouth to close. She’d offered me money. Amelia never flaunted her family’s wealth. In fact, she hated talking about it. With a passion.
She’d told me before that even acknowledging it felt like bragging.
That life, those people, were plastic and fake and far from who she wanted to be.
If she could’ve changed her last name, she would have.
In One Willow and Maryville, and in circles where that mattered, Delarosa basically translated to dollar signs.