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Chapter 1
Mason
When we walk in through the doors of the nightclub, I’m impressed.
“I thought this was going to be a kiddy joint,” I admit to Jackson.
“I told you, you just need to give it a chance. It’s not only the younger guys clubbing, you know.”
“Apparently not.”
We walk straight to the bar. I don’t like going out to nightclubs. It’s usually younger kids who can’t handle their liquor on the prowl for their next hot date in places like this. I prefer pubs where I can have a beer without music blaring so loudly I can’t hear what anyone else has to say and I don’t have to feel like I’m on display. But I need this—Jackson insisted we go out and let loose, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
The nightclub has an intimate feel to it, with dim lighting, deep blue and purple décor, and music I don’t hate as much as I thought I would.
“Whiskey,” Jackson orders at the bar.
“Going straight for the hard stuff,” I say. “I would have been okay with beer.”
“We can drink beer some other time,” Jackson says. “You have a stick up your ass and we’re fixing it.”
I laugh, shaking my head. Jackson is an idiot sometimes, but he knows when I get all wound up over shit, and he knows how to get me to relax.
He orders two shots of tequila along with the whiskey, and we swallow the burning liquid down. Jackson makes a face.
“This shit is vile.”
“You’re the one who ordered it,” I laugh.
“It’s the only way to get the party started.” He chases the tequila with his whiskey to get rid of the taste. I sip my drink, but I love tequila. I don’t drink often, though, and the alcohol already sets my veins on fire.
Jackson whistles and nods in the direction of a group of girls.
“That’s what I’m talking about. We should buy them a few drinks, see if we get lucky.”
I laugh. “I’m not here to find someone to go home with.”
“You might not be, but I’m edgy as fuck.”
I shake my head, but Jackson is on a mission. This is his playpen—he loves coming out to nightclubs. He says it's because he loves dancing, but I think it’s just for the girls. And why not? He’s single, and he has a lot going for him. But I doubt he’ll ever settle down. A lot of my friends, especially those on the football team, are either dating or married. Jackson is one of the few who’s still happy just to fuck around. When I’m out with him, I don’t feel awkward without anything to add to the conversation about married life, and I don’t feel like a third wheel.
He's one of the few friends I have completely unrelated to football, so when we hang out, I don’t feel like I have one foot still in that world, especially when I’m about to leave it all behind. He doesn’t give a shit if I play or not—he just wants to go out for drinks or dance, or whatever. It’s a nice change from everyone else either giving me shit about retiring, whether it’s for or against my choices.
I watch Jackson go over to the group of women. He’s got balls; I’ll say that much—he’s a guy alone, approaching a whole group of women. I don’t know if I would do that.
They’re talking and laughing—Jackson can be a funny son of a bitch and the fucker is charming to boot—and in no time, they’re all nodding and heading toward the bar.
“This is Mason,” Jackson introduces me. “Tina, Jenny, Natalie.” He points them out.
The first two girls look like they’re ready to fall at Jackson’s feet, and he turns to the bar to order. Natalie keeps to herself.
She’s stunning. Blonde hair, hazel eyes, curvy body. But she looks like she has walls around her so high I doubt I could climb them. And she looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here.
“Are you alright?” I ask her.
She wears a little black dress like she’s doing it a favor but I don’t think she has any idea how attractive she is.
“I’m fine,” she says and forces a smile. “This just isn’t my scene.”
