Page 89 of Unsuitable

“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean to listen in, but it was kinda hard not to hear. But he asked you out again for tomorrow night, right?”

I give her a sly smile. “You know he did. And you also know that I said yes.”

Grinning, she says, “Attagirl.” Then, she winds another section of my hair around the curling iron. “And screw not going out tonight. We’re having a girls’ night out. It’s been way too long since you and I hit up the town. So, I’ll finish up doing your hair, then give me half an hour to put my face on, and we’ll go out. We can go to this new club in town. What do you say?”

A night out on the town with my girl…sounds perfect.

I smile at her in the mirror. “I say…hell yeah.”

Twenty-Two

Zayn’s “Like I Would” is pumping through the club. I have a drink in my hand. And I’m totally feeling out of my element.

I’ve never really been a party girl. Having a younger brother to care for meant nights out were a rarity for me.

Honestly, I’m kind of ready to go home. My feet ache, and I’m tired. Plus, I’ve got work in the morning. But Cece’s enjoying herself, and I don’t want to be a party pooper.

We went to a few bars before coming to this club, which I’ve totally forgotten the name of.

Cece’s just at the bar, getting more drinks. I tip my head back, checking on her, and see she’s chatting with some guy who’s in line next to her.

He looks cute.

I finish the last of my drink and put the glass down on a nearby table.

Then, I get this weird prickly feeling on the back of my neck, like someone’s watching me. It’s been happening to me all night.

I spin my head around, looking, but I can’t spot anything—or should I say, anyone watching me. Not that I could tell in this place anyway. It’s packed. I rub a hand over the back of my neck, easing the sensation away.

Honestly, I’m starting to think I’m going mad.

I glance back at Cece. She looks to be in deep conversation with the cute guy.

Deciding I need the toilet, I catch her eye and mouth, Restroom break, to her.

She points to the floor, telling me she’ll be there when I get back.

I give her a thumbs-up and then head in the direction of the ladies’ toilets.

I make my way through the throng of people and head down the corridor to the restroom. The sign at the end of the hallway points an arrow to the left for men and right for women and disabled.

It’s kind of eerie here. The lighting is shitty, and the bass is thumping off the walls, making it feel like a scene out of a Z-list horror movie.

Reaching the end of the hall, I turn right, and my steps falter as my heart picks up pace.

Kas.

He’s standing near the disabled restroom, his shoulder leaning up against the wall.

He’s wearing blue jeans and a white shirt. His shirtsleeves are rolled up, showing his gorgeous forearms—I might have a thing with his arms—and his hair is loose and tucked behind his ears.

He looks amazing.

But, whatever, I don’t care.

What I do care about is what he’s doing here.

“What are you doing here?” I echo my thoughts.