Page 45 of Level Up for Love

Chapter

Twelve

Mona’s on her second bottle of soju when she suggests, “We should go dancing.”

She’s changed out of her cosplay, but she still has the sparkly blue eye shadow and high pony; it swings as she looks eagerly around the table.

I’ve met up with her and the others at a local Korean BBQ spot. It took a round of beer and shared appetizers, but the group seems to have relaxed around one another for the first time.

Well. Relaxed around me.

The stickers helped, I think. Arthur’s eyes had crinkled around the corners—he stuck the paladin sticker right to his shirt, like it was a name tag—and Shay asked me for Sadie’s info so she could commission her own portrait. Soon after, the whole table eased into talking about our game, which evolved into Wesley, Shay, Arthur, and Colin sharing stories about their old campaigns. I particularly enjoyed Colin’s recounting of his character’s romantic saga with a bugbear, and Shay’s story of how she managed to hide her character’s secret identity as an assassin for more than half of a campaign. I’d even admitted to everyone that this game is the first time I’ve played and not DMed in years, and something in Arthur’s expression shifted. It was like an epiphany struck as he muttered wisely, “All makes sense now.”

At that comment, I caught Wesley hiding a smile behind his glass of beer; I rolled my eyes.

Now Mona’s suggestion garners mixed reactions.

“You want to ruin a perfectly good day with a crowded bar and sticky floors?” Colin snorts. “Absolutely not.”

Shay reaches for Mona’s soju and pours herself a small glass, a grin tugging at her lips. “Sure, babe.”

Mona looks to me, and I shrug. “You know I’m not saying no.”

Wesley leans back in his chair and says, “I’m game.”

I pause with my beer halfway to my lips, but I’m not going to back out on Mona now.

Shay glances sidelong to her dad and waits silently—for him to back out, I assume. Arthur scoffs. “Your mother and I used to be the life of the party, Shay,” he says, feigning offense—though his mouth quirks up. “I could put that dance floor to shame.”

“Save it for the Halloween party,” Shay begs.

Arthur wrinkles his nose to the rest of us. “Not my scene, anyway.”

We say goodbye to Colin and Arthur and meander down the street, which grows more crowded with each block we pass. Quiet restaurants give way to loud bars with music spilling out through open doors and from sprawling decks. Mona, extra bubbly from the soju, has begun to hum snatches of the songs that she can hear. Shay threads her arm gently through Mona’s and flashes Wesley a quick smile over her shoulder.

I lead the way, assessing which venue will be a good fit for the four of us; after all, I’ve spent the last year visiting nearly all of them, exploring new things and, admittedly, numbing the pain of the Cataclysm. Zoë’s is the obvious answer, as it’s Mona’s favorite and the best gay bar in the city, with immaculate music and vibes—but there’s already a long line out the door, and it’ll be packed shoulder to shoulder on a Saturday night. Limbo has the cheapest drinks but a rank atmosphere, and it’s not like we’re trying to get shit-faced, anyway. Spirit Society, with its inventive cocktail menu and music played low enough for conversation, is where I’ve met many of my one-off connections, but its mood is a touch too romantic for current company. Not for Mona and Shay, maybe, but—

I make a point of not looking at Wesley.

No, what we really need is a small club with a fun, disco-y dance vibe, low pressure, and drinks that are yummy but not so delicious that I’ll be dropping fifty bucks on our first round.

Wesley suddenly slows his gait, seemingly pulled into the orbit of a pulsing strobe light. His profile is painted in flashes of blue, purple, and red as he peers up at the bar’s sign, the lights shifting in sync with the beat thumping from within. I smile when I see the familiar looping text on the sign above the bar’s wide-open doors: Wizardry.

Wesley is many things, and unfortunately, he is a man of taste. It’s the perfect pick.

Without warning, I duck inside, and everyone follows after.

The bar has a playful vibe, with a collection of disco balls hanging from the ceiling and purple and emerald velvet curtains draped along the walls. The music is funky and easy to dance to, and after shouting their orders in my ear, Mona wastes no time in dragging Shay out onto the floor. It leaves me stuck with Wesley with at least five other people in line before us.

Shit.

He gives the silence only a good ten seconds to stretch before he finally asks, “Are we going to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“NEWT, Reagan.”

I try to keep my tone breezy. “What is there to talk about?”