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“That was generous of you.”

Brooke shrugs as she digs in her purse to find her ID.

“Safety is always worth—damn it. Where is my license?” Brooke rifles through her bag, pulling out random items to hold in her mouth, keeping it out of the way.

After a few chaotic seconds, she holds her hand up high, eyes alight with triumph.

“Found it!” she mumbles, handing the card to the security guard at the club’s entrance. “Anyways, safety is always worth it.”

I shake my head as I pull my own ID to be checked.

The guard scans both of our cards under a black light before handing them back to us. She ushers us in with a nod.

Brooke squeals, shoving everything back into her purse without a care. She grabs my hand and drags me through the threshold. Brooke yells back at me as the thud of the sound system becomes increasingly louder and we descend the dark, velvet-lined hallway.

“Come on! I need to take a few photos for content, but then the night is ours.”

The end of the hallway opens to an expansive room. Pink and blue lights flash across the dance floor with the DJ booth located at the head of the space. The walls are lined with upper and lower lounges, outfitted with retractable privacy screens and lush, velvet curtains lined with gold fringe. A waitress, not much taller than myself, passes us wearing a glittery babydoll set andmatching heels. Her sculpted legs accentuate a plump ass and full midsection decorated with dark ink. She pauses to give us each a flute of champagne. I’m mesmerized by her round face that’s set with siren eyes and beautiful, full lips. She winks before she saunters off to find another guest to woo.

“Woah,” I mutter. “She’s breath-taking.”

Brooke nudges me with her hip.

“Maybeyoucould find a hot date tonight.”

I scoff at the insinuation, taking a sip of bubbles. The champagne is tangy yet sweet, with hints of strawberries and cream. I close my eyes, savoring the flavor as it melts over my tongue. If ecstasy could be bottled, hell, it may be this.

Brooke takes a tentative sip, waiting for me to answer her. Her eyes are laser focused in that way I know she won’t let it go until I say something.

“I’m married.”

She quirks an eyebrow at me, still not speaking.

“Marriage means you don’t cheat on each other. That was the vow I made,” I explain.

Brooke sighs, her shoulder sagging for extra dramatic effect.

“It’s not cheating. It’s exploring! You said it yourself that you wouldn’t be opposed to being with a woman.”

Rolling my eyes, I take another longer sip of alcohol. This night may need a few more of these if this is the route we’re going. Brooke means well, but she’s always been more of a loveeveryone, not love a single one. I don’t think she’s polyamorous, but she’s definitely allergic to long-term relationships. That’s one of the things we’ve always disagreed with. I don’t think less of her for it; I just wish she wouldn’t push it so often. It’s not the first time she’s brought up the fact I didn’t have the chance to explore my sexuality before meeting Miles. Being heavily involved in the church at a young age really put a damper on being a rebellious teen who could find themselves. Now, the onlyway that could happen is with Miles’ permission. Which is zero permission, because Miles doesn’t share.

I push Brooke forward through the throng of people crowding around an ice sculpture towards a flower wall with a neon sign reading,talk dirty to me. She mentioned taking photos and that space would make the perfect background. I can’t be a good wing woman, but I can be a good photo assistant.

“Yeah, and I also said that would only happen if Miles was involved. And I assume most people don’t want to be a unicorn, so I’m respecting that by admiring from a distance,” I say, sitting on the plush couch in front of the flower wall. The deep mauve fabric is velvety smooth. It’s a couch I could get lost and take a nap in if I wasn’t careful. Taking the final sip of my glass, I try a different approach to quell Brooke’s persistence.

“Besides, Miles doesn’t like to share. He said so himself that he doesn’t want to share me with another woman.”

Brooke drapes herself over the couch. Her champagne slouches over the rim of her glass, splotching the couch cushion.

“Prude.”

“Not everyone is as free spirited as you are, Brooke,” I tease.

Brooke makes a mouth with her hand and flaps it at me, mocking my comment. I laugh, shoving her hand away with a playful push. She sits upright, taking a sip of champagne before reaching out to cheers me.

We clink the glasses and finish what’s left.

“I just want to see you happy,” Brooke says, melancholy lacing each word.