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The club is closer to where Logan lives, up in a trendy part of town with a long queue circling round the corner.
For a moment, I think, Ha! We don’t need to wait in that—they’ll take one look at us and beg us to come inside, but then there are loads of pretty girls standing there, waiting to get in, and we aren’t that special, are we?
We take our place at the back of the queue and fidget in the chilly air. It’s getting on into spring, but New York has a way of sneaking winter in when you least expect it. I’ve got goosebumps everywhere and I’m shivering.
Kat groans at how slow the queue is moving, but I lift her spirits by promising to buy her a drink as soon as we get inside. A shot will warm us up, though it’ll also be painfully expensive. In a place like this, I can only imagine what the drinks cost. Water with lemon? That’ll be $378.48.
I’m already tallying up what I’m allowed to order: a shot for myself and Kat, and one drink. That’s it. Anything else and I’ll end up with a bill that’ll give me a heart attack.
Yasmine pokes her head round the corner and assures us we’ll be inside really soon.
The queue does start picking up then, and it only takes a little while until we’re at the front. We hand over our IDs and the bouncer lets us in with a nod of his head. Suddenly, it feels like we’ve really arrived. I feel giddy with excitement. Maybe the queue’s a smart move because it does feel like the place is really exclusive, all dark and moody with flashing lights and trendy furniture. There’re different areas to sit: an outdoor garden with heating lamps near the back, an upstairs VIP area we don’t even bother trying to get into, and a main dance floor. That’s where we settle, trying to get drinks at the bar.
We agree on a Fireball shot and clink our glasses together before downing them in one go. The cinnamon-flavored whisky burns my throat, but I don’t mind. It heats me from the inside out.
Yasmine slaps more money down onto the bar. “Another round please!”
“Yaz,” I moan, not wanting her to feel like she has to fund the evening just because she’s got more money than the rest of us. I can pay for myself if I just go easy.
“No! I don’t want to hear it!” she says, covering her ears. “I’ve waited on Kat all day and she’s been a real wanker. I need alcohol.”
“Hey!”
“The least I can do is get us all properly toasted now, her most of all.”
“Now, I truly can’t find fault with that,” Kat amends, accepting her second shot and passing me one as well.
“Why do I feel like this night isn’t going to end well?”
“Nonsense! We’re all so good at holding our alcohol!”
It’s a barefaced lie. Wholly inaccurate. When Kat gets drunk, she gets real sobby. She always wants to have a good cry, hug us close, and moan on about how life is fleeting and we have to grasp it with both hands. Yasmine just gets so she’s real horny. Once she’s two sheets to the wind, she’ll kiss anything—a boy, a girl, a broom.
“All right, let’s just pace ourselves, yes?”
Kat ignores me and shouts, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!”
And that’s when the night takes a turn. Fireball is potent, and anyone who says otherwise is a total liar or a total drunkard. Three shots in, I’m feeling it. I know it’s got a bit to do with my size and the fact that we had some wine back at the flat while we were getting ready, but I can’t help it, I LOVE THIS SONG.
“WE HAVE TO DANCE!”
And we are dancing! Up on the DJ booth! I can’t quite work out how we’ve made it from the bar to the booth, but we’re up in here with the DJ and he’s passing Kat his headset and she’s putting it on then jumping up and down in time with the music. The lads in the crowd are eating it up, of course; she’s quite well-endowed, so she’s putting on a good show in her crop top. I’m laughing and I can’t stop laughing no matter how hard I try.
All I care about is this song and how it sounds, like the music is living inside me. Yasmine turns me toward her and tries to go in for a snog, but I duck out of the way so she ends up kissing the DJ.
Let me tell you, he’s not upset in the least!
Then I glance up in the crowd and, lo and behold, LOGAN! He’s here, in the mad throng of people out on the dance floor, and he’s brought his buds. Oh, this is ace.
