Page 23 of Step Brother Bear

My mouth pops open. I’m stunned speechless.

“Chrishell!” Rachel reprimands.

“What? It’s true!”

I find my voice. “It’s not true!”

“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes.

“And he’s not my brother.”

“Stepbrother. Same thing.”

“Absolutely not the same thing.”

“Why, because that makes it okay to fuck him?”

“No!” I yell, truly panicked that she’s about to discover what’s going on between us.

She looks at me again in her mirror. “I’m fucking with you, Isabella.”

I force a laugh, hoping my discomfort doesn’t show.

“Come on, let’s get hype so when we can get to Zinc, we’re ready to go!” She turns up the radio; electronic house music blares through the speakers.

I attempt to still my trembling heart, hoping I didn’t give myself away. I don’t need more stress right now. This night was supposed to be for running away from my worries, especially Derek, and yet he always seems to come to my mind. It’s like his presence follows me.

My heart settles as the music vibrates the car. Chrishell and Rachel sway their bodies in front and sing along with the very few lyrics present in the song. I join in, hoping that the rest of the night can be this effortless.

Zinc is an hour drive away, but it goes by quickly with the girls. “They have valet now?” I ask as we pull up to the front, and a man in a polo shirt runs to open our doors.

“Yup, this place has really stepped it up from high school. They had a whole remodel inside, too,” Chrishell yells across her car as she walks around toward Rachel and me. “I don’t know if it will compare to all your fancy New York City nightclubs, but to us hillbillies it’s pretty fucking fancy.”

I want to tell her that I barely ever went out in New York; it wasn’t really Lewis’ scene, but she’s already too far ahead of me, sauntering up to the bouncer. By the time I’ve trudged up to her, the bouncer has already unclipped the red velvet rope and holds it open for us to enter.

“Damn,” I say to myself, because no one would be able to hear me over the booming music swelling from the dark room. Chrishell was right. A lot has changed from the lackluster club of my youth. Bodies gyrate all around me, only visible by the ever-present flash of strobe lights streaming over the crowd. As far as I can tell, everyone is in costume, most of them as slutty as mine. A circular bar sits at the center of the giant room, rows of illuminated bottles of alcohol stacked in a display that reaches the tall ceiling. A second level overlooks the dance area, holding velvet couches and cocktail tables separated by railings.

“Come on, let’s get a drink,” Chrishell yells over the music, grabbing me and Rachel and pulling us into the herd.

Eyes take me in as we slink by; some are in masks, some in face paint, and some with entire furry animal heads. It’s a bit unsettling to see so many grown adults in costume nowhere near Halloween, but it will probably seem much more normal once I have alcohol flowing through my system.

“Three lemon drop shots!” Chrishell yells to the bartender as soon as we reach the counter. The blonde woman nods and pulls out tiny glasses.

“Shots?” I whine.

“Yes, shots! Look at this place. We have some catching up to do.”

The bartender drops the yellow drinks, and Chrishell demands we take them immediately. The sickly sweet liquid burns on the way down, but after a second, it already makes me feel more carefree.

“Another round!” Chrishell yells, and this time I don’t protest.

“Can’t we have something less sweet?” Rachel asks with a scrunched expression.

Chrishell grabs her face. “Don’t whine over free drinks!” She kisses her cheek before chugging her second lemon drop. “Wooo!” she yells, slamming her glass against the wooden bar. She eyes the crowd, grabbing my hand and pulling me close once she notices something. “Oh, look! Hotties at twelve o’clock.” She points at a group of guys, huddled by a pillar in the middle of the dance floor. One of them wears a vampire cape, his glow-in-the-dark artificial teeth showing as he yaps to his friend. Another wears a baseball jersey and cap—how boring—and the third is in doctor scrubs, all of them sizing us up as they sip their beers.

I grimace. “They look like they’re planning to traffic us.”

She shrugs. “Maybe, but we’ll never know unless we talk to them.”