Page 89 of Best Wrong Thing

I chuckle. “I think it’s part of the job description.”

“Ugh. Really? I wish it wasn’t. Oh, well. I don’t intend to think about Mum or your dad for the rest of the night. Going to a club was a great idea.”

“I think it was Molly’s idea rather than mine.”

He puts his finger to my lips. “Shush. I remember it being your amazing idea.” He winks and squeezes my hand.

I return his squeeze, smiling at his infectious good mood. “Are you sure you wouldn’t have rather gone for a run?”

“Let me think. Go to a club with the most gorgeous guy in town, or go for a run alone. It’s a tough choice.” He pulls me to a halt, puts his hands on my hips, and kisses me. “I’ve been desperate for some alone time with you all day.”

“Same.” I cup his cheek and return his kiss.

“Thank you, by the way.”

I frown. “For what?”

“Making the sunset on the volcano romantic.”

“I—did?”

He rests his forehead against mine. “Yes! You made a beautiful moment even more wonderful.”

“All I did was hold your hand.”

“Exactly.” He pecks my lips, takes my hand, and sets off again.

“Should we have asked Molly to join us?”

Archer laughs. “After spending all day with your dad, would you have wanted Mum to tag along?”

“No, but she’s only a couple of years older than me. She might have wanted to come.”

Archer kicks a stray stone. “Nah. She acts at least ten years older than she is around Barry.”

“She’s trying to impress him.”

“I guess so.”

“She shouldn’t have to.”

Archer strokes my hand. “Nor should you.”

Sadly, that isn’t the reality of my life.

The atmosphere at Jumbo Centrum is different at night. A few more touristy shops are still open, but most are closed. Thebars, packed with rowdy customers, all play loud music, mostly nineties and noughties pop songs. Singing, laughter, and loud conversations compete with the music. Touts hand out flyers for the bars and clubs, trying to entice us into their establishment above all the others. We pick one aimed at LGBTQ+ clubbers and, after paying the entrance fee, head inside.

The music is even louder, thrumming through my veins and making my temples throb. The floor, walls, and ceiling are all painted black. A variety of coloured lights swirl, flash, and flicker. It’s oppressively hot. No wonder with all the bodies gyrating on the dance floor. A lot of men have got rid of their tops. Some have tied them around their arms or wrists. Others around their heads. Everywhere around us, people are making out, sometimes with more than one person at a time.

We push onto the dance floor, rest our hands on each other’s hips, and move in time to the generic dance music. Or rather, I shuffle my weight from foot to foot, occasionally swaying my hips while Archer moves elegantly. He’s stunning, the only one existing in my universe.

“This is fun. I needed this. Great idea,” he shouts above the thump of the music.

I’ll let him give me the credit for Molly’s idea. I needed this too. Feeling close to Archer without caring who’s around us is liberating. I tug up his T-shirt and stroke my fingers over his hot, clammy skin. Why did we bother showering? It’s so hot here my clothes are already stuck to me. It stinks too. Sweat, alcohol, and other scents I can’t name mingle, but I’m too lost in dancing with Archer to care about the assault on my senses.

Thanks to the talented DJ, the songs all blur into one another. We’ve danced to at least half a dozen before I pull Archer off the dance floor to get water. We get a pint each. Archer drinks half of his in one go and tips the rest over his head.

He gasps and hunches his shoulders to his ears. “Cold!”