Page 112 of Love Felt Like This

I breathe a sigh of relief to realize this isn’t the same place I found Beau. That club was more public. This feels exclusive, somewhere the wealthy and famous frequent to avoid the prying eyes of the public. But it doesn’t stop my brain from cranking out the memory like a film strip, repeating over and over and over.

Beau’s hand on that woman’s thigh.

The way my heart sank into my heels.

Poe singles out a group of sectional sofas, three-seaters, and chaises. These types of collective arrangements are scattered throughout the floor, separated only by sheer curtains.

Dom, Jimmy, and Griffin relax onto a couch as Poe disappears back down the stairs with Royce in tow. I plop next to Griffin in the most ungraceful way possible. It’s a deep couch that he manages to look natural on, but I struggle to find a position that feels anything less than awkward. I settle on crossing my legs and using my palm to cover the large slit reaching my upper thigh.

“You all right?” Griffin asks loudly over the music.

“Mm-hmm.”

“What’s wrong? Your face is doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“The cartoon thing,” he says with a crooked smile.

“The cartoon thing?”

“You broadcast what you’re thinking.”

“I’m just…overwhelmed,” I respond.

He leans in as if he couldn’t hear me, so I repeat it, almost having to yell in Griffin’s ear.

Griffin chuckles. “Yeah, this can be overwhelming. It’s not really our scene at all. We used to go to this bar down the street, but we started getting recognized a few years ago. Now we have to go here. Poe likes it.”

“I can tell,” I yell back, watching Poe saunter up the stairs again with a tray of shots.

“Bottoms up, puppet girl!” Poe yells and knocks back one glass without ceremony. I guess we cheers-ed enough in the limo. Royce dumps his shot down his throat, too, but Jimmy holds out a hand in refusal.

“I’ve got a meeting tomorrow,” he says, scrunching his nose. “You aren’t poisoning me.”

“Jim…” Poe coos.

“Not tonight, Poe.”

I look over the railing to the bottom floor, with shifting bodies and confetti littering the ground. I should be at home in pajamas writing scripts or researching.

But here I am—with another crew of musicians.

Though these aren’t half bad, I suppose.

I look over at Griffin. He leans back in his seat, like a king holding court. His strong thighs are wide, and his arm is slung over the back of the couch, pressing a twitching thumb into the velvet cushion. A tattoo of a small bird peeks out from his baby blue suit sleeve. He arches an eyebrow and smiles. My heart pumps an unsteady beat.

“Darling?” Poe extends a small glass out to me. “Shot?”

Finch would tell me to relax.

Nana would want me to let loose.

“Sorry, yes,” I say, grabbing my shot and standing up to snag Jimmy’s abandoned one too. I toss them back one after the other. Poe lets out a cheerful “Oh ho ho! Bev’s partying!” I don’t know what the shots are, but they taste like lemons and freedom. And they sting on the way down.

Standing on uneven floor isn’t fun, so I plop down next to Griffin, bouncing on the cushion and leaning my head back so it rests against his arm. It’s thick enough to be a pillow but not nearly as soft. He smells warm—Is that a smell?—but then again, he always does. Yeah, this position is much better than standing.

He watches my head loll to the side and gives a smile. I avert my gaze because he’s a bit too pretty, but when I look back, his eyes course over my bare leg sticking out from my dress. He swallows, his jaw gritted like maybe he’s in pain. When he meets my gaze again, he licks his lips and clears his throat.