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Chapter Eleven

Vivienne

“ A re you sure you don’t want a drink?” Brooke presses, linking her arm with Ricky’s, who is already on her second flute of champagne.

“We’ve only been here like, ten minutes, you guys,” I breathe, trying to keep my voice down as another large group of people filter in through the doors. “I have time.”

Brooke levels her gaze on me, pushing a full flute into my hand. “No you don’t. He just got here.”

My entire body tenses, but my pussy flutters, sensing Reed nearby.

Just hearing that he’s here sends my insides into overdrive, nervous flitting against my ribs, my pulse leaping, my stomach twisting.

Ricky wraps her arm around my waist, her dress swishing as she guides me to the wrought iron banister near the concierge.

“C’mon, let's go upstairs. Did Brooke tell you? She met three guys at Arcane’s last night.

They’re club members, we’re meeting them in the theatre room in a few minutes. ”

Knowing we were coming to the club tonight, I went over all the floorplans available on their website.

Of course the floor plans exist for rental purposes, as members can rent the space to host a variety of events.

But I looked at them so I’d know all the places I could hide from Reed tonight.

The theater room, colored in rich plums and vibrant blacks, is decked out in loungers and couches, the light set romantically low at nearly all times. It’s the perfect hideaway.

“It’s closed, since they want all the young entrepreneur stuff downstairs. Actually, they wanted us to stay near the pool, but they have to know that a party with a bunch of young adults who rarely hear the word no is going to make for a night full of broken rules.”

I drink all of the champagne in my flute in just two swallows. It burns the back of my throat, making my eyes water. “I hate breaking rules. But tonight is the last time,” I say, realizing I’m saying it more to myself than to her.

“C’mon,” she says as Brooke rejoins us. The three of us click our way up the stairs, Ricky holding her gown up so she doesn’t trip. At the top of the stairs, three boys wait, all of them decked out in crisp, pressed tuxedos.

None of them have swoopy chestnut hair, a chiseled jaw and glasses.

But that’s the point, right?

Chaz, Michael and David .

Or was it Chad, Michael and Murray? I catch a snort with the back of my hand. Chad Michael Murray is that guy from that thing, that’s not the guy you’re with now. Dumb Vivienne.

“What are you laughing at? How much champagne did you let her have?” Brooke asks, splitting her questions between me and one part of the Chad, Michael, David trio.

The blonde boy in the nice tux puts his hand on my knee, and the other boy, also with blonde hair, puts his arm around Ricky.

She snuggles up to him, her heels on the floor, both of them in one of the oversized theatre chairs.

An empty flask rattles in the cupholder as she drapes her legs over his lap.

“You had, what? Three glasses?” she asks, counting the empty flutes littering the floor around me. “That’s not bad.”

The truth is, for as giggly as I am, my wits are, in fact, still about me. Damn it. Stupid champagne and stupid hot guy in the tux that isn’t Reed–both of these things were supposed to be the big, great distraction, things that keep my eyes from sliding to the doors every two seconds.

Brooke thinks I’m worried about being caught, since no one is supposed to be in the theater room right now.

The truth? I’m hoping Reed storms through, collects me in his arms and rides off with me.

This definitely isn’t a storm in setting, or a dynamic that requires rescuing, but apparently champagne makes me dream of my step brother treating me like a princess.

Ricky gets to her feet, stumbling a little as she smooths her hands down her gown. “Restroom trip, ladies, and then, to the suites. ”

One of the guys gets to his feet, causing the other two to do the same.

“Suites?” I ask, trailing after Ricky and Brooke as they trudge up the sloped flooring toward the doors in the back.

We find a bathroom, luckily empty, and fortunately no one saw us sneak out of the theater, either. I’m using up all my luck in the wrong places tonight.

In front of the mirror, Brooke blots the shine from her nose using part of her compact. Ricky sighs as she pees, and as much as I have to go too, I’m still trying to figure out– “What suites?”

Brooke tucks her compact away. “Member suites. They’re across from the theatre. It’s like.. If the old guys go too hard on the booze or whatever, the club puts the unlock code on their card and they snag a room to sleep it off.”

“Like little hotel rooms?” I ask, trying to remember if I even glanced that direction as we came up the stairs.

Everything in this club is gorgeous, from the wrought iron to the ornate seals bearing their logo—all of it oozes sophistication and wealth.

Judging by the girls in class at Dulce, I’m not surprised by this club at all.

Brooke nods, then returns to pout practice in the mirror. She takes her phone out and snaps a selfie of us as I process, swapping with Ricky when she’s done.

“And Chaz has three rooms,” she whispers conspiratorially.

I join them at the sink, washing my hands as they lay out the details of the rest of the night.

“His dad got him the rooms, and his dad is like super, super cool. He owns the big truck dealership in Bipal, did you know that?” She pops a mint into her mouth before adjusting her panties under the long, satin gown.

“Anyway, his dad put champagne in all of the rooms–” she leans toward us, eyes wide, like she’s about to tear the sheet off a huge secret.

“And… he put condoms in the rooms, too.”

Brooke dances her eyebrows while running her tongue across her teeth, swiping away stray traces of lipstick. “Condoms don’t help you if you’re trying to keep an entrepreneur,” she says, causing Ricky to gasp, the two of them cracking up at her comment.

I wrinkle my nose at them, which earns me an eyeroll. “I’m kidding, Viv. Geez, take a chill pill.” She reaches into her purse, producing three tiny plastic bottles of cheap vodka. “Or take a swig, rather.”

The twist of the cap disengaging with the seal has my stomach lurching, but the truth is, I’m failing tonight.

Not only did I lie to my dad about where I am–again–but I’m not succeeding at putting Reed out of my mind.

If possible, all the booze and boys have done is make me miss him more, want him, think about him more.

I down the vodka and toss it in the trash just as someone knocks at the door.

“Just a minute!” Brooke calls, checking her makeup one more time. I take her elbow, but split my wary look between Brooke and Ricky.

“I don’t wanna have sex with those guys,” I say, feeling the back of my neck grow hot with the admission.

I don’t know Brooke and Ricky as well as I’d like, but I have to be honest at some point tonight, since I’ve left a trail of lies behind me this far.

“I want to forget–” I stop, because neither of them know what’s going on with me and Reed.

“I want to have fun, but I can’t sleep with some guy I hardly know. ”

“Some guy,” Ricky gapes. “That’s Murray Mills, the star quarterback at Dulce.

Hello? He walked past us at the lockers two days ago and said ‘sup,” she repeats, her eyes wild like I’m a fool for not remembering.

But I don’t remember. I don’t remember because I don’t give a shit about Murray, or any other macho alpha athlete who roam the halls of Dulce.

“You don’t have to have sex, Viv. Just… talk.

Drink and talk. Hang out until we’re ready to go,” Brooke says, unlocking the door and yanking it open.

We filter out as an employee dressed in pressed black slacks, a long sleeved white dress shirt and a black vest holds the door open.

“The one downstairs was occupied,” Brooke says, using her most I was raised with an au pair and a driver voice.

The woman, her hair in a low chignon, nods, closing the door. “No guests upstairs tonight,” she says.

Brooke lifts a hand, ushering Ricky and I down the stairs. “Apologies,” she concedes, but when the woman disappears through a service door down the hall, Brooke yanks us both up the stairs by our hands.

Pressed against the wall in a private hall, the lights off but moonlight drifting in through the windows in the ceiling, I attempt to look around.

“These are the suites,” Brooke whispers, nodding down the hall. “And I just got the text that they’re waiting.” She checks her phone, and the brightness radiates from her screen, illuminating the determination set in her face as she reads the text message.

“Viv, you’re room one. Have fun.”

The vodka shot from the bathroom burns in my veins, radiating through me, leaving my brain foggy.

I walk down the hall, intoxicated by the click of my shoes against marble as night pours in through the window.

The setting is beautiful. This club is elegant.

And if the right man were in that room, tonight could be magic.

I stop in front of the room with the golden number 1 painted on the door.

This is it.