Page 58 of Beneath Her Skin

4

W e 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 more worried about finding their release than finding something to gossip about.

But, as I know all too well, Miles would never agree 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 draws oohs and ahhs from 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.

“No, no,” he stutters. “You’re not Mr. Kowalski’s Poppet?”

Feeling a wave of confidence, either from the bubbles or adrenaline, I stand my ground. Placing my hands over my chest, I stare down my nose at him.

“No, my name is not Poppet and I’m not telling you my name. Please, leave me alone before I get security involved.”

The man takes a step towards me and I reflexively step back again.

He pauses his advancements when he sees me purposely avoiding him. A look of disappointment washes over him. Adjusting his jacket, the man fidgets with the middle button before returning his gaze to me.

“Apologies for the intrusion, ma’am. Must’ve been a mistake.”

He bows before walking away towards the bar.

I stare after his retreating figure, utterly confused as to what the hell that interaction was.

Brooke bounds up next to me, the smell of her apple perfume engulfing the space around us. It’s a welcoming scent from the toxic fumes the man’s presence assaulted me with. I glance at her from my peripheral, aware that turning my back to someone who is comfortable grabbing strangers probably isn’t the best option.

“What the fuck was that about?”

I adjust my arms, keeping them crossed. Chewing on my bottom lip, I contemplate how much to tell Brooke or to leave it alone to enjoy the rest of our night.

“He thought I looked like one of his dates,” I opt for instead. Enough information to provide context and keep my guard up, but not so much it’ll cause a problem. I am not sure if it was a coincidence he said Miles’ last name. My last name. But that’s not something I want to dwell on right now.

Brooke looks over my shoulder to the bar area, her face scrunching with pursed lips and a down-turned smile.

“Oh, ew.”

She scans the length of the bar, searching for the stranger. Her eyes lock onto the end of the bar, the same place I was previously looking.

“Grey suit with gaudy gold jewelry and a mafia haircut?”

I nod.

“Maybe he’s mistaken for meeting you at one of Miles’ office parties. He looks like the white-collar type.”

I turn to follow where Brooke is looking.

The man stands off in the corner of the bar. Pink and blue lights play off his glass, creating a disco ball effect. His attention is hyper focused on me. Despite my protests that he doesn’t know me, he’s keeping tabs on me, pretending to be drinking alone at the bar as Brooke and I slowly walk away. A shiver runs up my spine, goosebumps rising on my skin. It's unnerving being watched so intently with little explanation.

Brooke squeezes my shoulder. “Want to get security involved?” Her tone is more worrisome than normal.

I shake my head. “No. Let’s get one more dance in then go home. We need to be leaving soon, anyways.”

Brooke bows, mocking the man’s earlier advances, and extends her hand out like a knight waiting for her princess. A complete mockery of the creep bowing to me moments earlier.

“Mi’lady.”

Giggling, I place my hand in hers, bowing as I accept her hand in mine. I allow her to whisk me away to the dance floor.

I make a mental note to ask Miles about the interaction tomorrow. But for now, I’m going to enjoy the music before the clock strikes midnight and I turn into a pumpkin.