- twenty five - dana
. . .
The second the door shuts behind me, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
The car smells like leather and lavender-the perfume I sprayed just to feel like I still had control. It clings to me like armor, like a warning.
I don't cry. Not now. Not after what I just said. Not after the way he looked at me like he wanted me-and still walked away.
It hurt.
My phone buzzes once. Micah: On my way. Hope you're wearing something illegal.
Micah.
My ex from high school who turned out to be very, very gay. We stayed friends in the weirdest, most chaotic way. In and out of touch, always finding each other when it mattered. He owns a nightclub now, like he was born to live in neon lights and sarcasm.
And right now? He's exactly where I need to be.
I smile, but it doesn't reach my eyes.
The car pulls up to the curb. A sleek black thing with music just low enough to let me sit with my thoughts.
I slide in, legs crossed, back straight, chin up. I don't look back at the building. If I do, I'll see the ghost of him standing outside, cigarette between his fingers, that stupidly handsome face scrunched up like he's tortured.
He should be.
He let me go.
And I told him-I like you. I told him like a fool, with my heart in my throat and hope bleeding out of me.
But now?
Now I'm wearing a red dress that barely grazes my thighs and hugs every part of me he once looked at like it drove him crazy. Blood red. The kind of red that says look, but don't touch unless you're ready to bleed.
My lips are glossed, my eyes lined, my heels high-black stilettos that make me feel like I could stomp out my own heartbreak if I wanted to.
The city lights blur past the windows, the beat of the music syncing with the thump in my chest.
I'm not going to cry over a man who can't make up his mind.
I'm going to Micah. I'm going to drink something strong and pretend I'm not shattered inside. I'm going to dance if I feel like it.
I'm going to live.
And maybe, just maybe, I'll let myself forget-just for tonight.
. . .
I step out of the car, heels clicking against the sidewalk, the city's neon lights stretching out in front of me like a promise.
The club looms ahead, music vibrating through the ground. My chest tightens, not with excitement, but with something else-something gnawing at me.
The bouncer waves me through without a second thought.
Inside, the music thumps, bodies swaying to the beat. The air smells like cologne, sweat, and alcohol. For a moment, I feel out of place. Then, I finally spot Micah.
Micah's standing by the bar, broad shoulders leaning casually against the counter. His dark hair falls just short of his eyes, a little messy but still somehow perfect. Faint stubble gives his face a rugged look-like he doesn't care about being neat, but still manages to look damn good.
When his eyes lock on mine, the spark of mischief in his gaze makes me breathe a little easier.
He grins, and it's enough to make my chest tighten. He walks over, and before I can say anything, he pulls me into a tight hug. His arms wrap around me like he knows exactly what I need.
"D, you look fucking insane," he says, pulling back to look me over.
I laugh softly, the tension in my shoulders loosening. "Thanks, Micah. You're not looking too shabby yourself."
He steps back, his gaze lingering just a moment longer on my dress. Not in a judgmental way-he's just Micah. He sees me, flaws and all.
"You've been hitting the gym, huh? The shoulders are looking good," he teases with a wink.
I roll my eyes, a small laugh escaping me. "You're ridiculous."
His grin widens, but then his face softens, his expression understanding. "You okay?" he asks, his voice gentler now.
I nod quickly, pushing the sadness down. "I just want to dance and lose myself. I don't want to talk about it, Micah."
He studies me for a second, but then he shrugs. "Of course, babygirl. Let's dance."
We move to the dance floor, the beat pulsing around us. The music swallows everything else. I lose myself in the rhythm, in the moment, pretending for just a little while that everything's fine.
But then, the guy who's been eyeing me all night finally makes his move.
He slides up behind me, a little too close for comfort, his breath hot against my neck. I stiffen at first, but then he's pulling me into his chest, his hands wandering lower than I'm comfortable with.
His lips graze my ear, his voice low, "You're looking too damn good tonight. You know that, right?"
I force myself to relax, letting the heat of the moment drown out the unease I feel crawling up my spine.
He's persistent, hands moving lower on my hips as he starts swaying with me, his body pressed up against mine. There's an edge to him, the way he looks at me-like he's ready to claim me, like it's his right.
But I'm not interested.
Not in him. Not tonight. Not after everything with Alex.
And yet, I don't stop him. Part of me feels like I should. Another part of me wants to see if it'll hurt just a little less.
He's close now, his lips trailing along my jaw as his hands keep circling lower, drawing me in, pulling me toward him.
Then, without thinking, I decide to take control.
I turn to face him, closing the space between us. His hands are still on me, and I kiss him hard. A quick, demanding kiss, the kind that says you want it, I'll give it to you, but it means nothing.
He kisses back just as fiercely, but there's a distinct lack of anything real between us. His hands still wander, but my mind is elsewhere. His grip tightens, but I pull away sharply and glance across the room.
And then-he's there.
Alex. Dark eyes locked on mine from across the dance floor.
My heart stops. How the hell did he find me here? How the hell did he-?
I blink, suddenly unsure. Did he find me? Or is it just some weird coincidence? Did he just randomly stumble in?
But the thought of him being here, looking for me, sends a strange flutter through my chest. Panic and adrenaline mix with something else-something warm, that I quickly squash down. No. No, he can't be here for me.
Can he?
Micah spots me and rushes to me, his eyes follow my gaze. "Who's that guy?" he asks, his tone sharp.
I swallow hard, my voice barely a whisper. "Alex."
Micah frowns but then looks at me, eyes softening. "He came in looking for you. Should I get him out of here?"
I shake my head, my hand tightening around. "No. It's fine. He can watch."
Without thinking, I pull the guy I was dancing with closer, a smirk playing on my lips. I tilt my chin up, glancing back at Alex for just a second. "If he doesn't want me, someone else does," I murmur, my voice low and daring.
Then, before I can second-guess myself, I kiss the guy, hard and fast, my lips pressing against his. The rush of rebellion feels good, almost like a small victory.
I pull away just enough to meet Alex's gaze one last time, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction when I see the flicker of something in his eyes.
His eyes are burning into my face and I can feel the rage.
My attention is brought back when I feel the guy's hands slide lower, gripping my waist a little too tightly. His breath is hot against my ear, and his voice is smooth, almost syrupy. "You just kissed me, baby. You want more, don't you?"
My stomach churns, a cold wave of panic running through me. I pull away sharply, my voice shaking as I take a step back. "Let go. I don't want more."
Kissing is not an invitation for more.
His grip tightens, his fingers digging into my sides as he pulls me back toward him. "Don't play games, sweetheart. I know you felt it. You kissed me-you want me."
"No. Please, let go," I say, my voice more forceful now, but there's no real conviction behind it. His face is too close, too eager, and I feel trapped.
Where the hell did Micah go?
I scan the crowd, but Micah's nowhere to be found. Anxiety claws at my chest, my palms growing clammy. My breath quickens, and I turn, desperately searching the room.
My gaze finds Alex's enraged ones again, the cold fire still burning the depths of my soul, so intense it makes my stomach drop. I look at him, almost pleading to get me out of the hole I dug myself in, as I try to remove myself from the guy.
Before I can second-guess myself, Alex moves. His steps are calculated, purposeful, and there's a fire in his gaze that freezes me in place.
The guy's hand is still on my waist, but I don't feel it anymore-just the weight of Alex's stare, dark and knowing.
Within seconds, Alex is there, and the air between us shifts. His eyes lock on the guy, dark and unforgiving. Without a word, he steps in, his voice a growl that sends a chill down my spine.
"Touch her again, and I'll end you."
His hand shoots out, grabbing the guy by the collar and yanking him off me like he's a ragdoll.
The guy finally backs off, but before I can process the rush of emotions, Alex is walking away. Just like that. Without saying anything.
Why was I getting hopeful again?
I try to blink the tears away, try to swallow the lump in my throat. It's Alex.
I should've known.
I run a hand down my hair and search for the ladies' room. My body is still trembling with the aftermath of everything that just happened.
As I'm walking, out of nowhere, a hand grabs my arm, pulling me sideways into a room I didn't even notice. My breath catches in my throat as I'm slammed against the wall, a scream caught in my chest.
But when my eyes meet the familiar dark ones.
Alexander Lancaster.
He's going to be the death of me.
His hand covers my mouth, silencing any protest, his grip like a vice. His dark eyes burn into mine, the fire in them almost enough to make me forget how to breathe. He's not just angry anymore-he's. . . something more.
Something darker.
And it's so intense that it feels like my skin is being scorched from the inside out.
I try to calm my pulse, my body instinctively relaxing, but his eyes never leave mine. His gaze flickers over my face, my body, like he's searching for something in me that he can't quite find. It's unsettling in the best way.
"What do I want, huh?" he says lowly, his voice makes my stomach clench in the most delicious way.
"I fucking want you, Archer," his voice drops lower, becomes harsh.
"So bad, it's driving me crazy. Insane. Even if you're the most annoying person I've ever come across.
You make me lose my fucking mind. It makes me want to tear you apart and put you back together in ways I can't even explain.
I can't get you out of my head. You-you've got me twisted up inside, and I fucking hate it, but I can't stop. "
"I don't want to stop," he adds after a pause.
His words hit me like a punch to the gut.
And before I can even process them, his hand slips from my mouth, his fingers brushing across my lips. The raw need in his eyes sends a shiver through me, and I'm left speechless, my heart hammering.
He steps back just slightly, his gaze dropping to my lips, burning. "So fucking desperate," he says, his voice dripping with frustration and something else-something that pulls at the edges of my sanity. "You go around kissing random men now, huh?"
I blink, the words spinning in my head, but I can't seem to find the right response.
He's mad, he's jealous, I can feel it in the air, but there's something else-a wild energy that draws me to him, that makes everything inside me coil in response.
He walks to the sofa and sits down, spreading his legs. Like a king on a fucking throne.
"Come here," he rasps out, his eyes still blazing.
I don't even hesitate.
Maybe it's the way he said it, maybe it's the raw intensity he exudes-maybe it's the fact that the man before me is Alex, and I can't seem to resist him.
He pulls me down to his lap and stares into my eyes, one hand gripping the side of my face and the other stays on my waist.
His voice is a low growl against my lips, his hands sliding up to cup my face. "Show me what you've fucking got, Archer."
I don't know what it is about his words, but everything inside me snaps. The desire. The need. The anger, the longing. I don't even question it as I climb into his lap, straddling him, my body instinctively pressing closer to his. The heat between us is undeniable, and everything else fades away.
His hands are cold against my skin as they slide under my dress, pulling me closer as his lips move to my neck, his breath hot against my skin.
I moan, the sound escaping me before I can stop it, and that only seems to fuel him more. His teeth graze my skin, sharp and possessive, and I can feel him. All of him.
And then it hits me-this is it.
This is what I wanted all along, even if I didn't admit it to myself.
Maybe it's wrong. Maybe it's exactly what I need right now. But whatever it is, I can't fight it. Not anymore.
I kiss him back with everything I've got, giving in to the heat, the fire, the chaos between us. And in that moment, nothing else matters but the two of us.
The world outside fades into a blur of neon lights and pounding music as his lips crush against mine, desperate and hungry. My hands are tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, as if I can't get enough of him.
He groans into the kiss, his grip tightening around my waist, pulling me flush against him. Every inch of my body screams for him, for this, for the connection that's been building between us for so long, and I give in.
His hands move with intent, fingers sliding under the fabric of my dress, sending electric jolts through my skin.
The sharp contrast of the cold air against my heated skin only amplifies the fire inside me. He's relentless, pushing me further, his breath ragged as he moves to kiss my neck, nipping at the soft skin there, making me gasp in pleasure.
I can feel the anger, the frustration, the obsession in him.
The same emotions swirl inside me, but I can't separate what's real anymore-what's him, and what's the heat of the moment. His words, still echoing in my mind, make my chest tighten. I want you. I fucking want you, Archer.
And damn it, I want him too.
There's no rationalizing it anymore, no fighting the pull between us.
I can't even pretend I don't feel this, the way his hands burn into me, the way his eyes sear into my soul as he pulls back just enough to meet my gaze.
He pulls me closer, so close I can feel every breath he takes, every muscle in his body reacting to the tension between us. His lips are right there, brushing against mine, as if he's waiting for me to make the next move, waiting for me to prove that I want this as badly as he does.
But then his hand slides to my chin, lifting my face to meet his gaze.
His eyes are wild, darker than I've ever seen them, like a storm about to break. And his voice is low and hoarse, the sound vibrating through my chest.
"I'm never letting you go."
. . .