That was ten minutes ago.
Elbowing my way through the crowd, I migrate to toward the RESTROOM signs and see a long line near the woman’s room, unsurprised that the men’s line is nothing in comparison.
Looking around, I wipe my clammy hands against my hips. Moffie told me we could brainstorm other ideas, and I almost took her up on that offer until my rent check bounced, and Claudio told me he could only give me two weeks to pay him. With a late fee, of course.
And since I’m almost out of my medication, the time for brainstorming is over.
Desperation has sunk its claws into me, leading me here to meet the man who insisted he wouldn’t let me out of his sight.
Someone bumps into me, knocking me into a group of girls who all scowl as their drinks slosh over the sides of their cups. I apologize despite them all turning away from me before I can even finish what I’m saying, not that they probably could hear me anyway over the techno music blaring.
A headache forms in the back of my skull and I can’t decide if it’s stress, the music, side effects from my medicine, or all of the above. I fumble my way toward a clearing by the men’s room when Zayne suddenly appears through the swinging door.
As soon as he sees me, he straightens and glances at his phone. “Shit. Was I gone that long?” I don’t comment, letting him drop an arm over my shoulders and yank me into his side a little too forcefully. “I think we’ll be more comfortable upstairs. My buddies are there. You’ll like them.”
He doesn’t give me an option before guiding us in the direction of the spiral staircase that’s guarded by two huge guys who have muscles on their arms larger than my head. They instantly let Zayne pass, not sparing me a second glance. I wonder how often this happens.
It doesn’t matter, I remind myself.
And it doesn’t.
It’s hardly jealousy that spreads through my veins as we make it to the landing that leads to a huge open space that has booths along the edges and waitresses serving the well-off people in even tighter and shorter outfits than the one I’m wearing.
“Welcome to the perks,” he says in my ear, his lips trailing a little too long until I shiver in discomfort.
I pull back, offering him a timid smile. “I can honestly say I’ve never seen anything like it.”
He tips his chin toward the right, flicking his nose a few times and walking us toward the big booth in the corner. “Stick with me and you’ll see more than this. You haven’t been to my place yet, but I know you’ll love it.”
His voice is off and his grip on my side is a little too tight as we stop at the edge of the table where a few different guys sit with women on their laps. There’s only one who isn’t indulging in the same attention.
I know those eyes. That face. And I’m surprised they’re on me.
“Rylee, this is the band.” He names each member with a point of his finger, skipping the women who are too busy paying a little too much attention to the various men. When he stops on the man sitting alone, he laughs. “Scare off the blonde already?”
“She annoyed me,” Garrick Matthews states with a shrug. His eyes only last on Zayne for a moment before trailing to me again. Locking. Studying.
I have no clue what he sees. Looking away, I shift my gaze to the man who invited me along. He’s scratching his nose and watching something over the railing that looks out over the dancefloor. “Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, yeah.”
I’m not convinced but take a seat at the end of the booth when he gestures toward the open spot next to the lead singer of his band. Zayne slides in beside me, sandwiching me in between them. I keep my hands on my lap, interwoven together with a stiff spine because I don’t want to touch either, especially not the Australian whose eyes are burning into the side of my head.
I’m about to say something when one of the guys across the table says, “Who’s the new chick? She with you, Gray?”
“Yeah,” the man next to me states. “So back off, huh?”
I blush, keeping my eyes trained on the table and keeping to myself.
A drink is pushed in front of me that I definitely didn’t order and when I glance over at Zayne, he smiles. “It’s safe, don’t worry.”
I told him earlier I don’t drink, but I feel bad repeating myself. Wrapping my fingers around the glass, I keep it in my hold but don’t make a move to sip any.
It’s a few minutes of back and forth between most of the guys before a different voice quietly asks, “You going to drink that?”
The accent gives away the speaker, so I peek to the right of me and see blue eyes staring back intently. All I do is shake my head.
His eyes move from me for a few seconds to look around the table before he reaches over, takes the glass from my hands, and tosses the contents out in the plant behind the booth. When he passes it back, he shoots me a wink that sends my heart into overdrive and looks back to one of his bandmates as if nothing happened.
Someone tries pulling me into the conversation, but my tongue feels like lead in my mouth. I know I don’t belong here and so do they.
It’s the man to my left, the one who keeps fidgeting and bumping our legs together, who draws my attention. “Want to leave?”
Knowing what that implicates, two vastly different outcomes based on the lust in his eyes and the shame I bury behind mine, I hesitate.
Tonight is the night.
Tight smile, I nod. “Let’s go.”
Someone cat calls.
A girl lets out a
