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By the time we’re dropped at the curb, I’m already tipsy and much more relaxed. My gold strappy heels are over three inches high, but I’m still dwarfed by the men around me. I stagger slightly and Clay immediately wraps an arm around me, tugging me close. “Careful, princess,” he says. “You don’t want to twist an ankle.”
“That’s the least of our worries,” Theron grumbles. “That dress she’s wearing…” He shakes his head, focusing on the gold lame one shouldered mini dress I chose for tonight's outing.
“What about the dress?” I say defensively.
“You look smoking hot. He’s worried you’re going to get ravished in there.”
Gabe reaches out to touch the fabric, which has a liquid quality. “It’s like fish skin.”
“Way to make me feel sexy,” I say.
“If you don’t know how sexy you look, you need your eyes tested.” Jonas slides his arm through mine and tugs me out of Clay’s embrace, striding up to the doorman with a clipboard. “We should be on the guest list,” he says confidently. “Fine Line Magazine, party of eleven.”
The bouncer, who would give The Rock a run for his money, grimaces at me, clicking his pen before he turns his attention to count the other men. “Ten men and one woman,” he says, raising a bushy black eyebrow.
“Yep.” I smile cheerfully, the alcohol filling me with liquid joy that makes me want to giggle. Folding my lips, I try to keep my laughter inside in case The Hulk’s big brother takes issue with me.
Finding everyone dressed impeccably to the glamorous dress code, he unhooks the rope barrier and allows us to make our way inside.
The music is so loud, the floor vibrates under my feet and my hair shifts in time to the beat. We bypass the coatroom and Jonas holds my arm tightly as we emerge into the wide central area of Club Onyx. It’s huge and starkly decorated, and the darkness of the black walls, floor and ceiling contrasts with the shiny white marble bar which extends across the whole back wall and is packed four-deep with thirsty clubbers. In the center, a huge black and silver chandelier hangs over the dancing throng. Purple and white lights pulse in time to the beat and before I have a chance to adjust to my surroundings, Jonas tugs me onto the dancefloor.
In seconds, we’re engulfed by the crowd but then Jimmy, Clay, Gabe, Stefan and Tom join us and I’m safely surrounded by six huge men. “Where are the rest?” I shout in Jimmy’s ear.
“At the bar, buying drinks.”
“And pretending they don’t hate dancing,” Gabe says.
I laugh, trying to imagine Theron and Russell taking to the dance floor. The truth is, I can’t.
“The only dancing Theron ever does is Greek.”
“We need to get him to demonstrate when we’re home,” Tom laughs.
The music shifts to something with a rising melody and I throw my arms in the air, close my eyes and let it take me away. Hands grip my waist; thighs press against my ass. When I open my eyes, I’m sandwiched between Jonas and Jimmy, and it’s a damned good place to be. “You’re fire, you know that?” Jonas tells me. “Fire.” He touches my arm and whips his hand back with a hissing sound.
“And you’re a douche,” Jimmy jokes in response, slapping him on the forehead.
It’s been such a long time since I danced, and even longer since I danced with a man. Now I have two gorgeous men pressed close and another four looking on with hungry eyes. And somewhere in this club, there’s four on top of that buying drinks.
Being out with them all for the first time makes me realize how hard it must be when teachers take their classes on field trips. I feel like I need to do a quick headcount to make sure I haven’t lost anyone along the way.
“I need a drink,” I say, flushing from the density of dancers around us and all their body heat.
“The lady needs a drink,” Tom yells, and more than a few strangers glance in our direction. This time, it’s Jimmy who guides me with a territorial hand on the top of my ass. If he slides it any lower, I’ll lose the ability to walk.
Appreciative eyes follow us, from men and women. By the bar, I catch a group of women in their early twenties gathered around Carson, Oliver, Theron and Russell. I’m caught off guard at the unexpected competition, remembering Kirsty’s words, and stop feet away, suddenly feeling like I’m intruding.
What was I thinking, imagining they’d all want to spend the evening with me when there are so many other pretty girls here tonight? That was the point of coming to the club, after all. It’s why Kirsty’s paid for all this. I get to see the men interacting and flirting with other women. The thought makes me want to scratch out their eyeballs. Jonas rests his hands on my upper arms and whispers in my ear, “what are you waiting for?”
I shake my head, unable to explain that seeing the others with women tears me up inside. I turn and he gazes down at me, searching my expression. “Don’t worry.” He touches my cheek. “There isn’t another woman in here who compares to you. Your boss might want us to flirt, but none of us wants that. We’re here with you, okay?”
“You don’t owe me anything,” I say. “We have an arrangement, but it’s not exclusive.”
“It is to me. And the rest of them feel the same.” He doesn't add the words ‘for now’, but I hear them anyway.
When I turn back to the men at the bar, they’ve sent the girls packing, and I can’t believe it. As I approach, the retreating girls stare in my direction and talk behind their hands, but I brush past to where Theron and Russell have accumulated a line of drinks so wide and long, it’s drawn the focus of all the bartenders.
“Why so many?” I ask, lifting a yellow cocktail from the shiny bar and taking a long pull from the straw. It’s something with pineapple and coconut and rum, maybe. A pina colada.
