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“Want to skip upstairs tonight?” Mags asks.
I blink away my dazed state and glance up at my friend. Lines mar her forehead, a deepVbetween her brows. She has no idea what is going on, but knows something is off. Mags has never been keen on the club or being in the thick of the crowd. Nor has Lena, she just goes along with it because she doesn’t want me alone.
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine.” I am far from fine, but maybe dancing or the vibe upstairs will distract my thoughts. Get me out of my head. Stop me from driving to the B&B and doing something irrational.
We settle the bill and Mags texts Geoff. He and Logan are in the club; Owen opted to stay at the office and work another few hours.
The trek up the familiar staircase settles some of the anxiety I’ve felt all day. The dark walls and tantalizing images in frames add another layer of balm. And when we enter the nightclub, a sense of freedom blankets me head to toe. Maybe it’s the slight anonymity the darkness of the club provides. Maybe it’s because I am comfortable letting go and being myself in these four walls. Or maybe it’s because this place speaks to my soul.
There is no judgment here. No worries. No tasks to juggle.
Here, I get lost in the music, in the sway of my hips, in someone else’s body pressed to mine.
We catch up with the guys for a few minutes. I sip water and scan the club. Though I can’t see everyone, no one in my line of sight resembles Braydon.
“Going to dance.” I set my water down and rise from the couch.
“Want me to join?” Lena asks.
“Only if you want to.”
Her eyes dart to the dance floor and I spy the answer written on her face. “Think I’ll stay here for a bit.”
“Cool.” I kiss her forehead, then Mags’s crown. “Be back in a bit.”
Digging in my pockets, I check that my fob and wallet are snug. I weave through the crowd, hips already swaying and arms up before I reach the dance floor. Embedding myself in the throng of bodies, I close my eyes and get lost in the music. Let the bass vibrate my bones and treble steal the endless what-if thoughts.
Sweat pricks my skin as one song transitions to another. I dance by myself. I dance with strangers. But with each new song, I feel more myself. At ease and comfortable in my own skin.
Then a familiar scent hits my nose. An oddly specific smell. Like hot ink—the smell when your printer finishes printing hundreds of pages. A weird mix of soot and lavender.
And only one person wears the smell like a cologne.Braydon.
I spin around to see him inches away. Standing stock-still, his eyes trail down my body and then back up. Fire lights his amber eyes as he steps closer and fists my hips.
As he leans in, another smell hits. Beer. And if I smell it over the sweaty bodies and the scent he naturally wears, he’s had quite a bit.
“What’re you doing here?” I ask over the music.
He dips lower, his lips at my ear. “Hoping to see you.” He leans back and meets my gaze. “DTF?”
Whoa, whoa, whoa.
Do I pick up men in the club? On occasion, but it isn’t the sole reason I come here. Sometimes, it is nice to just be desired. To feel wanted. Do I hook up with strangers over familiar faces? One hundred percent. In a small town, the last thing I need is all the men thinking I am easy. Because I’m not. A woman not in a committed relationship but enjoying herself does not make her any less. If men can hook up without being shamed, so can women. Period.
But I don’t throw myself around like a whore. I don’t fuck every stranger I meet. And I certainly don’t flaunt my debauchery.
I steer Braydon away from the crowd. Lead him to a quieter corner where fewer eyes will be on us. Park him on a stool and step between his legs with my hands on my hips. Lock onto his slightly glazed-over eyes.
“What the hell, Braydon?”
He tilts his head to the side. His eyes narrow and study me momentarily before widening. “Oh.” He slaps a hand on his forehead. “You don’t know what it means. Sorry.” He lifts a hand to cover his mouth and snickers. “Down to fuck?”
I inch back, my eyes darting between his, then shake my head.Who is this guy?
“Yeah, I know what it means. Just didn’t think that was your MO.”
He throws his hands up then slaps his thighs. “Well, you don’t really seem to care for the softer side.” He looks to the side, stares at the growing crowd for a beat, then brings his eyes back to mine and shrugs. “Either way, I lose.”
