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“C’mon, let’s dance,” Reid says, standing up and offering me his hand.
Grabbing it, I allow him to lead us to the middle of the first floor. The other floor of the club below us has women dancing on Lucite platforms and red strobe lighting swirling all over.
I take another sip of my paloma, and with the very little I’ve eaten today, I blissfully enter a trance of oblivion. The tequila is doing its job. Thoughts of stalkers, an overbearing older brother, and bodyguards that are too hot for their own good fade, and it’s just me and the music.
Reid dances right behind me, and I begin grinding my hips against his as the beat from the music moves through me. I toss my hair over my shoulder and get a glance of Brandon posted up on the wall. His midnight eyes on me and taut jaw lets me know he’s displeased at seeing Reid and me together.
I smile at him, enjoying giving him a show and turned on because I know my dance moves are driving him wild, but another man has what could’ve been his.
Reid, of course, takes full advantage of my compulsive need to get under Brandon’s skin and begins pawing at my breasts in this thin blazer dress. I evade Reid’s ministrations and move his hands back to my hips.
Reid’s hands slowly creep back up, and I spin around to face him. “Another drink, please?” I offer up what I hope is my most charming smile.
Reid smiles back and leans close to my ear. “Whatever you want.”
With Reid momentarily out of the way, I scan the area for Brandon and see he’s moved posts but is still in my direct line of sight.
I keep dancing, and in a few moments, I hear my name.
“Ava,” Reid shouts, another paloma in his hand. Reid indicates his head to the right. “Over here.”
I follow him closely, not wanting the other bodies to separate us. I quickly look back. Brandon is looking around the club as he follows behind Reid and me. Reid nods to a friend of his, Ethan, and one of his girlfriends, Phoebe. I recognize both from the last time Reid and I came to Scorpio.
A security guard unclips the velvet rope allowing us in, and Reid and I ascend the two steps leading up to the upper section. “Oh, and him too,” Reid says, permitting entrance for Brandon, who sits on the far side of one of the velvet couches where he’s still able to keep an eye on me.
Reid and I join Phoebe and Ethan, us women sitting in the middle of both guys.
“What’s up with him?” Phoebe asks, indicating a chin towards Brandon’s direction. “He’s gotta be the oldest person here.”
I wince. I’m grateful the music is so loud that Brandon can’t hear any part of our conversation. To me, Brandon didn’t look old by any means, but he certainly didn’t appear to be in his twenties like the rest of us. I liked the small laugh lines around his eyes and the bits of salt and pepper in his hair. It made him even sexier.
“Bodyguard,” I answer honestly, not in the mood to elaborate.
“Oh, damn! You got it like that? I knew you were popular, but bodyguard status. I’m jealous, girl.”
I laugh at Phoebe, who was always nice if not a little ditzy. I’d let her think I’d become so famous I required Brandon’s presence and not the truth that a crazy man was after me.
“Let’s take a pic,” Phoebe says while the men continue speaking to each other, ignoring us.
We take a quick selfie, but I remember Brandon’s words about social media being a tool that stalkers use to get a target’s location. “Hey, don’t post that until later, okay?”
Phoebe’s brows knit at my inquiry.
“Security threat and all. Just wait until we leave to post.”
The big Scorpio logo on the wall behind us might as well be an invitation to come and find me.
“Oh, got it,” Phoebe says, resuming looking into the camera app on her phone and touching up her lip gloss.
Ethan heads over to the roped off entrance and grabs something from one of the club’s security guards. There’s too many people standing in my line of sight, and I don’t realize until he returns to his seat next to Phoebe what he’s carrying.
“Ladies?” Ethan offers up a silver chrome-colored plate with white lines neatly arranged in four rows towards us. Phoebe puts her phone down, takes the rolled hundred-dollar bill from Ethan, and proceeds to accept her line.
“Your turn, babe,” Reid says, taking the plate from Phoebe and pushing it in my direction.
“No, Reid. You know I don’t do that. Matter of fact, I thought you stopped,” I say, annoyed that we were here again with Reid putting me on the spot and trying to make me look like the bad guy.
“Just on occasion. You know it, Ave,” he says. Thrusting the plate at me again, he jostles it so hard that the two remaining lines become a powdery blur.
