- twenty nine - dana
I'm swirling my spoon in my coffee for the tenth time, watching the little whirlpools form in the cream. I'm not really thinking about the coffee, though.
My mind is busy, trying to piece together what I saw.
Drugs.
Meanwhile, Alex leans back in his chair, looking entirely too comfortable. My heart does that weird little flutter that happens when he's being all charming and cocky. I'm not even sure why he's so relaxed. Doesn't he know I'm about to break him open like an egg?
"So..." I start, my voice a little too chipper. "Have you had any crazy adventures lately?" I toss him a grin, trying to mask the fact that I'm about to dive into dangerous territory.
He chuckles, his dark eyes flashing that glimmer of mischief I can never get enough of. "You know me. No shortage of them." He winks, and I can't help but roll my eyes.
Classic Alex.
I bite my lip, trying to find the right words.
"Oh, you know... I've just been... thinking a lot," I say, focusing on the cup in my hands. "About things. Life. People. How sometimes, people, uh... don't always show who they really are, y'know?" I glance up at him, feeling the weight of my words sink into the space between us.
This is your chance Alex, open up.
Open the fuck up right now.
But that's not what happens, no. He grins.
"I'm a pretty open book to you though. You know everything about me." His voice is smooth, charming, and I'm so close to cracking him, but I can't let him see the cracks in my own armor.
I pretend to be distracted, letting my fingers tap the side of my cup. "Yeah... but sometimes the pages get a little ripped or... torn." I laugh lightly, but it's more nervous than anything else.
His eyes flash, a flicker of something—guilt, maybe?—but it disappears just as quickly. "You're losing me, Archer," he says, laughing. "What are you trying to say?"
I try to laugh it off, but my voice comes out softer. "I mean. . . like, sometimes we don't always know what's really going on with someone, right? Like, maybe they're hiding stuff. Or they, I dunno, pretend to be someone they're not. . ."
There. I said it.
I throw him a smile that's way too wide, way too cheerful.
He doesn't even blink. He knows I know.
"Well, I'm no saint, Dana. But whatever I do, it's none of your business, yeah?" His tone is teasing, but there's that edge.
None of your business.
It slices through me. Not loud, not dramatic. Just this sharp, cold thing that slides right under my ribs.
His words sting more than I want to admit, more than I expected.I try to keep my breath steady, but the words hit too hard, and my heart aches in places I didn't know were still raw. I blink rapidly, trying to will away the tears that are threatening to spill.
"What are you saying?" I ask, voice a little shaky. "None of my business? Why wouldn't what you do concern me? Am I just another one of your little. . . distractions? What am I to you, Alex?"
I can't stop the words from tumbling out, a surge of emotion I didn't even realize was building up.
Suddenly, I don't care about the stupid coffee or the whirlpools I was staring at a second ago.
I care about him, about what he's hiding, and about how much more I'm willing to let him keep from me.
His eyes widen— sudden panic flashing through them. Like he's just realized he said the exact wrong thing and can't take it back. His hand grabs mine, fast but careful, like he's scared I'll pull away.
"Wait—shit, Dana, no. That's not what I meant." He gently tilts my chin up so I can meet his eyes, and there's something raw in his gaze, no barriers just him. It's so intense, I have to look away.
"Look at me," he says, voice low, rough—and when I meet his eyes, I swear his hands are shaking too.
"You mean so much to me, if you only knew.
I'd fucking kill for you. Hell, killing is easy.
I'd live for you, baby. I'm just not good at opening up, but I swear I'm trying, and I swear I'll try harder, yeah? Just give me time."
The heat in his words sends a shiver through me, and I can't help it.
My chest tightens more, and before I know it, I feel the first tear slip down my cheek. I wipe it quickly, not wanting him to see it, but I'm already too late.
Alex's eyes widen at the sight of my tear, and his face twists into something close to panic for the second time.
"Oh, hell no. Don't you dare cry over me." His voice is desperate now, and without thinking, he pulls me into his chest, cradling my face in his hands. "C'mere," he murmurs, and before I can protest, he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of my nose.
Then he pulls back to look at me, his gaze soft, before leaning down to leave two more kisses on the bridge of my nose.
I can't stop myself from asking, my voice trembling, "Then why'd you say it's none of my business?"
Alex's expression falters as we look into each other's eyes, and he looks like he's struggling to find the right words. He sighs, his thumb brushing over my cheek. "I didn't mean it, Dana. I just got defensive, okay? I'm sorry. I never should've said that."
The apology hits me harder than I expect. I let out a small, shaky laugh, wiping the last of the tears from my face. "Well, at least you're getting good at apologizing," I joke, trying to lighten the mood, but the tremor in my voice betrays me.
Alex chuckles softly, his hand still resting against my cheek. "There's that laugh I love," he says, his voice low and tender, and before I can react, he leans in—licks the side of my face—like he's some sort of giant, smirking cat.
I freeze. My face instantly flushes beet red, and I pull back with a squeak, covering my face with my hands in embarrassment. "What the hell, Alex?!"
He's laughing, completely amused by my reaction, but his eyes are warm, filled with something that makes my stomach flip. "Had to do it. Couldn't resist."
I can't even look at him. "I'm gonna—I can't with you right now." I bury my face in my hands, feeling the heat spreading across my cheeks.
But despite my embarrassment, despite the tears and the mess of everything, part of me is still thankful for him—for this. He might not have all the answers, but maybe that's okay. Maybe we're both still figuring it out.
I glance at the cold coffee in front of me. The whirlpool's gone now. Just still cream. No storm.
. . .
It's been two weeks. Two whole weeks since the coffee shop conversation—since Alex looked me in the eye, said it was "none of my business," and then kissed my damn nose like that fixed anything.
And then? Radio silence.
No opening up like he promised.
So fine. He doesn't wanna talk? Cool. I'm done waiting. Tonight, I get my answers, all by myself.
I don't dress like myself. I dress like the kind of girl Alex wouldn't recognize unless she walked straight up to him, stared at his stupidly beautiful face and whispered his name. And honestly? That's the point.
The dress is tight—black and glittery, clinging to every curve like it's custom-made. It's low in the front, dangerously close to scandalous, and the hem barely brushes my thighs. One wrong move and this thing's a full-time job.
I throw on a cropped faux-fur jacket in this deep, wine red that makes my skin look even warmer. It slips off one shoulder like it's doing it on purpose, and yeah, I let it. My heels are strappy, tall enough to make me feel powerful, dangerous. I walk like I own pavement now.
But the real transformation?
The wig.
Platinum blonde, sleek, styled in soft waves that fall past my shoulders. It changes everything. I look like the kind of girl who bites back. The kind of girl who could ruin your life and look good doing it.
My makeup's bold—sharp eyeliner, smudged just right. Lips painted a glossy, dangerous cherry red. I've never looked like this before.
Not even for myself.
But tonight? I'm not Dana Archer, the girl who sketches in her sketchbook and plays it safe. I'm someone else. Someone who walks into a club, finds the boy with secrets, and drags them out of him—whether he likes it or not.
I stare at myself in the mirror one last time. The girl looking back doesn't blink.
"Alright," I whisper, grabbing my phone and keys. "Let's go break some hearts."
Or just one in particular.
Alexander Lancaster—I'm coming for you. What is he trying to hide from me anyway?
. . .
Two nights ago, I followed him here.
Watched him slip past the line of people wrapped around the block like royalty, greeted by a bouncer who didn't even glance at his ID. Watched the door swing open, golden light and bass spilling out into the street like it couldn't wait to swallow him whole.
Now it's my turn.
I'm back.
And this time, I'm not recognizable. I'm faux-fur and glitters. I'm secrets with a smile. I'm every bad decision Alex Lancaster's ever made, walking straight through the door in high heels.
The club is darker than I imagine it to be. The music deeper, heavier—like a heartbeat in my bones. Bodies move like smoke and sin, and for a second I wonder if he's already seen me. If he knows. My heart beats faster than before. But I keep moving.
There's a sour edge in my gut. Who is Alex, really?
Is this where he gets it? The pills, the powder, the poison I found in his bag?
But, what weirds me out is, I haven't seen him high since that one night.
Men try to stop me as I pass through the haze of perfume and sweat and liquor. One grabs my wrist with a grin that doesn't touch his lustful eyes. I smile back with my teeth. He lets go.
I keep asking for Alex.
Most people just shrug. One guy points with a nod of respect I don't understand, toward a hallway wrapped in shadows and velvet ropes.
"VIP."
Figures.
I get stopped at the entrance—of course I do—and I'm about to turn back, rethink my entire life, maybe cry in the bathroom for three minutes max, when this guy—tall, hazel eyes, dangerous smile, sleeves rolled to the elbows like he's allergic to shame—slides up beside me.
"You trying to get in?" he asks, already amused.
I pause. "Yeah. I've got business."
He quirks a brow. "Do you now?"
I lean in, voice sugar-slick. "Do you?"
He laughs. And just like that, he wraps an arm around my waist and tells the bouncer, "She's with me."
And I don't correct him. I let him lead me in. Because right now? He's my ticket.
The VIP room is everything the rest of the club isn't—silent in a dangerous way. Glass tables, glowing walls. Expensive perfume and cigarette smoke thick in the air. People who look like they don't need to dance to be seen.
And there. Right in the center.
Alexander fucking Lancaster.
Slouched in a velvet chair like a fucking king, all sharp jaw and slow blinks. One hand tapping rhythm against his thigh. The other resting casually beside a low black case I already know isn't holding cufflinks.
He's mid-conversation with a guy I recognize from somewhere—definitely not church—and then his eyes cut across the room.
To me.
Except—
I don't look like me.
Not the Dana who trips over her boots and doodles in coffee shop napkins. I'm someone else. Someone he doesn't recognize at first. His gaze skips over me like I'm just another party girl. That's my man, he only has eyes for me. Ha!
Until I sit down. Not near him. Not even close.
But straight into the lap of the stranger beside him. The same man who brought me in.
And Alex turns his head to look at me again, his piercing gaze lands straight into my eyes.
The guy smirks, clearly enjoying himself. Completely oblivious to the death glare. One of his hands find my hip, and I force myself to play along, my heart hammering like a warning bell.
And Alex?
He freezes, his eyes slowly move to the stranger's hand resting on my hip. He is dead still. Like he's just watched someone pull a pin from a grenade with their teeth.
His jaw tightens.
His hand leaves the case.
His eyes—those dark, unreadable eyes—burn holes straight through me. No more lazy posture. His entire body coils like he's about to pounce.
He knows? How?
That's the last thought that screams through my head.
Alex knows.
. . .