I yank my purse from the hook and shoot forward, but the bossy one of the bunch catches me by the wrist with a glare.
One I give right back.
“What’s the matter, blue eyes? Afraid to play in the light?”
His godly cut jaw sharpens, but his lips remain sealed, and when I jerk in his grasp, he concedes, releasing me.
I don’t miss how they slip as far to the side as possible when I throw the door open as wide as the hinges allow and step out.
Only then do I realize how stupidly thoughtless a move it was, one the gossip mill would eat up and my parents would burn me alive for—I blame the twister of testosterone I was caught in the eye of.
But damn, how bold were they to creep in on me like that?
Maybe they are crazy...
I shake it off, bumping shoulders with Cali and Jules as I fall in step between them. “I’ve reconsidered my decision not to drink today. I could use one.”
Or three.
I frown.
Jesus Christ.
Cali claps and at the exit, the doorman returns our bags and off we go to get drunk somewhere.
It’s close to eleven p.m. when we walk into Dojo, a nightclub owned by Dax’s parents, with an entire upper level dedicated to him and his friends, none who are of age. Well, maybe a few are. He does allow his fellow lacrosse players to lead the occasional strays up from the actual nightclub downstairs.
I thought to ask Jules if his parents were aware of this added space but decided it’s another one of those unspoken rich kid things. Nobody wants their kids causing a drunken scene or getting caught on candid camera outside of paparazzi-powered venues, so might as well give them their own fake IDs, not that they’re needed, and private hush-hush rooms, right?
I legit believe that’s the thought process some of these parents use when it comes to their privileged spawns.
Give us what we want and out of your way we stay.
Kicking off the weekend by making an appearance, if not ending the night here, is yet another routine in the summer socialite party scheme. ‘Club Friday,’ I’m told, continues throughout the academic year where house parties die down in favor of school events, among other things that provide the guys and girls with the opportunity to one-up their peers.
This is one of those expected evenings I prefer, though. At least here it’s more of a moving scene, a larger mix of people, rather than the same faces as always. Here, there’s a blended crowd, students from the surrounding schools and others who know a guy who knows a guy who knows Dax.
I can see why everyone enjoys this place. The girls said it was decent, simple, but I’m guessing that was their way of ‘warning me’ it wouldn’t be coated in gold and high-quality silver, because some require such a thing of the places they visit. I know they do, but I happen to like it.
The concept is wide open, the only seating being a continual leather booth-like seat that runs along three full walls, and a few curved couches, closing them in every five or six feet, with small circular tables wedged between them. The back side is left open for the bar, and a short hall that leads to the bathroom.
The lighting is teal blues and purple LED strips, all strung tightly in every crevice of the place, including the rims of the tables.
“Okay, drinks first and then dancing?” Amy, Jules’ far more egocentric twin, who is easy to tell apart as her hair is cropped short and dyed blonde, suggests with a smile.
“Yes, let’s go for it!” Cali hops up first and is quick to lead the way.
The bartender, who she went home with last weekend, zooms right over, but she loses his attention when Amy squeezes her way to the front.
I don’t know what she orders us, but when something yellow with ice is passed over, I accept.
The girls get through two and are ready to dance, so I retire my half-full cocktail on the countertop and move to join them, but as I step away from the bar, my eyes are pulled to the entrance, right as a familiar sight slips through.
Beretta and Arsen lead the group, and visible over the curve of their shoulders, Ransom.
He never gave his name, but Scott provided three the night they showed up, so that must be his. I guess I was a little too distracted to realize it when he was standing right in front of me.
Their arrival, however, isn’t the familiar I’m talking about.
It’s the girl they enter with, the Sammie chick from the other night, and she’s all smiles, with hair that walks a fine line between I was screwed in the back seat and I didn’t know we’d be in a convertible with the top down. I don’t know what they drive, so who knows the truth. She very well could have been fucked on fancy leather for all I know.
What I most definitely do know is Miss Sammie... is wearing the very dress the boys at her back slipped off of me not ten hours ago.
She leans against the countertop, and when she looks over, she pretends she’s just realized I was standing here. “Oh, hey, Jameson.”
“Sammie. Nice dress.”
A chortled, swallowed laugh sounds behind her, but I don’t look to them.
Sammie runs her hands down the sides of the gray mini. She looks over her shoulder at who, I don’t know or care, and a superior smile covers her glossy lips. “It was a gift.”
That drink I set down, I pick right back up, lifting it in cheers. “It was on sale.”
As I turn away, I mouth ‘what the fuck’ to myself, but I don’t have to question myself or them for long, because the girls are now joined by the guys on the dance floor and Scott is looking mighty fine tonight in his button-up and Balmains. Sure, he’s as pretentious as they come, but at least he’s far too into himself to ever want more from me. And he’s pretty to look at.
He slips right up without invitation, wrapping his arms around the waist of my navy dress, and pulls me in.
We dance for several songs, the crowd growing fuller around us, and partners beginning to blend. The moment Scott is distracted, facing another girl from the group, a hand slides around my abdomen from behind, and hauls me backward, spinning me away from my friends and walking me forward a few steps.
I attempt to look over my shoulder, but pause as, in the same second, Arsen appears before me.
He doesn’t speak, but pushes my hair over my shoulder, and the fingers along my stomach span out.
My core muscles clench in response, causing a small frown to slip over my forehead.
“So, it’s Jameson, huh?” Beretta’s low baritone fills my ear, his free hand landing on my upper ribs and pressing me into his body even more. “I like.”
My eyes flick around the room, but everyone’s so dazed, they’ve yet to notice us among the masses.
“Yeah?” I snap at Beretta, and Arsen swiftly brings himself closer, forcing me to take a deep breath. “Same way you ‘liked’ the dress?”
Beretta’s smile is evident in his words. “I never said I didn’t like it. I said it wasn’t the one for you, and it wasn’t.” His taunting chuckle fans over my neck, his grip teasingly tight. “It was the one for her.”
I tear away, slipping from between the two, only to spin on my heels and face them. “Classy. Now if you’re done with me, go find another toy to play with, maybe one who’s interested. I’m—”
I bump into someone, my head tilting up and to the side.