6. Chapter 4 #2
The security guard in the red shirt is telling a girl that the club is at maximum capacity and she’ll have to wait. All at once, his attention shifts to me, causing his eyebrows to arch. When I don’t speak first as he expects, he concedes.
“How can I help you?” he pants, rolling his eyes.
“Max sent me,” I say with a sweet smile.
“Max?” The question comes out in such a tone... I start to doubt the taxi driver’s good intentions. But then, he breaks into a smile too. “Haven’t seen him in a while. Come on in.”
Red shirt points me to the entrance, as if I were some kind of VIP. The other security guard is already pulling the barrier rope down for me.
“Thanks,” I add.
“Hey! I’m here for Max too!” One girl calls out, and a male voice tells her to get back in line. A discontented grumble mixes with laughter in the crowd.
“Bad Memories” booms from the speakers when I walk in. The bass hits me right in the gut. Everything’s vibrating.
Perfect.
My gaze sweeps across the seating arrangements, which are private booths formed by couches along the room’s edges.
I also notice the dance floor and the bar, where three bartenders are serving.
There’s hardly any room left in the club.
The upstairs area is also packed with people enjoying themselves, laughing, and drinking.
Instead of dim lights, the room is filled with multicolored strobes. Colors mix and shift with the music.
The bar area, with its improved lighting, is my first stop. It takes some time to make my way to the counter, and then another moment before a tanned man with brown hair sees me.
“What can I get you, beautiful?” He flashes a smoldering smile and gives a wink.
What is it with these guys and winking today?
“Surprise me,” I shout.
My answer widens his smile. After tilting his head back, he holds my gaze for a significant amount of time.
“Is there anything you don’t like?”
I shake my head. And then his gaze wanders to my dress.
“Does what you’re wearing match your mood today?”
I truly didn’t see that coming. Intrigued, I nod.
“Coming right up!” The bartender slings a towel over his shoulder and turns to the row of bottles behind him.
Every move he makes is on display. In his black shirt and black pants, he looks like the kind of guy I would love to get to know better. His shoulder muscles tighten with each movement, and his shirt does an excellent job of emphasizing this.
Enchanted, I don’t hide my gaze. Not even when he glances at me briefly while working on that drink. I suppose he could mix some water, juice, and lime for me, and it would still taste like heaven.
The bartender finishes and sets a tall glass with a colorful drink in front of me. Yellow, blue, and red swirl together.
Our gazes locked. I can’t help but smile back.
“Should I ask what’s in it? Or should I just trust you?” I ask, leaning over the counter so he can hear me.
“You shouldn’t do either,” he remarks, mirroring the lean. “But I’m sure I’ve read your mood perfectly. Try it.”
Our faces are maybe fifteen inches apart. A playful gleam flickers in his eyes.
He’s interested.
Good to know, just in case I have trouble meeting tonight’s goal.
The guy is sexy enough, charming, and likes to flirt. And he probably scores every single night he works.
Finally, I find my brain, which had dropped below my belly button, and say, “One sip isn’t enough to know if it’s worth it. Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll taste this poison, and then I’ll hit the dance floor. If I like it, I’ll come back later for more.”
Meanwhile, I pull a bill out of my purse and place it in front of him.
Keeping my gaze, he puts his hand on it and takes it. “Go ahead, beautiful. I’m here for you all night. You’ll be back.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Grabbing my drink, I hurry away into the sea of people, but before I do, I hear his laugh behind me.
The line between his confidence and arrogance is thin, and it’s a turnoff. Still, it’s nice to flirt with him, to loosen up my stiff bones a bit.
Without rushing, I circle the dance floor, watching the dancers. The women move their bodies to the rhythm of the music, for their own pleasure or for the pleasure of the men watching. The men, for their part, behave more like hunters here than anywhere else.
Observing this, I sip my drink.
When Niykee Heaton’s “Lullaby” plays, I set my half-finished drink on a nearby table and step into the crowd. The song’s rhythm makes my hips move on their own. My eyelids flutter shut, and my fingers trace my curves, a slow, deliberate dance that promises pleasure.
This moment is only for me.
Tension drains from the top of my head to my toes. Music flows through me, vibrating in every cell of my body. This feeling is all that matters, and I become lost in it.
My hands wander. I spin, sway my hips, and wiggle my butt. And I’m horny. Occasionally, people bump into me, and I don’t mind. This crowd now includes me.
I take another spin around my axis. In a split second, I lose my balance and already know I’m about to hit the floor. Yet before my body flies to the dance floor, a warm sensation wraps around my waist.
My vision swims, the room a blurry kaleidoscope of unfamiliar shapes and colors.
And I freeze.
His eyes…