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Taking a deep breath, I hail a cab and slide into the back seat. The city lights blur past as we make our way downtown, my heart pounding with anticipation and anxiety.
"Here goes nothing," I mumble under my breath as the cab pulls up to the first bar. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, I'm hit with the pulsing bass of the music, feeling it thrum through my very core. I snap a quick picture and post it to my Instagram. My online persona is the furthest thing from my real self, but in a weird way, it's comforting to craft a life online where it looks like I'm enjoying myself.
The bar is packed, bodies swaying and laughing in time with the rhythm. It's upbeat and lively—just what I need to distract myself from Constantino. I spot Rachel near the center of the room, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright. She waves me over, already a few drinks in.
"Evie! You made it!" she shouts over the music, pulling me into a hug. "You're gonna love this place!"
"Looks fun," I say, forcing a smile while scanning the crowd. Rachel introduces me to a guy she just met, his arm draped possessively around her waist. His friend stands beside them,eyeing me with interest. The music is so loud that I don't even catch his name.
"Have fun!" Rachel yells before disappearing onto the dance floor with her new companion, leaving me alone with the friend.
His attractiveness teeters on the edge of passable; he's nothing compared to Constantino. I remind myself that I shouldn't be thinking about him and try to focus on the guy in front of me instead. I'm here: to let loose, to have fun, and to put Constantino as far from my mind as possible. And if that means flirting with a guy who barely meets my standards, well, so be it.
"Hey, wanna grab a drink?" he asks, raising his voice to be heard over the deafening music.
"Sure," I reply, plastering on a flirty smile as we head to the bar. If I'm going to forget about Constantino, I'll need all the help I can get.
"Whatcha drinkin'?" he yells, leaning closer to my ear, his breath tickling the side of my face.
"Vodka cranberry," I shout back. He nods and orders two from the bartender. The alcohol burns my throat as I take a sip, but it's a welcome distraction from the thoughts swirling in my head.
"Nice choice," he comments, struggling to be heard over the pulsating beat. We try to make small talk, but it's nearly impossible with the music blaring around us. After a few failed attempts at conversation, he raises an eyebrow and suggests, "Wanna dance?"
"Sure," I agree, downing the rest of my drink. It's not like I came here to chat anyway. I take a quick video of the dance floor, posting it to my stories.
He leads me out onto the dance floor, bodies grinding and swaying to the rhythm. The air is thick with sweat and pheromones, and I can't help but feel a bit claustrophobic as hepulls me closer. I remind myself that this is what I wanted—to lose myself in someone else, if only for a night.
"Loosen up, beautiful!" he shouts into my ear as if he can read my thoughts, and I force a smile, letting the alcohol settle into my veins.
As we continue dancing, he gets bolder, his hands roaming over my hips and waist. I tell myself that this is okay, that this is just what I need. But even as I flirt back, swaying to the music, a nagging voice in the back of my mind whispers that it's not enough—that he's not enough.
I try and force myself to enjoy the evening. I hold up my phone, proposing that we take a selfie together and he leans in, a little too close, to smile for the picture. As I pull the device down to look at the photo, I have the urge not to post it, but with him watching, that would be pretty rude, so I go ahead and click post.
"Another round?" he offers, gesturing toward the bar. I nod, aware that I'm probably drinking too much, but not caring at the moment. When he returns with our drinks, I down my second vodka cranberry and let the world around me blur just a little more.
"Come on," he says, grasping my hand and leading me back to the dance floor. The music seems louder now, the lights brighter as they flash and spin above us.
The alcohol swimming in my veins makes the world tilt, my inhibitions slipping away like sand through my fingers. The guy I'm dancing with leans in close, his breath hot on my face, and before I can think too much about it, he presses his lips against mine.
"Whoa," I say at first, pulling back. But then I remember why I'm here: to forget, to lose myself, to just be someone else for a night. So I give in, letting the booze guide me as he tries again.
I kiss him back, all sloppy and urgent. It's not pretty or sweet, but it's raw and real and distracting.
"Damn," he murmurs against my mouth, his hands exploring my waist and hips. I feel his fingers brush against the hem of my shirt, teasing the skin beneath, and part of me wonders if I should stop him.
"Let's find somewhere quieter," he suggests, and I nod, letting him guide me off the dance floor and toward one of the dimly lit booths tucked away in the back of the bar. He slides into the seat, pulling me onto his lap, and I try to focus on the way his hands feel on my body instead of the gnawing emptiness inside.
"Does this make you feel better, Evelyn?" I ask myself bitterly as he fumbles with the buttons on my shirt, his lips trailing sloppy kisses along my collarbone. "Is this what you wanted?"
“Hey!” a deep voice suddenly snaps, and I feel myself being yanked off the guy's lap, my head spinning from the sudden movement. My vision swims for a moment before it sharpens. I look up to see intense emerald eyes that I can't seem to get out of my head.
There, standing before me with a furious expression, is Constantino.
Chapter Seventeen
The second I see that photo, my blood boils. Evelyn's smirking face on Instagram, some sleazy bastard leering over her shoulder like he's about to sink his teeth into a juicy steak. My hands shake with rage as I start the car, not giving a damn if my tires screech and the engine roars louder than it should when I peel out of the driveway.
"Stupid, reckless girl," I mutter under my breath, driving like a madman through the city streets toward the dance bar where she posted the goddamn picture. I park in front just as recklessly, not caring if my car gets towed or if I leave a dent, so long as I get to that prick before he does anything more than look.
