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Lily
“This is out of this world,”I shout over the loud music.
At one end of the two-floor nightclub, a DJ duo wearing banana costumes spins remixes of songs with bass loud enough to shake every cell in my body.
“Wait until I take you to Ibiza.” Nico winks before turning his attention back to the dance floor, searching through the pool of damp, thrashing bodies and wafts of cigarette smoke and neon lights.
Our hands link, his grip tight around my fingers, and I follow behind him. The collar on Nico’s linen button-down shifts, revealing the bite mark I left yesterday.
“Fucking Nico.” A voice booms over the music, sending our gazes to the balcony hanging over the dance floor. The source is a flushed, round-faced man with brown hair. He waves over at us, his poorly-fitted shirt exposing a hairy chest.
Must be the famous cofounder of Flight Falcon. The nerves I managed with Tate and Tara don’t come this time.
“Keith!” Nico yells back at his friend as we ascend the steps. Then we pass through the velvet rope leading into the VIP section guarded by two large bouncers.
“Hey, brother.” The two swarm each other with a bear-hug embrace, my hand still linked to Nico’s. “It’s Klaus now, actually. I’m on a rebranding kick. Sounds cool, yeah?”
“Whatever you say, dude.” Nico proudly presents me to his friend. “This is Lily.”
“Arightpleasure. Come, come.” The man wraps me into a hug that lasts far too long. “Nice to meet you.”
“Klaus? Like Klaus Mikaelson?” I shout over the music and into Nico’s ear. “FromThe Vampire Diaries?”
Nico shrugs. “He’s always trying to change his image.”
Alright. Klaus it is.
Let’s hope he doesn’t plan to turn into a vampire and rebrand this club into a slaughterhouse.
We are guided to the edge of Klaus’s table, where he rattles off the names of his posse. Bottles of vintage Veuve Clicquot litter the tabletop, and sitting on the surrounding couches are five beautiful women, each one the definition of stunning. A few guys are tucked in between them like anchovies. Fog coats all of their thick-framed sunglasses.
Everyone bombards us with hugs and kisses.
In the chaos, Nico drops my hand, and my eyes snag on one of the women with curled strands of lustrous platinum-blonde hair and a straight nose. She stains her glossed lips on Nico’s cheek.
All trace of calm leaves me when the rest of the leggy party flocks around my grinning buffoon. They shower him with lingering touches and excited glances. My ears are about to flare with steam.
I need a fucking drink.
A tray of clear liquor sits on the table with shot glasses filled to the brim. I tip back one of the drinks.
Grey Goose.
“You didn’t wait for me?” Nico’s arm wraps around my waist, pulling my back to his chest.
I grab another shot glass, lift it behind me, and knock it against Nico’s lips. He gulps the vodka without a beat of hesitation.
Nico yanks my body tighter, and a sudden clutch of irrationality encases me.
I turn and lock my mouth with his in a long, greedy kiss. His hand drives up the front of my glittering dress. I’m marking him as my territory like a dog lifting its leg on its favorite hydrant.
What’s wrong with me?
We break, and the table cheers for our erotic performance.
I laugh off the brief loss of sanity despite a couple of side-eyed glances aimed my way. Maybe I don’t like sharing. Maybe Nico was on to something with his no-other-people rule.
I feel the undeniable drill of a stare and glance over to the far section of the VIP balcony.
