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It’s clear that my absence has been bothering her more than she’s let on.

I scoot closer, our legs touching as I lean in to hug her. She squeezes me back, burying her face into my neck. We sit like that for a few seconds, enjoying the comfort we provide each other.

“I’m plenty happy,” I gently say, pulling away from the embrace. I grab her hands and give a strong squeeze for good measure. “Now, let’s take some killer photos.”

I motion to the wall behind her that she has yet to notice. Anything to distract from where this conversation could be heading. This is supposed to be a fun girls’ night, not a therapy session.

I pull my phone from my clutch and shake it in my hand. “You still have a job to do, Miss Influencer.”

4

We take about ten thousand photos in front of the flower wall, Brooke posing in various positions to get her best angles. Each one makes her look like a literal goddess among mortals. Her auburn hair glistens in the disco lights as her all-black outfit blends into the shadows, casting an alluring silhouette.

When I asked her what specifically she was selling for the post these photos were going to be included in, she only said her task by the company was, and I quote, “Just look fucking hot.” I guess I shouldn’t expect anything else from a club that promotes itself as the sex capital of the city where people come to explore their wildest fantasies.

Brooke holds my hand as she guides us through the mass of people heading to the dance floor. Peering over her shoulder, I spy an eclectic gathering of bodies grinding against one another. A few of the couples in various stages of undress as they get lost in the music, and most likely alcohol, together.

Something in me pulsates at the thought of how damn sexy it would be for Miles to explore my body in a space like this, safe from judging eyes and surrounded by people who are moreworried about finding their release than finding something to gossip about.

But, as I know all too well, Miles wouldneveragree to this, which is exactly why I agreed to come with Brooke instead. Even if that means possibly braving an argument tomorrow due to my disobedience. Besides, my friend is smoking hot! So, yeah, I’m really okay with this arrangement no matter the outcome.

Fuck it.

“Just a few songs and then we’ll head home,” she promises.

I follow willingly, a blissful participant in this decision. We still have plenty of time to explore this dreamscape of a venue before we need to leave. And I plan on soaking in every second of it.

As we shuffle closer to the dance floor, my chest begins to thud to the low beat of the music. Its unique bass offers a primal urge to follow it further into the abyss of sweaty bodies mingling in the center of the bar. Like a siren call to leave all your worries behind and fall into your most sinful desires.

My excitement peaks as we reach the edge of the dance floor. The luxe marble tile slowly transitions to sticky, wooden planks beneath our feet. No doubt a deliberate choice by the creators of this establishment, creating a signal to our unconscious minds of a change in atmosphere.

My cheeks ache from constantly smiling. Each new area we explore drawsoohsandahhsfrom Brooke and me.

Brooke turns to look at me, her face beaming with mischief, yet slight concern.

“I’m okay,” I mouth to her, reassuring her that I’m nowhere near overwhelmed yet.

Brooke smiles brighter, squeezing my hand before disappearing into the crowd to find a cozy spot for us to dance.

I step off to follow her, barely making it two feet before I’m stopped abruptly.

A rough hand captures my upper arm, causing my entire body to tense at the unwanted contact. I turn slowly to see who the hell thinks they can grab a stranger like that. Behind me stands an older man. Tall in stature, but not too wide. His frame is modest, worn away from years at a desk, I assume, by the tailored suit he’s wearing. Gold jewelry guilds his fingers matching the gold flecks in his honey eyes. Silver peppers his dark, well-groomed hair. His face is clean shaven, proudly boosting the chiseled jaw line he still maintains despite his older age.

The man’s eyes are expectant. Like he’s seeing a long-lost lover for the first time.

“Can I fucking help you?” I sneer, yanking my arm away.

The man looks at me intently, his stare making me even more uncomfortable. It’s taking every bit of will power to stand my ground and not cower under his gaze. I might not be as outgoing as Brooke, but I’ll always stick up for myself when some creep thinks they can have their way with me.

The man takes a step closer, his cologne hitting me like a wave of toxic fumes. A mixture of sweat, gin, and vetiver.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I thought you were someone I recognized from a date recently.”

I take a defensive step back, trying to put distance between myself and this asshole who thinks he can invade my space. I scan him up and down, making mental notes of the expensive threads and obvious wedding ring on his left hand. I breathe a tiny sigh of relief. I don't see any noticeable weapons on him. So probably not mafia, but totally those vibes. Either way, I’m not the fucking one, and definitely not today.

“Does my reaction seem like someone you’d recognize?” I hiss.

The look in his eyes morphs, his features turning crestfallen. He pulls his outstretched arm away from my direction and straightens.