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Dario closed his eyes, blocking out the sound of the man and taking a moment to picture a different man—someone older, his shock of white hair giving him an air of wisdom that almost hid his psychosis. Gwen’s father.
He opened his eyes. When he swung his fist, it carried the impact of the two hundred and forty pounds of muscle behind it. The man’s head snapped backward and the crunch of teeth was strangely satisfying in their vulnerability.
* * *
BELL
“The Palms sucks. And that bouncer will be there. The one we hate.” Meredith leaned against the bathroom counter, her face close to the mirror. “Help me with these fake lashes. I watched that YouTube video four times and I still can’t do it.”
I gestured her toward me and she turned, the bits of fake eyelashes clumped together in a delicate pile on her palm. I pulled out a cluster of them and took the glue from her hand, squeezing a tiny drop on the end of one before leaning forward and carefully pressing it against her top lash. “Come on. It’s Ladies Night at The Palms. It’ll be fun.”
“Right. Ladies night. An ovary-fest. Just what my libido needs.” Jackie spoke from her place on the bed, where she sat cross-legged, a bowl of cereal in hand. “B, see if you can call your sexy bosses and get them to go out with us.”
“Hey, Lance and Rick are off-limits.” I untangled another clump of fake black curls and got them gluey. “We’ve discussed this. At length.”
I decided eons ago that mixing my male friends and my roommates was a recipe for hell. I loved the three of them, but their relationships tended toward the dramatic and short-lived. If Lance and Rick ever decided to settle down, it needed to be with girls who could handle their lifestyle, personalities and sex drives. After living with these three for the last eighteen months, I could safely say that none of them qualified.
“Yeah, B is keeping them as her backup plan.” Lydia spoke through a toothbrush, leaning forward and spitting in the sink before returning to her dental process—one that qualified as OCD to anyone who paid attention to it.
I made a face at my least favorite roommate. “Another conversation we’ve had a million times.”
“So, the Palms is out,” Meredith decides. “And Bell gets no votes because she’s got more men than she knows what to do with right now.” She met my eyes and winked.
“You do know that your eyelash-batting future is in my hands, right?” I pressed on her next batch a little more aggressively than necessary.
“Ouch. Stop.”
“If not the Palms, then where are we going?” Jackie looked down, fishing out a spoonful of Fruit Loops and lifting them to her mouth.
“What about the Gold Room?” Lydia piped in the suggestion while opening a new container of floss. “This girl at work said it’s amazing.”
My body tensed at the mention of The Majestic’s latest club. It was the new hot spot among tourists and locals alike. Meredith’s eyes studied mine, and I looked away, focusing on the application of super glue to the end of false eyelashes. The sure-fire way to have a conversation I didn’t want, or guarantee our presence at the Gold Room, was to nix it as an idea. I stayed quiet and motioned for Meredith to turn and give me her other eye.
“Yes!” Jackie hopped up from the bed, her bowl in hand, and headed to the kitchen. “I’ve been wanting to go there.”
“I don’t think they have any drink specials...” Meredith ventured.
I gave her a small smile in appreciation and, behind me, Lydia snorted. “Drink specials? I’m wearing my push-up bra. Tonight, drinks are on these babies.”
Despite my silence, and Meredith’s casual attempts to save my ass, forty-five minutes later we were packed into Lydia’s car and headed north, toward Dario Capece’s newest crown jewel.
It’d be fine. It was one club out of a dozen he owned, and the chances of him being there were slim to none. I put my phone on silent and slipped it into my clutch, fastening the clasp and leaning forward, turning the radio up, and belting out the lyrics to the song, hoping I was right.
* * *
DARIO
The lobster was sweet and tender, the steak a little overdone. Dario cut into it and moved it to the side, the waiter instantly beside their table, removing the tenderloin and apologizing.
“Let Robbie know.”
His reference to the chef was met with a quick nod. “I’ll bring another one right out, sir.”
“And another bottle.”
“Certainly.”
The man escaped, and Dario met Gwen’s eyes across the candlelit table, noting the tired way she rubbed the back of her neck. “Long day?”
“God, they all are lately.” She held her hand over her mouth in an attempt to cover up a yawn. “When did we get so old?”
