I reach over and snatch a fry from her plate.
“You don’t have to worry about me.” I wink conspiratorially as I take a bite of the cold fry, smiling as I chew. I make a small circular wave with my hand and swallow my bite before answering. “Everything happens for a reason and all that, right?”
She matches my smile and nods, but I can tell she doesn’treally believe my laissez-faire attitude. She drops the subject nonetheless, and we finish our drinks in levity.
By the linealready forming outside, Eden is packed for a Wednesday. It used to be my favorite club when I still lived here, hidden inside an industrial-looking building in the Garment District.
Jamie has to open the sandwich shop early tomorrow, so she left after dinner. Luckily, I’m a Sagittarius with a wide array of friends ready to party at the drop of a hat. And my birthday is an especially good excuse to party. Perfect night to drink and have fun. And who knows, maybe find someone to end the night with.
I see my friends Malik and Amy waiting for me outside and speed up my walk to meet up with them. We used to go to prep school together. Malik now works in finance but splits his time between here and Senegal, where his mom still lives. Malik might be the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my twenty-nine years. I always told him he should pursue a modeling career, but he never listened. Amy on the other hand, with her straight black hair and thick striking eyebrows,didbecome a model—an Instagram model—and lives in Dubai most of the year.
“Happy birthday, honey!” Amy leans in to kiss me on both cheeks. “God, can you believe how old we are now?” she comments with a laugh.
I turn to Malik next, who wishes me a quick happy birthday over my shoulder as we hug.
“Are we even going to know anyone in there anymore?” I reply with mirth when we both pull away.
“I know most of the staff,” Malik says matter-of-factly.
Amy and I fall silent, looking over to Malik, impeccablydressed in a midnight blue Brioni suit, busy texting on his phone.
His dark eyes flick up. “What?” he says innocently. “I bring a lot of clients here.”
“Right,” I tease. “Clients.”
Skipping the line thanks to Malik, we leave our coats at coatcheck and make our way to the table he reserved for us, a chilled bottle of Belvedere on ice already waiting there.
“You reallydoknow the staff here.” I blow him a kiss, and he sends me a coy wink as we settle around the booth.
As predicted, the club is busy. The place is huge, all one floor with tons of space to dance around the circular bar near the VIP tables where we sit. The music is loud, and the lights are low. It’s perfect.
I grab three empty shot glasses and pour us a round.
“To me,” I declare with a flirty smile, holding out my shot glass high up in the air.
Amy scoots closer to the edge of the booth, facing me. It makes her black silk dress ride up higher, revealing more of her thigh-high boots. “To the most perfect girl and the most perfect night!” Amy shouts over the music, holding out her shot just the same.
We toss back the alcohol, the vodka burning nicely down my throat.
I settle into the booth with a pleased sigh while I absentmindedly watch Amy make us a round of Belvedere sodas.
There’s a prickle at my nape, and I suddenly feel like I’m being watched. I dismiss the feeling but scan the room anyway, assessing the rowdy crowd while I try to find a good spot to dance later. My gaze eventually lands on the booth two tables away from ours.
I freeze, my heart jumping up my throat.
Huxley is staring straight at me. Orglaringwould actually be more accurate. Eyebrows creased, green eyes severe and penetrating.
“Here,” Amy chirps, handing me a drink.
I look back to our table and smile distractedly; I thank her and take the vodka soda out of her hand. Like a magnet, my attention falls quickly back on Huxley, barely listening to whatever Malik is trying to say over the loud bass.
What the fuck is he doing here?
It strikes me as uncharacteristic for Huxley to be at a club. Well, not that I know anything about him, but he’d look a lot less out of place in a grungy music venue where all the bathroom stalls are covered in graffiti.
There’s a girl sitting on his lap, she’s barely twenty-one by the look of her. She’s laughing with the others sharing their booth while her arms are slung over Huxley’s neck.
He isn’t paying her any attention, his jaw tense while his eyes are still narrowed on me as he plays with a strand of her brown hair, slowly twirling it around his finger. I ignore the ridiculous pang of jealousy I get from watching him like this.
