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Preston grinned and nodded his head.
Once inside, Ayla rummaged through the pantry and the fridge for something she could fix for breakfast. In the freezer, she found half a box of frozen waffles, although she knew there was only enough syrup to make a batch for Preston.
He wolfed down his waffles while she nibbled at one dry one, using the remaining syrup on his plate to make it just palatable. She grabbed two sticks of her son’s string cheese to refuel after her shift at the shipping company and packed herself a sandwich to take to work.
While Preston watched cartoons, she snuck in a quick shower and logged onto Facebook. A guy from high school, Mike Curtis, whom she’d had a crush on, had been messaging her lately. He and his wife had just split up, and she figured he was lonely and hoping to coerce her into some “forget-my-ex” sex. He looked good, she had to admit, and he seemed to be doing well for himself, working in sales for a company that made casino equipment; automatic card shufflers and such.
But something wasn’t there. There wasn’t a spark. Even when she tried to envision a future with someone like Mike Curtis, it felt like settling.
And she’d done enough of that.
When Preston was born, Ayla took a personal vow of “relationship celibacy.” She didn’t want a parade of strange men in and out of her life. Too many horror stories about children being molested or abused by the new boyfriend or stepdad.
No, it was and would be Ayla and Preston against the world. She’d given up hope that she’d miraculously bump into his father one day, and even if she did, what could she really expect from such a reunion?
She’d bumped into him at Scald, a nightclub that had been open for only about six months before being shut down by law enforcement when it was discovered that the promoter was the ecstasy kingpin of Las Vegas, and his club was a thinly-disguised marketplace for his product.
She’d gotten in with a fake ID with her best friend, Tara, as a way to celebrate high school graduation. Tara told her parents she was spending the night at Ayla’s, Ayla told her parents she was at Tara’s, but instead they met up at a mutual friend, Natalie’s, house and “modified” their sexiest outfits to make them club-ready.
Ayla wore a clingy dark blue dress that she’d hemmed to an obscenely short length, showing off far more of her thighs than the designer intended or her parents would have allowed. She also made sure her breasts were pushed up and together, filling the V down the middle. She’d never dressed like this before but she was 18 and wanted to look sophisticated and womanly.
The door guy took a hard look at the three friends’ ID’s, but an even harder look at their cleavage and miles of leg on display, and he waved them through.
Natalie had previously gone out clubbing with her older sister, who’d hooked her up with the fake ID guy, so the club scene wasn’t entirely new to her, but Scald was the hottest place in town, playing host to a cadre of celebrities every weekend.
Ayla felt like Alice in Wonderland.
Guys almost immediately began buying the girls drinks, and it didn’t take long for Ayla to shed her inhibitions, nerves, and any reticence when it came to dancing.
Tara, Ayla, and Natalie tore up the dance floor, and the sweaty grinding and beautiful people all around got Ayla going. She’d never felt sexier.
Taking a break, Ayla looked over to discover Tara making out with a guy who looked like a football player, and Natalie was gone, having disappeared back onto the dance floor.
Ayla sat at the bar when two swarthy-looking guys wearing way too much gold jewelry approached and flanked her. They were talking fast, and between their thick accents, the drinks she’d already consumed, and the combination of lights and music, she felt dizzy.
The bartender produced three drinks, something green in them, and the two men offered a toast. She lifted her glass and went to toss it back, when he intervened.
As Ayla lifted the drink to her lips, a hand found her forearm and blocked her. She, and her two new friends, turned to find a tall, dark-haired guy in a bold green shirt standing there. He was rugged, with a Roman nose and obsidian eyes.
His voice made her quiver.
“You don’t want to drink that,” he warned. “And you two… if you want to keep your teeth, get the fuck out of here.”
The two friends made eye contact and the larger of the two drank his shot and slammed the glass down on the bar top.
“Who the fuck are you supposed to be?” he asked Ayla’s savior. “Captain America?”
The newcomer responded by coolly taking the glass from Ayla’s hand and swirling it, in thought, before replying. “I’m the guy who watched you slip something in her drink. Here, have it back,” he said, tossing the contents in the man’s face.
“Motherfucker!” the smaller man responded, and lunged at the stud in the green shirt. He was summarily deposited on the floor with a lightning-fast judo throw, and when his bigger friend tried his luck, the result was the same.
Security rushed to the scene, and Green Shirt took Ayla gently by the arm and guided her away from the scene.
“Wet spot on the floor. Those two blokes slipped,” he muttered to the first guard on the scene, and he dissolved into the crowded dance floor with Ayla, pulling her close.
She was completely flabbergasted.
“Sorry, love, but those two scumbags put something in your drink,” the large man pulled Ayla close, speaking directly into her ear, over the thump of the music. He had an accent she couldn’t place. Vaguely British, with a hint of something else. “You’d have woken up in their room, or worse, and I couldn’t bear the thought of it. Forgive me if I crossed the line. I have a weakness for damsels in distress, even if they don’t realize they’re in distress. Especially beautiful blondes.” His smile was warm and seemed genuine, and something about the way he looked at her made Ayla tingle all over.
