Chapter 27 Kiwi #4
and Vice comes roaring back.
Flash of strobe.
Crowd noise swarming.
Bodies push.
Music spits.
His chest caves as he hesitates.
“Allison,” he says.
“Yeah?”
A breath.
“I’ve been thinkin’…”
His voice drops off there.
The moment deadlocks.
I arch a brow—
“You’ve been thinkin’,” I probe.
He exhales. “Yeah.”
Another beat passes.
“About that other bet.
“The real one.
“The boring-ass one.
“The ‘just breathe next to each other’ night.
“I'm cashin' in. Tonight.
“I’m sleepin' next to you.”
His eyes drift between mine.
“You good with that?”
My heart’s rioting, but I don’t let it show.
“Yeah.” It’s one word. One syllable.
But it feels like stepping off a goddamn cliff.
So I say it again before fear walks in
and steals it off my tongue.
“Yeah, I’m good with it.”
His chest caves.
He looks at my mouth, then at me.
He moves in,
holding my gaze and torturing my chest.
Then—
Thunk.
The drinks land in front of us.
I slide the bartender cash,
and just before I slip away,
Andrew's eyes dart to the hundred.
His card.
Me.
The bartender.
Then back to me.
“Yo. Miss Heir to Soundwave, you tryna flex on me now?” he mutters.
Oh, here we go.
Fuck you, Google Knowles.
Should’ve known you’d throw up my past.
Andrew levels me with a gaze.
“I don’t care if we’re pretending, you’re not paying for drinks.
Not while you’re with me. Ever.” He stuffs his card back in his wallet angrily, as if it called him a little bitch.
“Second—dropping tips like that? You hand a bartender that kind of money, he’s gonna think you wanna fuck him.
Guys read that shit the wrong way.” A pause. “I read that shit the wrong way.”
I roll my eyes and start to walk off.
“Whoa, whoa—Allison.”
I stop.
Turn.
He breathes out,
slowing us down a second,
navy eyes settling into mine. “You good?”
No the fuck I’m not.
Just listened to the audiobook
of you finger-banging some chick.
One star. Only ‘cause I couldn’t give zero.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He squints at me,
trying to dig the real answer out of my eyes.
And he’s Andrew.
If he looks hard enough, he’ll find it.
A bead of sweat slides down the back of my neck.
I glance past him, pushing my hair back.
Then meet his gaze again. “You good?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
Two liars fuckin' lying.
// 10:39 PM //
There’s a split at the edge of the crowd near the booth, like someone took a knife to the room, peeled the bodies back, leaving me enough floor space to let me slip in.
Bass kicks,
drums land,
and I dance where nothing can touch me.
I stand in the open,
right where the light strobes,
and sway into the downbeat.
The song hits like the high of a filthy drug,
and I overdose on it.
Arms up,
head thrown, hips slow,
the beat soaks into my skin.
Then a guy moves in,
all drunk hope and sweat-slick confidence.
I cut him down with a cold, flat stare,
then shake my head—
not mad at him for trying, just disappointed.
He stops. Turns. Disappears.
Then I notice the rest of them watching,
the whole floor,
with eyes holding secrets and stories.
Like I’m the girl no one invited,
and they all want me gone.
Like I showed up on the wrong night,
at the wrong time,
with the wrong guy.
Every glance scrapes.
Every gaze drags.
Every eye judges.
Their mouths don’t move,
but I hear them anyway.
My mind fills in the blanks with all the things they might've done with him,
the places he could've touched,
the sounds he could've made.
I’m imagining it all, trying to dance through it,
the music pulsing through me,
fuzz and friction and sin-soaked synths.
My arms overhead. My fingers in my hair.
The lights keep strobing—
on me
off me
on me
off.
Sweat slips down my throat as I spin slow,
hair sticking to my mouth,
fucking the music and this moment
before it all fucks me first.
Then I feel him ten to twenty feet away.
Andrew's kicked back in the booth,
one arm slung along the backrest,
face sculpted by intensity,
a glass sweating in his fist.
The whole floor falls away as he’s staring into me—
gaze so deep it’s a hand to my throat,
it's a mouth-to-mouth,
a fuck-you-don’t-move
as he grinds into me—
then time speeds,
catching back up with the beat.
He doesn’t blink.
Neither do I.
We’re cuffed to each other.
People pass between us, bodies blur,
but I still see the way his throat moves when he swallows hard.
The way his knee bounces.
I drag my hand up my thigh,
fingertips teasing the hem of my dress,
up my hip,
up my side,
flashing him a little smile.
Sweet. Venom-licked. Vanilla-ChapStick lips.
First he breaks.
Then he blushes.
Then he laughs, head down,
until his eyes spring back up to mine.
And then I’m flying,
floating,
falling,
fading.
“Andrew,” someone calls,
right as a redhead in leather walks past me,
curls bouncing around hourglass hips.
A guy whistles at her. Two girls scoff.
I don't let it get to me.
The beat holds me,
the bass of the music drags me to the edge,
where I keep not giving a fuck.
Some other girl sees Redhead enter his booth,
then elbows her friend.
It's a chain reaction—
heads turning, eyes darting.
Around me, the girls orbit.
They all look at him as if he once ruined them beautifully.
Like he cracked them open,
carved his name inside,
then never looked back.
Somewhere behind me:
“Guess he finally let one sit down.”
“Didn't think he had a sit-down mode.
“Only the eat-and-leave.”
“Does he have a girlfriend now?”
“Nah. He’s just bein’ nice.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Suddenly 'some' is starting to sound like 'a lot.'
When I look back at him,
Redhead’s pressed up against him,
her thigh hooked over his, mouth near his ear.
And Andrew’s watching me,
his stare unbreaking as if nothing else exists.
Her lips are moving,
room’s spinning,
music's thumping,
lights pulsing,
but he’s not in it. He’s in me.
The rest of the world, gone.
Redhead follows his line of sight.
She sees me.
Then she’s back in his ear,
lips grazing the edge of it.
And I want to scrub her mouth off his skin.
Then my feet start doing the stupidest shit:
walking.
Right to him.
He watches me cross the floor.
Chest not moving, lungs holding a breath,
for me to hurry the fuck up,
to get to him already, to finally claim him.
He’s two seconds from folding the world in half just to make me go faster. So he can stop pretending he’s not about to fight whatever’s in his way.
Then I’m standing over them—
Andrew and the redhead—
holding up my jacket and my purse.
“Mind watching these for me?”
Andrew’s face goes deadpan as he stares up at me, teeth grinding.
I glance at the redhead.
“Hey, I’m Allison. You’re stunning.
“Not interfering—just need to park my stuff with this guy for a second.”
My attention slides back to Andrew—
“Important docs in there, aight?
“There’s no zipper so don’t tip it.”
I dump both in his lap.
“Thanks, bestie. You’re a doll.”
He catches the purse as it hits his thigh,
and he stares down at it,
then scoops it up,
shaking his head,
nudging Redhead’s leg off his.
A laugh slips out under his breath as he looks up at me, one brow lifted like—
Real cute, sweetheart.