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“Hahahaha!” I throw my head back in a laugh and my new friends at the bar shoot me a look.
“What’s so funny?” Nick asks.
“Oh, nothing. Have you tried one of these? It’s so good. I’m on my second one.” I raise my bourbon sweet tea, playing the role of fun, tipsy comedienne, and he raises an eyebrow.
“Can’t say that I have. Can we go talk in the greenroom?”
My heart thumps against my chest. “Later—we have to get to the club for Cedric’s birthday, remember? He’s already headed over there. C’mon!” I hop off my barstool and motion for him to follow me out of the club.
“Wait, Olivia,” he says, not far behind me.
“What’s the matter? You don’t dance like Elaine, do you, Jerry?” I imitate the character’s infamous dance, jerkin’ around with major hitchhiker thumbs.
“Are you drunk?” he asks, laying his hand on the small of my back and leading me to the Jeep like a gentleman. I’m stark sober but I stumble a little. His touch is intoxicating. My body loosens up, eager to lean into his hand. Into him.
“Maybe,” I say, hoping he’ll buy it and keep his talk to himself awhile longer. “Let’s go dance it off.” I tap him on the nose with a “boop” and he smiles, opening the passenger door. I think it’s working.
As he walks around to the driver’s side, I scramble to connect his auxiliary cable to my phone. My song’s locked and loaded with the volume on high by the time he opens the door.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks.
“I’m uh-mazing.”
He turns the ignition and Bruno Mars’s voice steals the speakers. I pump my fist to the beat, singing along to the first verse of “Uptown Funk.” Can’t talk over this jam.
“Olivia,” he calls, but doesn’t look too mad that I hijacked his stereo.
“I’m too hot!” I sing as he pulls out and heads down the street. Dancing around as much as my seatbelt will allow, I get the party going. No way he’d want to have a serious conversation now. The song isn’t even over by the time Nick pulls up to the valet. “Whoohoo! We’re here!” I shout.
“Maybe we should get you some food.”
“Later. Let’s party!” I play up plastered girl and practically skip into the club. A Drake track blasts overhead as I whip out cash for the cover. The sooner I get on the dance floor, the better. I hardly make it into Wild Peacock with its blue, purple, and green uplights before Nick takes my hand. Another rush comes over me.
“C’mon, we gotta go make an appearance,” he says, no doubt referring to finding Motel Manager Fredrick.
“Let’s go dance first,” I beg, stealing my hand back.
“We need to make good on our promise.”
I relent, following several paces behind him to the VIP section. Fredrick and Cedric and a few others sit at one of the roped-off booths and lay eyes on Nick and me. “Oh, hey.” Fredrick grins and waves us over. “You made it. Come have a drink.”
Good idea. That oughta loosen Nick up.
“Okay!” I climb over the ropes and slide into the booth. A tall bottle of whiskey sits on the table surrounded by empty glasses, mixers, and lime wedges. Bottle service, huh? I grab the bottle and look to the birthday boy. “May I?” I ask, and he gives me the okay.
“Maybe you’ve had enough,” Nick says, gently stopping me from pouring any more.
“It’s not for me. It’s for you, you fuddy-duddy.” I hand him the glass, pour some soda for me, and we all toast to Cedric’s birthday.
Nick takes a tiny sip, then leans in. “Maybe we shouldn’t stay long. I really want to talk to you.”
Damn! This drunk act is failing me. Plan B.
“What? I can’t hear you! I’m gonna go dance,” I yell over the music, and slide away from the booth before he can say anything. The DJ plays “Lose Control,” a throwback from Missy Elliott, and I groove to the beat, getting lost in the crowd. What are the chances a classic rock–obsessed comedian like Nick will follow me?
As the DJ seamlessly segues the dance track into another, Nick glides up, head boppin’ and hips poppin’. I may have misjudged this one.
“Hey,” he calls.
