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“Want something to snack on while I pack your stuff for Nanna’s?”
“Goldfish!” she yells, climbing up onto the couch.
I move into the kitchen, pouring some of her favorite cheese flavored crackers into a bowl. I grab one of her cups of juice from the fridge, handing her both items to keep her busy while I pack her bag.
While I grab her things, I try to think of the last time she was gone for the night, but I can’t remember. For years, I’ve been the primary caregiver for my daughter. She goes to daycare when I’m at work and there’s been a few times when I’ve needed someone to watch her in the evenings. That’s where my mom comes into play. I don’t usually need anyone to keep her overnight because she is my top priority. Everything in my life revolves around her, not the other way around.
It doesn’t take me long to pack her bag. We load back up into the truck and make the drive to my mom’s house just a few blocks away. After dropping her off, I go back home, shower, and get changed for the big night out. I’m pulling up to our meeting place with thirty minutes to spare and when I walk in, all the guys cheer like I’m the man of the hour.
“We were taking bets on if you’d actually show or not,” Dillon says, patting me on the back. His eyes are already glassy from drinking.
“Glad you made it, bud,” Tom says, pouring a beer and shoving the glass into my hand. “Time to celebrate!”
The guys cheer and bang their fists on the table, egging Dillon on as he chugs his glass. The waitresses come out, giving each of us their attention while taking our orders. After we’ve ordered dinner, the plans for the night get brought up and apparently, we’re all heading into the city to hit up one of the new clubs. I take a drink, knowing I’ll need some kind of buzz to put up with the music, the lights, and the crowd.
Dinner goes smoothly and before we know it, the stretch Hummer is pulling into the parking lot to pick us up. We pile in and the mini bar gets cracked open a second later. Each of us have a beer in our hand and Dillion keeps getting handed mini bottles of liquor. The drive to the city is a long one and I’m sure he’ll be passed out before we even get to the club.
* * *
“This is awesome!” Dillion screams from the upper VIP section of the club.
I shake my head and lean against the railing, looking down at the dance floor below. The club is dark with only neon bar signs and multicolored lights from the dance floor illuminating the space. It’s just as crowded as I thought it would be, but the VIP area isn’t bad. There’s enough room that everyone can walk around without getting bumped into, but the lower level, the main floor, is packed. The dancing bodies beneath me almost look like a wave that flows from one end to the other. Every table and booth are occupied, along with every seat around the bar. Suddenly, I find myself happy that Tom took initiative and saw to getting us reservations for VIP.
I couldn’t imagine being down there right now. Although, there is a woman I can’t take my eyes off who is dancing with a small group of friends. Her long blonde hair is curled perfectly, swaying from side to side as she dances. She’s wearing a black sleeveless dress that’s form fitting up top and it flows out around her hips. The loose material swirls around her legs as she wiggles her hips to the beat of the music. Her dress is low cut, giving me a perfect shot of her cleavage. Her skin is pale but looks silky soft.
I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end when her eyes move up and lock on mine. She offers a sexy little smile and my heart starts to race immediately.
Tom leans in, bumping my shoulder with his. “I think you have an admirer."
3
EMERY
“That guy up there is seriously checking you out,” Anna says, spinning in a circle in front of me on the dance floor.
I turn my back toward him, moving my hips to the beat of the music. “I know. He has been for a while now.” It’s too dark in the club that it’s hard to make out the man’s face from so far away. What I can tell is that he has dark hair, a tight gray t-shirt, and toned biceps that make me weak in the knees. He’s leaning against the railing of the VIP section upstairs and his eyes are glued to me.
“You should go up there,” Anna says, taking my hand in hers as we dance.
I snort and roll my eyes. “I can’t get into the VIP section. Guess it isn’t meant to be.” I shrug it off, a grin pulling at my lips.
She laughs and shakes her head, but she lets the subject drop for the moment while we dance.
I’ve never been the hook-up or sleep around type. In fact, it’s impossible to be that type when you’ve dated the same guy through most of high school and all of college. But part of me feels like I’m missing out on something. This day and age, everyone is hooking-up. Nobody dates anymore. And here I am, practically a virgin because I’ve only ever been with one guy. I want to see what other men have to offer. I want to experience the rush of being with someone new. The only problem is that I feel like I’m holding myself back. I look at that guy up there, and even though I can tell how good looking he is, I remind myself that he’s probably a fuckboy—the type to only have random hookups because he can’t be bothered to give a woman more. He seems cocky, so sure of himself.
I’m impossible. If I’m told I can’t have something, I get it. If someone thinks I will say no, I’ll say yes just to prove them wrong. And if a man looks at me like he knows he’ll be taking me home, I will show him that he won’t. That man up there, he’s looking at me like he knows me so of course, I have to prove that he doesn’t. Instead of falling into his arms, I turn my back to him and walk off the dance floor, acting like I’ve never been less interested in anything in my entire life.
I hear Anna laugh behind me, but her hand is in mine as I lead her off the dance floor and to the bar to order another round.
“Seriously?” she asks, leaning against the bar as she arches her brow.
“What?” I ask, refusing to look at her. Instead, I glance around the dance floor and then turn all of my attention toward the bar as I attempt to flag down a bartender.
She snorts. “I know what you’re doing.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” I say, still refusing to look her way.
“You’re playing hard to get. And you’re doing a damn good job of it.”
