Choosing Rachel (Love and Blood #2)

Chapter One - Rachel

CHAPTER ONE

Rachel

Get yourself together. Your friends deserve this night. I internally chant this for the hundredth time tonight as I use my finger to fix the smudged lipstick—courtesy of my last drink.

I’m about to repeat the mantra when a group of giggling girls bursts into the bathroom, and it’s time to quit my sulking, plaster on a smile, and go find my roommates in the busy club.

I shoulder past the girls, who’ve had way more to drink than me, and envy how easily their smiles come while mine takes effort.

Maybe a few more drinks will loosen you up.

I pop my knuckles and take a deep breath like that will distract me from seeing alcohol as the answer to my problems. I like to think I drink a normal amount for a twenty-two-year-old—especially given my tendency to latch onto vices.

Usually, I can channel those tendencies into healthy habits, like working out or taking on extra projects at work.

Still, nights like tonight make the prospect of falling into drunkenness harder to resist.

What’s it going to hurt? It’s not like you have anything else to direct your focus on.

I know somewhere deep down that it isn’t true. I have my job at the pub, where I’ll take on twice as many shifts starting next week now that school is over for the semester.

And? My cruel mind asks. What else is there?

Nothing. That’s what.

At least last summer, I had my internship to keep myself occupied.

This year, I couldn’t find one that paid, and now that the rent that used to be split three ways will be all my responsibility, I can’t afford to accept anything unpaid.

Besides, the course credit was filled, so as great as it would look to have more experience on my resume, I don’t technically need it.

I spot Shay and Rosie from across the crowd, standing at the bar with two guys I don’t recognize. Their faces are bright, blissful even, carrying none of the anxiety and pressure that weighs me down like bricks stacked on my shoulders.

For the hundredth time, I remind myself this isn’t jealousy. I’m happy for them. I knew they’d graduate and move on to bigger things.

I pull at my little black dress as I walk. The damn thing keeps riding up my thighs no matter how many times I pull it down, but as a ten-dollar thrift find, it felt like a waste not to wear it at least once.

I’ll be the first to admit that it pales in comparison to Shay’s electric blue dress with cutouts highlighting her petite silhouette or Rosie’s burgundy silk number that fits her like a glove, but I don’t feel insecure.

Even now, pushing my way through the crowd of the busy nightclub to get to the bar, I feel eyes roaming my body.

My thick, jet-black hair falls in perfectly straight strands to my shoulder blades.

It had taken forever to get it just right, but damn if it wasn’t worth it.

My dress—as annoying as it is to constantly readjust—suits my body type perfectly.

It’s a skin-tight piece with a halter top that dips into a V-neckline in the front.

The heels are my favorite, though. With thin straps that wrap around my ankles like ivy, the golden heels pop against my black skin—boosting my confidence as well as my height.

I hear Shay’s laugh from a few feet away, and though the sound would be cringeworthy from anyone else, it’s somehow charming coming from her. She tosses her head back, letting her loose curls cascade down her back in a motion that the man standing at her side seems enchanted by.

His tan skin practically glows in the neon lights, and his dark hair falls over his eyes and out of the man bun that is stylishly piled on his head.

The burgundy flannel is unbuttoned just a few too many, and even though he’s undoubtedly handsome, he’s far from the clean-cut men that Shay usually goes for.

Rosie is just as enthralled by his friend, a man with dark hair buzzed short, an impeccable black suit, and cool blue eyes that are striking against the black he surrounds himself with.

When I reach them, I lay my nude-painted fingernails over Shay’s shoulder and gently squeeze, waiting for the returned squeeze or gentle pats of her response.

“Who’s your new friend?”

Her bright smile flashes my way, and she pats my hand twice, signaling that he’s not a creep she wants to get away from.

I eye Rosie, who gives me a similar, all good here, nod.

“Rachel, what took you so long?”

Even though Shay asks, she doesn’t give me any time to answer. “This is Donovan.” She points to Man Bun and then to Blue Eyes. “And this is Kade. They’ve invited us to the VIP section.”

Of course, they did. And now you get to be dragged along as the fifth wheel.

I hide my hand behind my back to pop my knuckles but paste a wide smile on my face. “That sounds like fun!”

Rosie passes me a drink before she takes Kade’s hand, and I start drinking it despite knowing that it probably isn’t the best idea.

I trail behind Shay, Donovan, Rosie, and Kade like a rejected middle schooler who didn’t find a date to the dance. This thought makes me sip my drink faster than I usually would.

My mood improves when I take in the VIP section of the nightclub.

It’s bigger than I’d expected and has a mezzanine surrounding it to overlook the other party-goers.

The red velvet rope—I hadn’t realized the cliche was accurate—is placed at the base of the staircase, with a bull-like man guarding it with crossed arms and a deep scowl.

I slow as we get closer, waiting for Donovan to start talking to the man, but there’s no need. The guard only lowers his head before moving the rope and stepping aside for the five of us to pass.

I feel more eyes on me than before as we ascend the staircase, both by envious onlookers below and those sizing up the new arrivals from above. I don’t pay them any mind, focusing instead on putting one foot in front of the other and doing my best not to fall in front of everyone.

We reach the top, and an unexpected ball of dread settles in the pit of my stomach when I survey the model-like women in designer dresses sitting with movie-star-worthy men in three-piece suits worth more than I make in a year.

I’ve never been particularly insecure, but those feelings thrive in this setting.

I follow Shay and Donovan to a white, U-shaped couch against the wall, and—to my continued discomfort—we’re not alone.

Two men sit on the couch, one with meticulously slicked-back hair, a matching beard, and an immaculate gray suit.

The other man has dirty blond hair and a scar that stretches from his eyebrow to his chin in a horrifying yet intriguing way.

Three women sit around them, all in dresses that look better suited for lingerie magazines than in a public setting.

Still, it’s not like I’m dressed like Mother Teresa.

“Boys,” Donovan gets their attention, waving toward Shay, who smiles like she got him into the VIP section, not vice versa. “This is Shay, Rosie, and Rachel,” he says, pointing each of us out.

Kade steps up to my other side, pointing to the men on the couches. He points to Scar Face first. “This is Tripp.” His finger then slides to the other man, who looks much older than everyone else but is still at ease in the environment. “And Nicholas.”

Tripp and Nicholas inspect the three of us, as if assessing whether we’re worth taking the place of their current companions.

Although with Donovan and Kade both holding my friends, I’m the only available option.

I brace myself for their lustful stares, but after one quick look at me, their attention goes back to the girls draping themselves all over them.

Wow, you weren’t even worth a glance.

As if I want to be ogled anyway, I remind myself.

Donovan glances around us. “Where’s Ryder?”

Tripp rolls his eyes as a busty brunette scoots onto his lap, trailing violent kisses down his throat. “Taking a call from Boss.”

Donovan and Kade move to sit on the couch, pulling my friends with them, so I follow. I sit on the edge of the couch, no doubt looking just as out of place as I feel.

Donovan laughs. “I swear all he does is work.”

“Is Ryder a friend of yours?” Shay’s head tilts to the side in what I’m sure is a practiced move, allowing her curls to cascade down her shoulder, leading right to her chest.

Donovan takes the bait, eyes falling to her breasts with a visible swallow. “Uh, yeah, I’m sure you’ll meet him eventually.”

Nicholas and Tripp engage in a hushed conversation, treating the women hanging on them more like cute puppies begging for attention than actual humans.

When I go to take another sip of my drink, it’s empty. I suppose it’s a sign to slow down, but instead, I take it as an excuse to escape to the bar.

I raise my empty glass to my friends. “I’ll be right back.”

Rosie doesn’t acknowledge me, and Shay gives me a quick nod, her attention returning to Donovan, who looks ready to take a bite out of her. I wish I didn’t mean that so literally.

The walk to the bar is too short, and I sit on the white, swiveling stool as I wave to the bartender, who acknowledges me with a nod and a finger, telling me he’ll only be a moment.

Not like anyone is going to miss you anyway.

I tap my nails against the counter to the beat of the music and resist the urge to look at my phone like an awkward teen with no one to sit with at lunch.

Finally, the bartender comes my way. “What can I get for you?”

I open my mouth to ask for a vodka martini when the bartender’s eyes focus on something behind me.

“A whiskey sour for me and a glass of your finest champagne for the lady.”

The voice is pure silk—rich, deep, and sinfully smooth. I’ve never heard anything like it.

I don’t recognize his voice because there’s no way I would’ve forgotten if I’d heard it before. The husky, rumbling tenor is one of a kind.