Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
ROSEMARIE
Elodie’s duffle bag hit my bedroom floor with a thud that echoed through my apartment.
“I brought options,” she said, popping the zipper with a dramatic flair that matched her bold eyeliner. “Mini skirts to micro skirts. Pick your poison.”
I laughed, curling deeper into the pillows on my bed as I sipped from a stemless glass of pinot noir, the taste dry and sweet on my tongue. “Is there even a difference?”
She held up a black leather scrap of fabric that looked more like a napkin than clothing. “One is technically legal. The other might get us banned from most establishments.”
“Oh, good,” I muttered, my lips brushing the rim of the glass as I took another slow drink. The alcohol warmed my throat. “So we’re going to jail tonight.”
“Only if we’re lucky.” She winked, then dove into the bag again, muttering something about sequins and fishnets as she yanked out another outfit with a flourish.
The bedroom quickly turned into a disaster zone, heaps of fabric taking over the bed.
I settled on the floor in front of my mirror, curling my hair in slow, lazy waves using my flat iron.
Each section glided softly between the hot plates of the straightener, the scent of heat and hairspray mixing with Elodie’s perfume.
She was a one-woman hurricane, flinging clothes and commentary like confetti. I let her chaos wash over me, oddly comforted by her presence.
“What’s the name of this place again?” I asked, tugging a curl free and watching it fall into place around my shoulder.
“Axis. It’s a new place in the next town over. Rian heard about it from someone at her firm.”
The name of her girlfriend pulled something tight in my chest, an invisible thread coiling beneath my ribs.
“Speaking of. How’s that going?”
Elodie paused mid-rummage, a sleek dark green dress in one hand. It shimmered even in the dim bedroom light. “Not great.”
I looked up at her through the mirror. Her reflection showed the exhaustion behind her sharp cheekbones, the way her shoulders sagged even as she tried to keep her tone light. “Talk to me.”
She sighed, a long sound that felt like it carried months of frustration.
She tossed the dress onto the bed and flopped down beside it with a groan.
“It’s always the same. Rian says she can’t move here because of work, but every time I offer to move there, it’s not the right time.
She’s too busy, too stressed, too whatever. ”
“She still says she’d be too busy, even if you lived there?” I asked gently, setting the iron aside and turning fully toward her.
Elodie nodded, her eyes fixed on the ceiling like it held all the answers she didn’t want to hear. “She says I deserve more than she can give right now, but then gets upset when I talk about dating other people. It’s been five years, Rosie. Five.”
“I know,” I said quietly, my voice catching in the stillness between us.
The silence that followed felt heavy. Her mouth twisted into a half-smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I thought long distance would be temporary after college. I thought it would turn into something more.”
My heart hurt for my best friend. I’d seen her hold on for so long, waiting, compromising, excusing. “Have you told her how you’re feeling?”
She waved a hand in the air, brushing off the question like it was smoke. “We’ve had the same conversation a hundred times. I’m starting to feel like a placeholder. Someone she keeps just in case.”
“You’re not a placeholder, El.”
Her lips pressed together, the watery shine in her eyes barely contained. “Maybe not. But I’m tired of begging someone to want to be in the same room as me.”
I crossed the room and sat beside her on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath our weight. I rested my hand over hers. “You’re more than worth the effort.”
She gave me a small, grateful smile, then sniffed and grabbed the green satin dress again. “Alright. Enough emotions. Look at this dress. You’re going to look unstoppable in this.”
I quickly changed, the fabric shimmering as I pulled it up my body—deep green, satin, and cut low enough to make even me blink. It hugged my curves like I’d been poured into the dress. It gave me confidence and screamed in control.
“Oh my God,” she said. “If you were into women, I’d climb you like a tree.”
I laughed, tossing my hair over one shoulder while watching her opt for the tiny black leather skirt she’d held up earlier. She added a halter top that tied in the back with two tiny strips of fabric.
“Gavin would drop dead if he saw me in this,” I said while turning back to the mirror.
“You’re not wrong.”
She turned toward the mirror, squinting at my reflection, studying every angle. “You can see your underwear lines, though. You’ll have to go commando.”
I groaned. “What is with people wanting me to not wear underwear lately?”
She burst into laughter. “Girl, I don’t know who’s trying to corrupt you, but they’ve got good taste.”
Thirty minutes later, we were crammed into an Uber, city lights streaking across the windows as Elodie applied perfume from a tiny rollerball onto her collarbones.
The scent—something floral and bold—blended with the faint vanilla of my body spray.
She crossed her legs, showing off miles of skin, while I sat beside her trying not to have a nervous breakdown over the fact that I was also, technically, wearing a dress too short to be safe.
When we stepped into Axis, the air changed. It was immediately clear that this wasn’t just a bar. It was giving full-on club.
The lighting was moody and every surface gleamed—mirrored panels behind the bar, gold railings framing the dance floor, glass light fixtures hanging like upside-down chandeliers.
The music pulsed with a bass so deep it thrummed through my chest, vibrating beneath my skin.
The crowd moved like a living thing—bodies pressed close, laughter and shouts blending into the beat of the music.
A heat built at the base of my spine, from both nerves and the electricity in the room.
“This is … a lot,” I said, raising my voice to be heard.
Elodie just grinned like a shark and grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the bar.
The bartender was a tall woman with short blonde hair, her tattoo sleeve a story of roses and daggers.
She poured shots with the smooth confidence of someone who ruled her domain with a wink and a grin.
She was laughing with two guys across the bar when Elodie leaned in, flashing that slow, sultry smile that could bring anyone to their knees.
The bartender clocked her in less than two seconds.
“What’s your drink of choice?” she asked, voice velvet-wrapped steel, eyes sparkling.
Elodie propped her chin on her hand, eyes hooded and playful. “Whatever you’re best at making.”
“Oh, honey,” the bartender purred, leaning in. “That’s a dangerous offer.”
Elodie just smirked. “I like danger.”
I rolled my eyes with a grin and turned away, leaning my elbows on the cool marble of the bar, trying to look casual while scanning the crowd.
The dance floor was packed, the rhythm pulling bodies into each other, hips swaying, heads thrown back in laughter.
Everything smelled like sweat and cologne and cocktails.
Elodie bumped my arm, pulling my focus back. I turned as she handed me a glass. “To making bad decisions,” she said.
I took a cautious sip, the drink strong and tart, fizzing faintly on my tongue. “I’m already not wearing underwear, and you’re eye-humping the bartender. How much worse can it get?”
She grinned and raised her glass like a toast. “Challenge accepted.”
I was mid-sip when a man slid onto the stool beside me.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked, voice slick and practiced.
I turned, giving him a polite-enough smile. “I’m actually here with someone.”
He didn’t flinch. “They wouldn’t mind if I borrowed you for a bit, would they?”
My smile thinned. “They might.”
“You’re too pretty to be left alone,” he said, leaning closer. His breath was sharp with whiskey.
I straightened, tension spiking in my veins. “Not alone.”
“You sure?” His hand drifted toward my hip, fingers twitching like he was about to reach for me.
And then—an arm slammed down on the bar in front of me, sharp and sudden. A wall of muscle, tanned and solid, cut clean between us like a line drawn in the sand.
I didn’t even have to look.
I knew those forearms. Knew every detail. The calloused strength. The veins that stood out when he clenched his fists. The heat that rolled off him in waves.
Gavin.
My breath caught, heart stumbling into my throat.
He didn’t say a word. Just stood there, tall and immovable, his presence a silent warning. That protective energy wrapped around me like armor, crackling with quiet fury.
The man beside me glanced up, saw something written across Gavin’s face, and paled. He hesitated for a beat—then backed off without another word, swallowed by the crowd.
Gavin turned toward me slowly, every nerve on fire, my pulse loud in my ears.
“What are you—”
He looked down at me, his jaw tight. “You okay?”
“I—yeah. I’m fine.” I blinked, struggling to remember how to breathe. “What are you doing here?”
His mouth twitched. “I could ask you the same thing.”
But his eyes never left mine.
And that protective fury still hadn’t faded.