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23
WAR OF HEARTS BY RUELLE
Cat
The club is not what I remembered at all.
The lights are low, but it lacks the red glow that gave the place a sexier vibe when I was here years ago. The dance floor is to the side rather than in the center. The couches in the corners are tired and sagging.
But I didn’t come to explore this room—the club space. No, I’m headed to the second floor.
As I turn toward the elevator, my body jolts, and I have to slap a palm against the wall to steady myself. What the hell? It’s barely noticeable, but the balls I slid inside myself an hour ago are vibrating lightly, and the sensation is making it hard to breathe.
“Shit,” I mutter, biting down on my lip hard. I can’t believe Sophie would do this to me. Strike that. Actually, I can. That sick bitch. And yet…
It feels so fucking good.
Blowing out a breath and trying to focus on my surroundings, I press the button to go upstairs. I want to explore what’s up there more than I did five minutes ago. That hint of sensation vibrating through me has my body wound tight.
Desperate.
My phone buzzes as I slide into the elevator. Once the doors close in front of me, I take it from my bag, expecting to see a text from Sophie.
Unknown: Ready to play a game?
I frown but jolt again when the intensity of the vibrations increases a notch or two. Practically panting, I blink a few times before leaning against the cool stainless-steel wall of the elevator.
Who is this?
The door opens, and the buzzing inside my body stops. Before me, a man stands at a velvet rope. He takes one look at me and moves it aside. “Ms. Bouvier?”
I jolt in surprise. I haven’t used that name in years. As a fuck-you to Jay, though I’d never admit that aloud, I started using James again after Chloe was born.
I’d finally found someone I hated more than my father, and I could no longer stand to be referred to by a name he’d murmured to me too many times to count.
“Um, sure, yes,” I stammer.
“See or be seen?” he asks.
Confused by the question, I stare at him for a long second. Finally, the implication hits me. I have no intention of participating. I’m here to do research. Though I don’t know that this is the right answer, I respond in the way that makes the most sense. “See.”
“Plenty of options down the hall, then,” he says, holding an arm out and motioning behind him. “There’s a bar at the end. The door is on the right if you’re not quite ready for anything else.”
Obviously, he sees something in me that justifies his suggestion. And he’d be right. I’m in so far over my damn head it’s not even funny. Why didn’t I ask Frank to come with me? Or beg Dex to let me borrow Sophie?
Instead of focusing on things I can’t change, I blow out a breath, smooth my hands down the soft silk fabric of my dress, and stride forward.
The low music that floats down the darkened hallway gets louder as I reach the magical door to the right, where I’ll find booze that will hopefully take the edge off.
The bar is small, despite the large space. Once again, my mind takes over categorizing ways to make women feel more comfortable here. Rather than the single white light that hangs above the bartender, red lighting would set the mood and allow for shadows that could be used to one’s advantage. Whether that be to hide in or to bring out inner courage. A woman occupies one of the three barstools. When I step beside her, she looks up at me with gorgeous blue eyes. She has creamy skin, high cheekbones, and berry lips that she licks as she returns my perusal.
“Can I get you a drink?” the bartender asks. He’s wearing all black and has his sleeves rolled up, exposing tattoos that snake down his arms. I don’t mind the eye candy in the least. His gruff appearance reminds me a bit of Frank.
Before I can reply, my phone buzzes again. In my haste to find the safety of the bar, I’d forgotten about the mystery message. I ignore it and order a drink instead. “Vodka martini…Extra Dirty,” I instruct.
“No other way to have it,” the woman beside me murmurs.
I give her an agreeable smile, but the expression slips from my face when a zap between my legs has my tongue going to the top of my mouth to hold in a moan.
