Page 4 of Flung
Chapter Three
Emma
This was awful.
Marilyn had picked the club. It was apparently one of the hottest in the city.
I knew it was going to be a rough night as soon as we got in line.
But the bouncer let us in. I guessed it had more to do with Marilyn being gorgeous than me, but at least we were out of line.
Not that inside was any better. The place was stuffed with people. There was barely move to walk, much less any place to sit and watch what was happening. The music was loud and the lights bright.
I was starting to think that I’d made a big mistake.
Marilyn put her hand on my shoulder and leaned over me, shouting to be heard over the music. “Let’s go to the bar!”
“Okay,” I shouted back.
She held on to my shoulder as we worked our way through the masses toward the bar.
Unsurprisingly, there was an enormous line. I stood a little too close to Marilyn, arms wrapped around myself as I watched. Everyone here was… hot. Really hot. Gorgeous girls in tiny swimsuits danced and played in the pool. All of the guys were well-dressed, attractive. Not my type, but I could see where other women would like them.
Marilyn tapped my shoulder after a few minutes, trying to get my attention. “Look! You see the lanyards?” She pointed to a pair of gorgeous girls walking past. They were wearing bright orange lanyards, the letters ‘VIP’ glowing under the blacklights scattered around the club.
I nodded.
“How do we get them?”
I shrugged. I wanted to go home already.
It took a good ten minutes for us to get close to the bar. I watched people move around, getting drinks and then leaving. Except for one guy. He looked like an asshole—khaki shorts, polo shirt, wearing his sunglasses even though we were in a dark nightclub. He was talking to the bartender, gesturing angrily as they spoke.
Was this guy really trying to pick a fight with the bartender?
I glanced back at Marilyn. She was watching, too.
She suddenly nudged me and pointed forward.
A guy came behind the bar. He was tall, his skin tanned from living in Florida. He was a little scruffy, tattooed, dressed in jeans and a black tank top.
I hadn’t realized that guys like that were my type.
But wow. He was definitely my type.
We got closer to the bar, close enough to start catching bits and pieces of the argument.
“—more money than some dumb bouncer could ever dream of! I want a VIP pass, and you’re going to get it for me!”
Yeah, the boy in the polo shirt was definitely an asshole.
The guy in the black tank raised his eyebrows. “You think this is about money? It’s not. I really don’t give a shit how much money Daddy put in your bank account for your trip. You’re not a VIP. If you didn’t get a pass when they were on sale, there’s not much I can do for you.”
The boy frowned. “Don’t you know who I am?”
“Buddy, I don’t care who you are.”
“I’ll take my friends somewhere else!”
