28. Clara
Chapter 28
Clara
D owning a few ibuprofen might help with the ache of being on my feet all day, but only time will tell.
Walker deemed delivery pizza acceptable after I begged not to go anywhere else before we hit up the clubs. He did, however, order from the fanciest Chicago-style pizza place he could find. I gobbled up my concoction of mandarin oranges and a sweet and spicy sauce. It was delectable, even if Walker wouldn’t try a single bite.
I finish massaging my right foot, moving to the left as a knock sounds on the door. I look at Walker, confused, but he hops right up, his phone in one hand. “Just a delivery.”
In that case, I’d better keep working on making my feet ready for dancing.
The door clicks shut, no one saying anything, and the bed dips next to me. I lean into Walker, but the scent is all wrong—citrus and sage. I whip around and find RJ grinning at me. Some of the muse must still be in my system because I tackle him to the bed, planting a kiss on his cheek. “RJ! What are you doing here?”
His hands flutter from my shoulders to my rib cage, finally settling on my waist. “Walker needed something delivered, and I figured you both would appreciate the white-glove service.”
I squeeze him tight before rolling off him and sitting up, not wanting to make him more uncomfortable than he already is. He joins me on the side of the bed and drags me into his lap, linking his fingers through mine. Apparently, a visit from the muse wasn’t remiss.
Walker takes the spot on the bed I just abandoned. “I expected you to mail it, not drive across an entire state and then some.”
RJ chuckles. “Did you think we forgot about your birthday? You’re not getting out if it that easily. You know if Jansen could even possibly get here, he’d have you covered in waxy chocolate cake and booze exactly at midnight.”
I untwine one hand and reach for Walker. “It’s your birthday? Why didn’t you say anything? Drinks are on me, for sure.”
Walker brushes his lips to mine, pressing our palms together. “It’s tomorrow, and it’s not a big deal.”
I look back at RJ, worried about being this open about affection with Walker while sitting in his lap, but he looks…pleased? “Is it not a big deal, RJ?”
He shakes his head, eyes glittering. “Walker has a thing about pretending he doesn’t need a birthday party. He even slipped it past us freshman year. When Jansen found out, man, he was so mad.”
Walker flops back onto the mattress. “He set up a surprise party for me three months late. Obviously, I was surprised.”
I laugh, RJ joining me. “So what are we doing? Are we celebrating tonight? Is anyone else coming?” I ask.
Walker just shakes his head, not moving from the bed. “No plans besides the ones we already had.”
“Do you love clubbing so much that you want to do it on your…twenty-second birthday?”
“Yeah, I’m twenty-two tomorrow. And we already did what I love most for my birthday.” Heat simmers between us as I remember last night, our eyes locked, but then he forces his gaze from mine, breaking the spell. “And we’re doing it again tomorrow. So much art, even I might get sick of it.” Burn, dude.
RJ’s hand braces around my stomach, and butterflies burst to life in my chest. “No way you’d get tired of museums, Walker. And despite Jansen’s yodeling, Trips is heading down to Kansas City now that he and I finished up our bare-bones poker game last night. They’re going to clean up that lead, leaving the three of us to ring in your big day.”
I wiggle out of RJ’s lap, pressing another kiss to his cheek in apology. “We have booze. Let’s get this party started!” Maybe that will fix some of the weird tension Walker’s oozing out right now. Things were good after last night, they’ve been great all day. I need to keep it going.
Hurrying to the kitchen, RJ—and eventually Walker—follow me as I pick out a clubbing warm-up playlist and pull out the ingredients Walker got yesterday. It’s time for a pregame party. I make everyone a cocktail, black cherry juice and vodka, with a dash of triple sec. Even at a random liquor store in downtown Chicago, Walker pieces together something bougie.
Two drinks each and a bus ride later, we’re standing outside of one of the swankest clubs I’ve seen. Everyone is wearing the classy version of clubbing clothes, tight dresses and nice shoes, all peek-a-boo appeal barely hiding the truth—everyone’s here to get laid.
Pulling together a club-worthy outfit on short notice was a challenge, but I stole one of Walker’s new button-ups, a purple one, and paired it with a belt. Then I rolled up the sleeves, unbuttoned it just enough for my lacy black bra to show, tossed on killer heels, and I felt sexy as fuck. Looking at these other women, though, I realize I’m a lot more gutter than the rest of them.
RJ pulls my hand from where my fingers are drumming against my thigh, kissing the back of my hand like a gentleman. “You’re delectible.”
I swallow, glancing around the crowd again. “You guys, are you sure this place is eighteen-plus?”
Walker smirks at me, slipping an arm around my waist. “I’m sure it’s not.”
“But…” I squawk.
RJ squeezes my hand, a grin stretched across his face. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out my driver’s license, only I’m now twenty-two instead of twenty. “What?” I say, glancing between the two of them.
Walker pulls me closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “I told you it was mostly done. RJ trimmed the edges and brought it here. You can officially drink in any bar you want. The thing’s even scannable. And knowing RJ, he’s updated the DMV to match your new birthday.”
I look between the two of them, both of their faces bright. The ID is smooth in my hand, the texture identical to what I have in my wallet. I swallow, not sure if I’m thrilled or terrified to be holding the thing.
The line shifts forward, and it’s our turn to show our IDs to the bouncer. Walker and RJ hand over theirs, get their hands stamped, then it’s my turn. I glance into the club, the music bleeding out onto the sidewalk, darkness like an endless tunnel to hell broken by flashes of blue and purple, a crowd shuttering in and out of reality while I debate running.
With a gulp, I put the card in the bouncer’s hand, my heart rate spiking, echoing in my ears. This is officially the most selfishly illegal thing I’ve ever done.
It’s probably small fries to anyone else, but this? This is a line. Another line I’m crossing. Another piece of myself I’m leaving behind, another identity I’m shaking off, not knowing what’s going to take its place.
He presses the stamp to my hand, gives back the ID, and the guys drag me into the club. The death of another sliver of good-girl Clara isn’t marked by anything more than the beat of my heart fighting with the pulse of the music.
I pull out my wallet, jamming the fake into the ID spot, moving my real ID to the back, not wanting to mix them up. Meeting my eyes on the card, the birthdate large and two years wrong, I slap it shut, tucking it into Walker’s back pocket, safe and away from me.
RJ snatches my hand, hauling me into the dark, Walker’s arm slipping around my waist, the three of us weaving through the crowd. And it is a crowd. I try to take in all the activity, the outfits, the shoes, but the lights are too low, the people too crushed together.
I’m glad these guys know me so well. We go straight to the middle of the floor, skipping the bar and diving straight into dancing. I already have a buzz from our pre-gaming, and I’m sure the guys aren’t completely sober either. There’s a DJ on the stage, not just piped-in music, and the mixes are both trance-like and unexpected.
Before the beat drops, I’m sandwiched between Walker and RJ, the music and crowd pressing us close. Walker grasps my hips from behind while I drape my hands around RJ’s neck, the three of us sinking into the rhythm pounding through the room.
The bass vibrates in my sternum, RJ running his hands up and down my arms, stepping closer and closer, until he’s pressed as tightly to my front as Walker is behind me. Instead of feeling caged, I feel electric, the three of us moving as a singular unit, their scents mixing, vibrant and alive.
I close my eyes, letting the music and their bodies guide me.
At some point, Walker’s hand drops to my thigh, tracing my skin at the edge of my makeshift dress, making my skin itchy with want. The press of his lips against my neck has me leaning back against him while pulling RJ closer. RJ’s hands trail down my arms, his hands soft against my neck, one hand digging into my curls. I open my eyes, a question on my face, unable to verbalize it over the music.
RJ leans forward, his eyelids fluttering closed as he presses his lips to mine. A second later, I let mine drift shut too as I fist his shirt, pulling him even closer, my heart leaping, attempting to fly from my chest.
It’s just a kiss, but it’s not. It tastes like a promise, seared by the press of our lips together.
Walker pauses his journey up the side of my neck, his cock hard against my ass as the three of us sway, RJ’s tongue sneaking out, tentatively meeting my lips.
I open, inviting him to play, our tongues touching, sweet, gentle, cautious.
Dragging my hands to his back, needing him closer, I rake the soft strands of his hair, taking control of the kiss, deeper, wilder, the need for connection stronger than my caution, than the voice in the back of my head that wonders exactly how many people RJ has kissed.
Walker picks up on the increased intensity, and he’s there, his mouth hot against my neck, his hand slipping under the hem of my dress. A long finger sneaks under the elastic of my panties, a soft touch feathering my clit.
Holy shit.
I moan, and one of RJ’s hands slides down, a knuckle tracing the underside of my bra, an innocent touch sparking lightning in its wake. Knowing it’s RJ’s hand, RJ touching me, opening up to me, that we’re moving past casual running buddy into something more, I tremble.
RJ wants me, just like I want him.
Walker brushes my clit again before spinning me to face him, pushing my hips back flush against RJ’s cock, a rigid line against my lower back. My kiss with RJ broken, he nudges my ear, stroking it with first his nose, then his tongue, finishing with small kisses against the shell of the lobe .
Walker uses the change in position to steal a kiss, dragging one of my hands down to palm his cock through the fabric of his pants. His other hand presses RJ’s hand against my breast.
All three of us hiss, my weight slumping against RJ, one arm of his now banded around my waist while his other strokes and caresses me through my clothes. I drag Walker’s bottom lip into my mouth, sucking and biting in time with the strokes of my hand. He pulls back, eyes hazy in the half light.
He forces my chin over my shoulder, and I make eye contact with RJ, his gaze as dark as Walker’s. Diving for my mouth, RJ has nothing tentative left, only passion meeting passion, as Walker licks from my cleavage to my neck, the trail icy against my overheated skin.
Every inch of me is on fire, boiling, a beast stretching her wings, desperate to break from my skin and take both men at once, location be damned.
Dancing is great, but this is so much better.
Panting, I pull away from them, snagging a hand of each as I drag them toward the exit. I don’t need clubbing. I need them.
Walker slips in front of me, RJ behind, our clasped hands wrapping around my waist, holding me close enough for him to massage my ass, no one the wiser. More. I need more. Now.
At the edge of the dance floor, manicured fingers snatch Walker’s free hand, and I snarl, stepping between him and the threat, dragging RJ behind me. I blink through the haze of rage and arousal, finding myself face-to-face with Jasmine.
An amused laugh slices across her face as she unhands Walker. She casts her eyes over the three of us, does a sweep of the floor, presumably looking for the rest of our crew, before bobbing her head to the back of the club.
What the fuck?
I look at both Walker and RJ, their faces set to glares. Neither stops me as I follow her through the crowd, though, my arousal humming under my skin while my mind panics.
Walker lets go of my hand so we can weave between groups, and the absence of the heat of his palm makes my stomach drop.
Jasmine takes us through a curtain at the back, up some stairs, and into a private room. An entire wall of windows looks down at the bodies writhing on the floor below, music piped into the soundproof space.
Jasmine turns the sound down, motioning to the low couches in the room.
This is not what I thought I’d be doing right now.
I perch in the middle, Walker and RJ flanking me. After a second, I lean back, deciding to look like this is ordinary for me—a secret unplanned meeting in the back room of a club with a mob princess? Yeah, nothing new here, right?
Jasmine pours four glasses of champagne, and by the way Walker is sipping it, savoring it, I assume it’s expensive. Like, more expensive than anything they even carry at my dad’s liquor store.
I take a sip, but I’m too anxious to taste it, the bubbles sticking to the back of my throat. I set the glass down, not wanting my hands to shake.
Jasmine takes a long sip of hers, her hair pulled into a fierce ponytail, her eyeliner sharp enough to cut. She holds the glass like it’s an extension of her hand, eyes tracing over each of us. Standing, graceful despite her towering heels, she reaches over to shake RJ’s hand. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. Royal, correct?”
I blink twice. Royal?
“RJ.”
She nods before perching on her couch.
I clear my throat, uncomfortable with the way she’s looking at RJ. “I’m sorry, but is there a reason you invited us up here? We were just on our way out.”
She laughs, just barely on the polite side of mocking. “So I saw. I had to rush to intercept you three. Where are the other two members of your…team? Archibald and Jansen?”
I pick up the goblet again, trying to feign nonchalance. “Not here.”
Her eyebrow ticks, and I feel like I just scored a point in this standoff.
“I’m sure you’re aware that the game doesn’t start for another two weeks?” Jasmine taps her nail against the side of her glass, something that looks like humor creeping into her gaze.
I turn to Walker. “Oh really? Gosh, we’re so forgetful. Did you remember it’s not quite time yet?”
His eyes flash as his mask settles, a slight smile twitching at his lips, his eyes laughing. “I knew I forgot to pencil that in.”
A grin sneaks across Jasmine’s face. “I guess I’ll assume you three are here for something else. It looked a lot like pleasure from this vantage point,” she says, motioning to her clear view of the dance floor below. The spot we’d claimed is smack dab center, perfectly fucking framed by the windows. So much for going unnoticed.
“Nothing wrong with a little pleasure,” I say, forcing another gulp of the champagne. “All work and no play makes my boys…dull.”
RJ snorts. Walker reaches for my free hand, his fingers tracing up my arm, my skin alive again despite the adrenaline slamming through me.
An actual smile lights Jasmine’s face. “I thought I’d like you, Clara, once you started talking.”
I shrug, pretending that was a full compliment instead of half of one.
She refills her glass and Walker’s, RJ and I still holding mostly full flutes. She switches which leg she’s crossing, the gesture oddly nervous for a woman so composed. “I invited you up here to verify there are no hard feelings. I’d hate to sour what has been an amicable working relationship.”
My brain scrambles over what I’ve learned the last few weeks, trying to channel the woman she obviously believes I am. “I can’t say we were pleased with the sudden changes.”
RJ shifts closer, his leg pressing against my thigh, comfort following his presence, as always.
She stares out the plate-glass windows, the throbbing throng eerie without the music pounding around us. “I can’t say much, but the upheaval is not coming from me. Sometimes, too many last-minute changes indicate that a gig is better left for a team less…” She presses her lips to the flute, swallowing another sip, an obvious ploy for emphasis. “Less valuable. ”
I tip my head, acknowledging the warning. “I’m glad we’ve been valuable. Here’s to many more years of a successful working relationship.” I tip my glass in her direction, the guys mirroring my action as Jasmine smiles, only a few quick blinks communicating that this was not the response she was hoping for.
But I know these guys. They aren’t backing down, no matter the warning.
Her lips twist as she stands. “May we all be so lucky.”
We stand as well, setting down mostly empty flutes. My anxiety screams, begging me to run, to cry, to launch myself out the windows, my euphoria gone, my anticipation killed.
I hold out a hand, and she takes it, her palm soft and open. “Until next time,” I say.
The guys step toward the door, but she holds my hand a second longer than is strictly polite. “Take care.”
I turn to leave, but trusting my instincts, I whip back, pulling her into a hug. I don’t know why, but she seems to need one.
She’s a statue in my arms. Three shaky breaths later, she softens, squeezing me back.
“I hope you get to drink up here with someone who actually wants to be here with you,“ I say, hoping I’m not crossing a boundary.
She pulls back, tears glassy in her eyes. “I already have. And sometimes, I just want to remember.”
She turns back to the windows. Clearly dismissed, I follow my guys out of the club and back to the hotel. So much to parse. So many problems to address.