Page 155 of The Stranger

Sweaty and unrepentant, Zoe flings her arms around me. “Oh my God. I fucking love this night!”

“Same,” I yell back. And I’m not lying. For the first time tonight, I’m happy. I didn’t need Al’s or any man’s hands because I am woman. Hear me⁠—

“Fuck.” Zoe’s expression instantly changes, her arms retracting from my damp shoulders.

“What is it?” My gaze follows hers to the edge of the dance floor. A strobe light passes over an impossibly white shirt, obscuring the man’s face but only for a beat. A beat where my heart goes a little haywire as I convince myself it’s him. Luc. But I’m only kidding myself. “Is that Jacques?”

I look back at her, and maybe she reads my confusion.

“Long story,” she yells in my ear. “We hooked up a little while back. Was good. Pity he’s an asshole.”

I think back to the flight to Mallorca. Makes sense, I suppose.

“Come on, let’s see what the fucker wants.” Her arm tightens on mine as we approach.

“A word,” he says. Shouts.

“Regrettable,” she answers as quick as a flash, planting her hand on her hip. “That one work for ya?”

“I’d prefer repeatable.” His eyes flick over her, and I find myself turning my head almost expecting her to be naked because, good grief! That was a look and a half.

She snorts. “Delusional.”

“Not in my dreams.” His eyes slide my way reluctantly.

“Gotta pee,” is my input before I choke on all these pheromones. I make to pass by him when he catches my arm.

“The boss is here,” he says, leaning in close.

Something treacherous flips between my legs before a whole lot of other stuff follows in its wake. Why? What for? Did he bring her? And fuck no. All of these seem to jostle for position on my tongue.

“Upstairs,” he adds, his fingers tensing briefly in warning.

“Tell him I said hi.” I pull away and make a beeline for the loos without looking back.

As I weave through the crowd, I ignore the tiny hairs on the back of my neck standing as straight as pins. Someone is looking at me and I know I’m not imagining things.

My heart begins to thrash like an angry woman at an Alanis concert.

Meanwhile, my brain is screaming, Fuck him.

And my pussy, well, she seems to think that’s a good plan.

38

LUC

I find her in the middle of the dance floor and for one suspended moment, I just watch her from the balcony of a private lounge. Her body sways to the music, her mouth moving silently with the song. How carefree she looks. How young.

I shouldn’t be here. The thought is instant and unwelcome, but the beginning of a deluge. It’s so wrong. How we’ve gotten here, how I manipulated her. I should leave her to her night and her life. She has a whole bright world waiting for her.

But I can’t. Because watching her leave the house felt less like restraint and more like a lack of air. I fucking crave her, a gnawing hunger that sharpens with every hour I’m denied.

Beneath the fracture of lights, her mouth softly opens like an invitation to bliss. She flicks her hand under her hair, and I imagine I can see the strands clinging to her neck, perfumed with her floral scent and fragrant sweat.

She throws her arms around Zoe, and heads pressed close, the pair begin to dance. Hands skims waists, hips rolling shamelessly, laughing too as Primrose throws her head back, carefree and glowing as the men around her circle closer.

My grip tightens on the heavy glass tumbler in my hand.