Chapter 9 #3
“Well, darling, you said it first!” Julian laughs as he ushers her, and the rest of us, toward the stairs.
Above us, the VIP mezzanine hovers like a private gallery overlooking the chaos of the dance floor.
A velvet rope guards the climb, flanked by two stone-faced gatekeepers with earpieces.
Julian sweeps us forward with the confidence of someone who belongs in every room he entered, greeting the guards like he’d known them for years.
“Booth seven,” he says with an impossibly charming grin. “Let’s make it a good one tonight, yes?”
“Of course, Mr. Eze. Please follow me.”
Moments later, we’re sliding into a booth haloed in soft amber light, the leather cool against my skin.
In the booths around us, other guests lean in close with conspiratorial whispers and glittering glasses, but it’s too dim to make out where they fall amid the rich and famous.
A server in a black cocktail dress with a slicked-back ponytail approaches, a tray of glasses balanced on one hand and a chilled bottle of Dom Pérignon already uncorked in the other.
“Champagne for the table,” she announces, placing it down delicately. “Would you like the wine list or any other spirits to accompany it?”
“I would love to see the wine list,” Riley answers, all smiles.
Then Gregg glances at me, one eyebrow raised. “Would you like anything? Drink of choice?”
“Oh, I do love a good gin and tonic.”
“Ah, a true Brit at heart,” he cries, his eyes dancing with amusement. He turns back to the server. “We’ll take a bottle of Cambridge Three Seasons and some tonic, please.”
“Oh, no, not a bottle—” I protest, raising my hands in an attempt to put on the brakes. Gregg just pats my knee with a playful smirk.
The server nods. “Of course, sir. And for you?” she asks Marc with a polite gesture.
“I’m good with the champagne, thank you,” he answered flatly.
“You sure, mate?” Julian leans in, voice light but carrying a weight beneath it. “Let me get you a drink to make up for earlier.”
“All water under the bridge,” Marc says, but the insincerity sits thick in the air.
“Really! I insist!” Julian presses theatrically. “What’s your drink? Bourbon? Scotch?”
Marc hesitates, eyes narrowing as he considers the game. Finally, with a sigh, he relents. “Alright. Bourbon.”
“Excellent.” Julian claps his hands together delightedly. He looks up at the server. “Blanton’s Black, neat.”
Gregg lifts the champagne bottle and pours with an easy flair, handing me a glass. I savor the cold stem between my fingers as I look over the rail. Below us, the dance floor swirls with bodies, light, and color, like a living kaleidoscope.
“To new friends!” Gregg toasts, raising his glass.
“And a memorable night!” Riley adds, shooting Julian a look as she crosses one leg over the other with deliberate slowness.
I take it all in, the sparkle of the room, the chill of the champagne, the hum of conversation around us, and the not-so-subtle press of Gregg’s leg against mine.
I don’t know if it’s the atmosphere, the champagne, or just the way Gregg looks in the violet shadows, but something shifts like a turning point.
Time had begun to soften at the edges, slipping into something warm and elastic under the glow of the ever-shifting lights.
The music throbs with heavier bass now, vibrating up through the soles of my feet and pressing into my chest. Below us, the crowd has doubled, maybe tripled, folding into a sea of bodies that move like silk beneath the strobing lights.
At some point, the champagne vanished from our table, cleared away without me even clocking it.
The gin lingers instead, half-finished, limes scattered around it like lazy confetti.
I’ve been pouring a little too freely, and so have Riley and Julian, who are already deep into their third bottle of sauvignon blanc.
Everything has a gleeful blur. Our faces are flushed with laughter, and our stories tangled with inside jokes that hadn’t existed a few hours ago.
Our table feels like its own floating universe of mischief and charm, spinning with tipsy delight.
My limbs felt light, a little off-kilter, and I notice Marc is gone.
“Where’d Marc disappear to?” I call out directly over the music, scanning the crowd but not really expecting an answer.
Riley, mid-laugh with Julian, barely turns her head. “Bathroom, I think. Or off to wherever brooding exes go when the spotlight’s not on them.”
“He’s not my ex,” I yell back, rolling my eyes as I splash another too-generous pour of gin into my almost-empty glass.
“You’re right,” Riley calls, offering me a sly grin. “That would imply there was something worth ending.”
“Whatever.” I scoff, feeling equal parts amused and annoyed.
“He does have a dramatic flair.” Julian scowls, swirling his pale gold wine before taking a large swig.
“I agree,” Gregg says, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity. “What’s your story with him, anyway? If I may ask?”
I shrug, dragging my fingers down my face as I slum back against the cold leather. “There isn’t much to tell.”
“Bullshit!” Riley cackles, laughing so hard her wine sloshes dangerously close to the rim.
“There isn’t!” I insist. “Long story short, we had an on-and-off fling for about a year and a half. He wanted more than I did, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, and he never took the hint. Then I met my late fiancé and…”
Riley’s laughter vanishes instantly. The mention of Drew always changes the air, hanging there with a fragile, unspoken weight. Gregg places a hand down gently on my knee and gives it a soft, grounding squeeze.
“…and, well… life went on,” I finish quickly and quietly, staring down into my drink like it might offer some kind of answer. The music pulses around us, its beat filling the silence. Julian let out a low whistle.
“Well, Marc stares like he’s casting a spell and talks like he’s auditioning for something,” he muses, raising his glass with a smirk.
Riley laughs into her wine, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and I can’t help but smile again.
“You’re not wrong,” she agrees, taking another sip. “He really does.”
“It just gets exhausting, you know?” I sigh. “When he won’t take the hint. And we have to work together, and I don’t want the rest of this trip to be awkward.”
“Let him be the one to feel awkward,” Julian says, his gaze understanding as he tips his glass toward me. “You’ve got nothing to hide.”
Gregg, who’d been quietly observing, leans in slightly. His voice is smooth, but there is something firmer beneath the charm. “For what it’s worth, you don’t need him to keep this night interesting. Besides, I wouldn’t have invited him if he hadn’t been standing over your shoulder on the plane.”
“Is that so?” I lean toward him, a slow smile tugs at my lips as I lift my glass.
“That’s so,” Gregg assures, punctuating it with a wink sharp enough to cut through the neon haze.
I recognize the shift in Gregg’s expression. His smile stays, and something tight in my chest relaxes. He’s looking at me like he knows what he wants. I toss back what's left of my drink, the weight I’ve been carrying feeling light and cast aside. I let out a slow breath, and my own grin deepens.
“Alright, alright,” I announce, raising my voice over the booming bass. “I think we’ve sat long enough! I say we go down and dance before we lose the buzz or grow roots.”
“Ugh, finally!” Riley lights up. “I’m glad you said it!”
Julian and Gregg stand at the same time, both knocking back the last of their drinks. Julian extends a hand to Riley. “Shall we, love?”
“I think we shall,” she sings back, bold and bright. She reaches her hand over her shoulder and leads him to the stairs.
Gregg leans in close, his breath brushing my ear. His voice is low, meant for me alone, and a shiver moves down my spine. “Are you sure you’re ready to be the center of someone’s attention again?”
“It may be the drinks or the vibe,” I say, laying a hand on his bicep, “but I think I wanna try and live in the moment.”
I step past him, and let my hand skim his chest, just enough to feel the warmth beneath the fabric, and he follows me close as we make our way down the stairs.
Lights pulse like heartbeats, and the music swirls around us in waves. The dance floor is a sea of silhouettes, bodies swaying and weaving, all of them lost in the tempo. As the four of us descend into the crowd, I turn back toward Gregg.
“Try to keep up,” I tease drunkenly, warmth threading through my voice. The alcohol lets me think and speak freely, because I definitely am not a good dancer.
I feel a hand brush lightly against the small of my back as we slip through the moving tide of dancers. “Lead the way.”
Behind us, Riley and Julian exchange looks, hers mischievous and his intrigued, before following without hesitation.
The beat is relentless, deep, alive. It moves through me like an electric current.
Flashes of violet and crimson cut across the crowd, illuminating skin, sweat, and fleeting expressions.
I let it all take me, my limbs loose as I give myself over to the rhythm.
I’m not much of a club guy anymore, but something about the heat of the crowd, the swirl of bodies, and this perfect drunken edge makes me feel bold and uninhibited.
I spin with the shifting bass drop, raising my arms above my head, and when I turn back, Gregg is right there, closer than I realized.
He doesn’t move much, just a slow and grounded sway, his arms raised to his chest like he was responding to the vibration rather than the tempo. But his eyes… those beguiling, emerald eyes don’t leave me. They follow every movement I make with an intensity that makes me hold my breath.
I laugh under my breath and step in, stretching up to him, my lips almost brushing against his ear. “You don’t really dance, do you?”
“Not usually,” he smirks, “but you’re making it look worth trying.”
The music shifts smoothly into dreamlike seduction. “Visions of You” by HAYLA thrums through the room, a beat that pulses slow and low, sinking straight into my bones.
“Hold you in my mind, I’m frozen in time… I fall into visions of you…”
The lyrics curl around me like smoke, familiar and aching.
And then Gregg steps in, close enough that our chests nearly brush.
My breath hitches. We weren’t touching, not really, just skimming the edge of it.
Our hips line up with each slow sway, the suggestion of closeness is somehow more devastating than the real thing.
Then Gregg’s hand comes down, firm and steady, onto my hip.
He grips me, his thumb just above my pelvis, and guides us together through the movement.
The contact sends a ripple through me that was grounding and igniting all at once, and the air between us grows dense.
Heat from the crowd, the alcohol, the lights, all of it clings to my skin, making my shirt stick to me, the neckline slipping to one side.
Gregg’s other hand hovers near my waist, not touching yet, but there as a promise.
Then, something changes. In the strobe, in the rhythm, in the haze, I blink hard. And suddenly it isn’t Gregg in front of me.
For one unbearable, breath-stealing moment, it’s Drew.
But not as he looked in the nightmare I carry, but here. He’s alive, moving with me to the music. He was lit in soft purple and blue, sweat at his temple, smiling in a way I hadn’t seen in over a year.
“I fall into visions of, visions of you…”
The words gut me, snagging my breath in my throat. My feet keep moving, but my heart… it stops for a beat. Then Gregg’s other hand finds my waist. Gently and steadily, he creeps it around to my back.
And Drew was gone.
Not vanished. Not erased. Released.
Gregg’s touch is real. His eyes are steady. The heat between us suddenly undeniable. I don’t speak, I can’t. But something in me whispers a word that feels like permission.
The music remixes again.
“Hold me in your heart tonight… In the magic of the dark moonlight.”
The remix of “Abracadabra” is electric and molten, sparking something inside me to life.
I lift my gaze to Gregg’s, my eyes heavy with everything I’d just let go.
And I move, stepping in fully now, closing the last of the space between us.
My hand finds his chest, palm pressed flat to the fabric and his heartbeat.
My other hand loops behind his neck. The lights strobe, and in every flash, his face is the only thing I see.
Not a ghost. Not a memory. Something real. Something now.
“Death or love tonight…”
Gregg’s hand slides along my lower back, guiding me even closer. Our hips are aligned and our breath mingles in the charged heat between us.
We don’t kiss. But the space where a kiss would go?
It burns.