Smiling, I roam my eyes over her tight black dress.
“As do you.” A wolf whistle sounds from my lips.
Other than her big, beaming smile, Harlow looks completely different out of her work clothes. Her hair is no longer pulled back in a low ponytail, instead, hanging loosely down her back. This is the first time I've realized her auburn brown hair is curly. Her lips are glossed with bright red lipstick, and her eyes have been done in a dramatic Cleopatra way. She is gorgeous, and she will give all the young girls on the dance floor a run for their money tonight.
“Here.” Harlow offers me a tube of lipstick as she pulls her car away from the curb. “It will match the color of your dress perfectly.”
Yanking down the visor in her car, I put on the bold red lipstick she handed me. The color does pair well with my tight strapless red dress. I hand her lipstick back and pucker my lips. The three cocktails I’d downed getting ready are already enhancing my playful mood.
“Wow, we won’t buy a drink all night,” she predicts.
She wasn’t joking. The instant we enter the nightclub, we are inundated with requests to buy us drinks. We wrangle our way through a mass of sweat-drenched, heated bodies to locate Brandon in a private booth at the side of the dance floor.
Brandon must have arrived super early to secure such a prime spot in the bustling nightclub. The brown button-pressed leather booth has a sense of intimacy with thick, luxurious red velvet curtains hung of black metal A-frames. The stream of purple LED strip lights running along the roof reflect on the sheer curtain draping down each booth, giving the illusion of privacy.
Leaning over, I press a quick peck on Brandon’s cheek before introducing him to Harlow. The bustling nightclub is packed to the brim. Most of its patrons appear to be of college age. The interior is lavish but outdated. It isn’t usually the type of club I'd hang out at, but it was the closest nightclub in our area that didn’t have an association with Isaac Holt.
I spend the next two hours sampling a range of fruity cocktails and accepting invitations to dance. After one dance partner gets a little handsy, I saunter to the bar for a bottle of water. I’ve been downing cocktails like they're soda water, and they're rushing to my head in quick succession, making me woozy and my footing unsteady.
“Are you okay?” Brandon curls his arm around my waist to lessen my stumbles.
“Yeah.” I slightly slur. “I’ve just had too many cocktails too quickly.”
He chuckles before requesting a double scotch on the rocks from the bartender.“Lucky for us, we have the day off tomorrow.” He winks cheekily.
Alex is a slave driver and tomorrow is my first day off in two months. It’s probably been even longer for poor Brandon. Grabbing the bottle of water off the countertop, I spin around to face the dance floor, slipping out of Brandon’s grip in the process. I smile when I spot Harlow sitting in our booth. She also has a bottle of water in her hands. I giggle to myself. I haven’t even been out for two hours, and I already want to go home.Can anyone say, Grandma?!
Brandon snatches the bottle of water from my hand to replace it with a colossal size cocktail glass full of a frothy pink liquid.
“Who knows when we might get another day off?” he asks before downing his double scotch on the rocks in one hit.
His face scrunches up as he slams the now empty whiskey glass onto the countertop. He looks like he’s about to puke at any moment.
“I forgot how much that burns,” he squeaks out, causing me to giggle.
“Oh, do you think you can do better?” His loud voice gains us the attention of a handful of college students gathered around us. “Chug, chug, chug.”
The college kids surrounding us soon catch on to Brandon’s chant. Never one to back down from a challenge, I scrunch up my nose before chugging down the pink concoction as dared. Luckily for me, the drink is deliciously fruity, so it goes smoothly into my empty stomach.
The crowd erupts into a roaring chant when I consume every drop of liquid in the large cocktail glass. I attempt a curtsy, but end up stumbling and bumping into Brandon when I trip over my own feet.
“Another?” Brandon waggles his brows.
Cringing, I shake my head. I’m already stumbling, so once my latest drink makes its way into my bloodstream, I'll be well over an acceptable limit to be drinking in public. It’s time for me to call it a night.
When Brandon turns back to the bar, I head toward the private booth to check if Harlow is ready to go home. Halfway there, the crook of my elbow is seized in a tight grip. I don’t need to look up to know who is grasping my arm. The electric jolt bolting up my arm the instant he touches me is all the indication I need.
Isaac drags me into a paint-peeling hallway that houses the outdated bathrooms. His slit eyes dart up and down the bustling hall before he walks us toward the manager's office located at the end. I should be pulling away from his hold, but with the alcohol in my system, and my pulse tripling from his closeness, my inhibitions evaporated the instant he touched me.
A middle-aged gentleman wearing a cheap knock-off Ralph polo shirt with greasy, slicked black hair lifts his head the instant we enter his office.
“Get out.” Isaac’s tone is threatening.
The manager’s bewildered eyes bounce between Isaac and me before he scurries out of the office as Isaac demanded.
Once he leaves the room, Isaac releases his firm grip on my arm and turns to lock the door. When he pivots back around to face me, I stiffen, and my pulse intensifies. Even though his eyes are furious, it’s what he’s trying to mask with his unyielding gaze that has me pinned in place. His eyes expose his pure, unbridled jealousy and lust.
“Did you get my card?” he questions in his sexy-as-hell voice.
