Chapter 13
Lennon
This was the longest week in the history of weeks. But Saturday has finally arrived, and I find myself excited for the night out.
“Who’s this little guy?” Sloane coos as she drapes an armful of dresses on the back of the sofa.
I admire the short, silky red dress she’s wearing that shows off her mile-long legs.
“You look amazing. That’s Pepper. A client’s dog I’m watching until we can find her and her kids another apartment.
” I shake my head as Pepper lets Sloane lift him and cuddle him under her chin.
“Traitor,” I snort. Then I glance at the dresses. “What’s all this?”
She eyes my outfit—a pair of skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder baggy top.
Then smirks. “You are not wearing that. I’m taking you to the new club downtown, and it has a dress code.
The sluttier the better.” She kisses Pepper on the top of his head and lowers him back on his pillow.
Then she snatches up the dresses. “Come on. Let the fashion show begin.”
Rolling my eyes, I follow her into my bedroom and proceed to squeeze and wiggle my way into each one, groaning and moaning that I’m practically naked.
Until I get to the last one. It’s a black sequined little number with spaghetti straps, made from some kind of material that stretches around my curves in a comfortable and very flattering way.
“That’s the one.” Sloane hops off the bed and makes me do a little spin in front of my full-length mirror. “Like it was made for you.” She smacks me on the ass. “Okay, go finish your face, and let’s get out of here. We’ve got men to seduce.”
“You are so bossy.” I laugh but do as she says. I apply a little more makeup than I’d usually wear, adding a bit of dewy peach blush and a heavier coat of mascara. Then I remove the hot rollers from my hair, turn my head upside down and give it a dose of hairspray.
When I walk back out of the bathroom, Sloane whistles. “You are definitely not going home alone tonight.”
I dig my black heels out of the closet and sigh. “I’m not sure that’s my goal. I’m not sure what I’m doing except trying to let go of the past and move on.”
She comes over and wraps her arms around me.
“I know, babe. You deserve to be happy. To be loved.” She pulls away and smirks at me.
“Or at least have some mind-blowing sex.” While I’m still moaning, she’s dragging me through the apartment, cackling like a maniac. “Let the night of debauchery begin.”
Twenty minutes of crawling through downtown traffic later, the Uber drops us off in front of the large two-story nightclub. The front of the building is smoky glass. The Eclipse flashes on the building. The letters are gold but slowly fade to black and back to gold again. Classy.
We get through the long line and finally step through the doors. I clutch Sloane’s hand so we don’t get separated.
The place is packed. Techno-dance music is vibrating my bones. Laser lights are crisscrossing the dance floor in beat to the music. It’s an assault on my senses that are used to quiet Saturday nights with Netflix and popcorn.
Sloane takes the lead, pulling me through the crowd to the long bar with neon pink accents. As we try to squeeze in to order drinks, I’m suddenly grateful Sloane forced me to change my outfit. Every woman here is dressed to impress, showing off their best assets.
I feel completely out of my comfort zone as I’m jostled by beautiful bodies vying for access to the bar. The noise, the lights, the press of bodies bring on a sudden bout of claustrophobia. Maybe this wasn’t a great idea.
I’m trying to slow down my heart rate and breathing when Sloane shoves a tall glass in my hand.
“Long Island iced tea,” she yells in my ear. “Bringing out the big guns to help you relax. You look like you’re about to bolt.”
She’s not wrong.
We clink glasses and I mouth “cheers” then begin to suck down the potent drink through the straw. We find a vacant two-person table in the corner, at the edge of the dance floor, and settle in to people-watch and finish our drinks.
The dance floor is a mass of bodies pressed together, like a living, undulating work of art. Especially when the lights begin to strobe, and the jerking movements look like a fever dream.
As the alcohol courses through my body, relaxing me and blunting my nervous system, I find myself moving with the music. I haven’t danced since college, and I’m suddenly wondering why as I give myself over to the music. It feels amazing. Free.
Sloane hops off the stool and leans into my ear. “Going to get us one more drink then we’re going in.” She points to the dance floor.
I nod, handing her my empty glass.
Every time my thoughts drift to Sandro, I force my attention back on the dance floor and enjoy watching people of all ages let loose, drown their worries in music and alcohol and each other.
A beautiful blonde in a white tube dress dancing between two hot-as-hell men has captured my attention. I’m jealous of how free she looks, how confident and uninhibited, grinding on the men, taking what she wants from them without a care in the world.
Sloane returns with our drinks, and we end up standing and dancing while we suck them down. Halfway through the second Long Island, I’m really feeling it. My inhibition has left the building and I’m rolling my hips, arms up in the air, laughing and dirty dancing with Sloane.
Okay, this was a great idea.
A warm palm lands on my hip and someone’s breath tickles my ear. “Hey, sexy. Want to dance?”
I turn my head and stare up at the smiling man behind me. He’s a hair’s breadth away from pressing his body into my backside.
He’s cute in a clean-cut frat-bro kind of way. Sandy-blonde hair, killer smile, nicely dressed. There’s another guy with him, same vibe, who’s chatting up Sloane. They look harmless enough.
Sloane and I share a glance that holds an unspoken agreement. Then we let them lead us through the crowd to the middle of the dance floor.
“I’m Preston,” he says in my ear as his hand presses on my lower back.
“Lennon,” I shout over the music, but I’m not sure he heard me.