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I catch Bill’s eye and he smirks at me. It reminds me of Jasper, and I fight the thought off. I can't think about Jasper right now. In fact, I shouldn't think about Jasper at all. He's ignored me all day long, and he doesn't deserve my attention.
There's a loud pop as Bill uncorks a bottle of champagne, and I join in the merriment with my own flute of bubbly. The booze feels light and wicked on my tongue, and I swallow it down along with the rest of my nerves. I'm going to have fun tonight. I'm not letting anyone take it away from me. I deserve to have a blast, Jasper be damned.
The group is lively and active, and we soon split up – half of the people hit the dancefloor, but I stick with the rest at the table. Dinah stays by my side, but I notice her staring longingly at the dancefloor, so I finally nudge her and point to the center of the room.
"You can go, you know. You don't have to sit by me all night."
"You sure?" She gives me a doubtful look. "You gonna be okay by yourself?"
"Of course," I wave my hand dismissively, even though I barely know anyone here. "Come on, I'm not a baby. Go on, have some fun. I'll be right here waiting."
She smiles and kisses my cheek, thanking me. I hate feeling like a burden to my friends. I wish it was different, but both Katya and Dinah have always been so protective of me.
Dinah heads off to the dancefloor and I laugh when she blows me kisses. Glancing around the table, I realize there are only a couple of us left, including Bill. I catch his eye, but I quickly divert my gaze. I don't want to look too interested, especially with everything that's happening with Jasper. It doesn't feel right.
Bill approaches me and tops up my glass. I thank him, toasting him with my flute and downing the drink in one go.
"You know, that's not how you're supposed to drink champagne," he teases me. "It'll go straight to your head."
"Maybe that's what I want." It could be a sexy little comment if I hadn't cringed halfway through. To be honest, I'm downing drinks because I want to forget that Jasper hasn't called me yet. It's easier to forget than worry about every reason under the sun as to why he hasn't called.
"You don’t come out often. How did Dinah manage to convince you tonight?” Bill asks, and I shrug, twirling the stem of my glass between my fingers. When I don’t answer, he goes on. “I’m glad you came out, anyway. I feel like we never get the chance to chat.”
“We can chat now.” I don’t really want to, but I can be nice. “Tell me something people don’t know about you, Bill.”
He rubs his head and laughs. “My mom was my best friend in the world.”
“Aw,” I grin. “Momma’s boy.”
"Not anymore," he goes on, glancing away to hide the pain in his dark eyes. "She died when I was thirteen. Cancer."
"I'm so sorry."
"Long time ago." His tone is dismissive, but I can tell he's still hurting from the pain in his features. "She had some wonderful nurses when she was in the hospice. To this day, I'm grateful to them for making her life easier. It’s why I chose to do this.”
"I'm glad she had the care she deserved," I say. Bill nods, and we sit in silence for an awkward pause. A moment later, we both speak at once, laughing nervously when we clash.
"Please," Bill smiles. "Go ahead. Ladies first."
"I was wondering how you got VIP passes here? It’s a pretty new club, and kind of exclusive from what I’ve heard."
"I invest," he says. "I inherited a good chunk of money from my mom. So, I've mostly been investing in small businesses around the city."
"Oh," I say lamely. I don't know anything about investing or business.
"Like this club." Bill grins. "You're looking at a proud co-owner of Club Four."
"Congratulations," I laugh. "It's a terrible name, by the way."
I instantly blush, hating myself for my honesty, but Bill doesn't seem fazed by it. In fact, he laughs in response. "I like it. You tell it like it is. I could use more people like you around me."
"Well, I'm here now." I smile and take another sip as he fills my glass.
"Indeed you are." Bill’s eyes sparkle. "Now I just need the chance to steal you away."13JasperVita Boarding School is a dirty little place on the outskirts of Chicago. The thing hasn’t been renovated since the start of times.
I stride through the halls of the school, stifling the sound of small boys’ giggles, laughter, and cries —the loud type. No one hears the small ones weeping quietly in dark corners. No one asks about them when they miss a meal, or two, or eventually disappear.
