Chapter 3
"Aria, come on, we are going out!" Lacy's voice sang through the apartment like a siren call I couldn't resist, pulling me from my laptop where I'd been obsessively rereading the tour rehearsal schedule.
"I'm almost ready!" I yelled back, attempting to salvage my eyeliner after the third catastrophic smudge.
My reflection stared back with the kind of manic energy that came from equal parts excitement and terror; tonight was supposed to be a celebration of my Olympus signing, a proper send-off before three months of constant rehearsals before the tour started.
We were going full glamour for Radia, the invite-only club that existed in some parallel dimension where celebrities could pretend they were having authentic fun while photographers documented their every staged moment of spontaneity before they entered the golden doors.
My name being automatically on the list still felt surreal.
And the promise of free drinks? Ideal, considering I was about to spend the summer stone-cold sober and professionally responsible.
The Lyft deposited us at the VIP entrance in record time, the crowd outside buzzing with that particular brand of Los Angeles energy that felt equal parts electric and desperate.
Paparazzi lurked like well-dressed vultures, their cameras creating a strobe effect that turned the sidewalk into an impromptu red carpet.
Lacy and I held hands as we stepped out of the car, a united front against the chaos.
The camera flashes hit us immediately, bright enough to temporarily blind, though they dimmed noticeably when the photographers realized they didn't recognize us.
Thank God for my current low level of fame.
"Nice to see you, Ms. Aria Weber, Ms. Lacy Andrews," the bouncer said, his deep voice cutting through the noise with practiced warmth.
My name zinged up my spine, sparking me to life.
There was something thrilling about hearing my name spoken like I belonged in this world, like I wasn't just some indie rock girl playing pretend.
The short hallway between the entrance and main floor offered a brief respite from the sensory assault: coat check, car service, and most importantly, phone check.
The cell phone surrender was optional, but I knew the penalties for recording anything here were severe enough to bankrupt small countries.
Besides, the last thing I needed was my phone buzzing with more business texts from Mickey while I was trying to forget he existed.
My nerves buzzed with anticipation as we finally stepped onto the main floor, the pounding bass hitting like a physical force.
Bodies swayed and pressed together in the manufactured darkness, everyone beautiful and sweaty and performing their version of having the time of their lives.
The lights were so low I could barely make out the edges of the massive space, but the famous faces glowing in the intermittent strobes were unmistakable.
I flashed wide eyes at Lacy, spotting the telltale remnants of white powder under the surgically perfect nostrils of a woman gliding past us.
We were definitely the most sober people in a five-mile radius.
"Shots first," Lacy announced with military precision, already signaling the bartender.
"Then we assess the situation and figure out where to stake our claim.
" The tequila burned exactly the way it was supposed to, washing away the afternoon's anxiety and replacing it with liquid courage.
Around us, the club pulsed with expensive perfume, designer drugs, and the kind of frantic energy that came from people trying very hard to look like they weren't trying at all.
A few songs and several shots later, Lacy was dragging me toward the center of the dance floor, her eyes locked on some impossibly tall basketball player she'd spotted near the DJ booth.
How she knew any sports stars was beyond me; we were fashion and art girls through and through, but I followed anyway, loving her infectious enthusiasm.
We started dancing near the towering athlete, our shiny dresses catching the strobing lights as the opening beats of "Primadonna" filled the space.
Lacy and I immediately launched into our routine, belting Marina's lyrics back and forth at full volume, our voices harmonizing in the way that only came from years of friendship and professional training.
That's when I felt a hand on my shoulder, turning to find Wen Harper's familiar face materializing through the crowd like a friendly ghost from my musical past. He was gorgeous in that effortlessly handsome way that folk singers seemed to manage without trying, all sharp cheekbones and soulful eyes, the kind of guy who wrote songs about things that actually mattered.
"Aria fucking Weber!" he shouted over the music, pulling me into a warm embrace.
His eyes immediately found Lacy over my shoulder, and I watched something electric spark between them which had nothing to do with the club's lighting effects.
"And you must be the legendary Lacy," he said, his hand landing on her shoulder with the kind of confidence that suggested he was used to making excellent first impressions.
They shook hands in what could only be described as aggressively flirtatious, their fingers lingering just long enough to make my eyebrows shoot up.
"Nice to meet you," Lacy replied. The way she looked at him made me feel like I was intruding on the opening scene of their personal romantic comedy.
"Come join us over there," Wen said, pointing toward an elevated table in the corner that was packed with dark shadows of tall, attractive, unknown people.
"Better view, stronger drinks, and significantly fewer trust fund babies pretending to understand art.
" Wen winked at me. "Absolutely," Lacy answered for both of us, already lacing her fingers through Wen's while reaching back to grab my hand.
We formed a human chain as he led us through the crowd, bodies pressing against us from every direction.
The elevated platform gave us a perfect view of the chaos below, and I found myself squeezed between Lacy and a stranger whose presence left goosebumps going up my arms, a warmth clouding my mind.
"Thomas," the handsome stranger said, his Australian accent striking.
His eyes were warm and intelligent, studying my face with the kind of attention that made my heart skip in ways I wasn't entirely prepared for.
"Aria," I replied, accepting his offered hand and trying not to notice how it completely engulfed mine.
"How do you know Wen?" I asked, our hands still connected just like I had witnessed with Lacy and Wen moments ago.
Before he could answer, someone behind me lost their balance completely, sending me careening forward into Thomas's chest. His arm came around my waist automatically, steady and sure, while his free hand moved protectively toward whoever had caused the disruption.
"Watch it," he said, his voice carrying just enough low warning to make his point without starting an actual fight.
The drunk influencer behind me shrugged with the kind of entitled indifference that probably cost his parents a fortune in legal fees and disappeared back into the crowd.
"You okay, Aria?" Thomas asked softly, his mouth close enough to my ear that I could feel his breath against my skin.
His arm was still wrapped around my waist, solid and warm, and I found myself in absolutely no hurry to step away.
The music shifted to "Murder on the Dancefloor," and Lacy's piercing scream of delight cut through the bass like a knife through butter.
I knew exactly what was coming. "I'm perfect," I told Thomas, smiling up at him in a way that probably revealed far too much about my current state of mind.
"But I need to go dance to this song with Lacy, it's her absolute favorite.
" "Lead the way," he said, his confidence making my grin widen involuntarily.
Lacy was already at my side, Wen not far behind her, as the four of us abandoned the larger group for the dance floor.
The tequila felt warm and loose in my veins, matching the heat radiating off Thomas as we found our spot.
There was something about him that spoke to me on a frequency I hadn't experienced in months: a gentleness beneath his harsh features, a warmth that made me want to trust him despite knowing absolutely nothing about him.
Lacy and I launched into full performance mode, showing off our musical backgrounds as we sang every word with theatrical precision.
The boys watched us with growing grins, laughing at our complete lack of shame as we turned the song into our personal concert.
"If you think you're getting away, I will prove you wrong," we belted at full volume, pointing dramatically at our respective partners.
"I'll take you all the way, stay another song!
" That's when Wen finally snapped, pulling Lacy in for a kiss that was equal parts passionate and playful, her arms immediately wrapping around his neck to deepen it.
They broke apart seconds later with matching shit-eating grins, never missing a beat in the song.
"Don't think you'll get away, I'll prove you wrong," we continued, Thomas and my eyes locking as the lyrics took on a completely different meaning.
"I'll take you all the way, boy just come along.
" The tension building between us was interrupted by the opening beats of a Nicki Minaj song, immediately reclaiming Lacy's attention and mine.
The eternal balancing act between hot guys on a girls' night, though honestly, both seemed to be going pretty perfectly.
The packed dance floor gave me the perfect excuse to let my hips brush against Thomas's, or more accurately, his upper thighs, since the man was ridiculously tall.
His hand found my waist immediately, accepting the invitation and pulling me closer until my back was pressed against his chest. I could feel him getting hard against me, which sent a thrill of satisfaction through my tequila-warmed bloodstream.
I started moving my hips against him in time with the music, grinding with the kind of skill that came from years of fun practice and natural talent.
His fingers tightened against my sides, burning through the thin fabric of my dress, his shoulders solid and reassuring behind me.
I hadn't planned on hooking up with anyone tonight, but my mood was too good and the chemistry too obvious to ignore.
Besides, Lacy seemed completely occupied with Wen; their lips hadn't separated in approximately ten minutes.
On that thought, I spun around to face Thomas, pulling his head down to meet mine.
He dove in immediately, his lips testing and enthusiastic as they learned the rhythm of mine.
We found our groove quickly, his tongue exploring my mouth while one hand palmed my ass and the other tangled in my hair.
Every sense was hijacked by him; the taste of his lips, the pressure of his hands, the way he made the rest of the club fade into irrelevant background noise.
I lost track of time completely until Lacy and Wen were pulling us back toward the booth for another round.
Tom and I giggled like teenagers, fingers intertwined, my body still buzzing from the contact.
The booth was significantly darker and more secluded than the dance floor, which the absolutely shameless part of my brain noted with approval.
I was no stranger to attractive men or spontaneous decisions; college had provided an excellent education in both, particularly the football players who'd proven surprisingly skilled in areas both on and off the field.
My pace had slowed considerably since graduation, mostly because I'd discovered how much better sex got after the awkward first-time fumbling was out of the way.
But it had been months since my last proper hookup, and I was staring down a summer of enforced celibacy filled with rehearsals, workouts, and maintaining my squeaky-clean professional image.
Tonight felt like the perfect opportunity to indulge before the self-imposed drought began.
To my surprise, Wen and Lacy were actually talking when we returned to the booth, a real conversation, not just the aggressive making out I'd expected.
She was laughing her genuine, unguarded laugh, the one that meant she was actually connecting with someone instead of just being polite.
Thomas's hand never left some part of my body as we did another round of shots.
The weight of his touch was a warm, reassuring presence on my lower back that made me feel claimed in the best possible way.
The rest of Wen's group had migrated to the dance floor, leaving just the four of us in our elevated corner.
I wasn't surprised when Lacy and Wen stood up, clearly ready to continue their evening somewhere more private.
"I'll see you in the morning, yeah?" Lacy said, leaning down to give me a quick hug.
"You good?" I asked quietly, nodding toward Wen.
"One hundred percent. What about you?" she replied, glancing meaningfully at Tom.
"Totally good. Barely tipsy, definitely going home with him.
" "Yes!" she squealed quietly. "Text or call if you need me.
My phone's always on." "Same. Love you." "Love you too," she grinned, taking Wen's hand as they headed toward the exit.
"Guess it's just us," I said, turning back to Tom with a smile that probably revealed exactly what I was thinking.
"Want to dance more?" he offered, though his hand was already moving to cup my face.
"Or we could go back to my place?" I giggled and leaned into his chest, letting my fingers trace patterns on his arm.
He tipped my head up to meet his gaze, our eyes locking for a moment before our lips crashed together again.
This time he was less reserved, tasting me fully, his tongue flicking against mine in a way that made me squirm closer.
"Let's get out of here," I whispered against his mouth, my grin probably visible from space.