Brooke thinks I’m worried about being caught, since no one is supposed to be in the theater room right now. The truth? I’m hoping Reed storms through, collects me in his arms and rides off with me. This definitely isn’t a storm in setting, or a dynamic that requires rescuing, but apparently champagne makes me dream of my step brother treating me like a princess.
Ricky gets to her feet, stumbling a little as she smooths her hands down her gown. “Restroom trip, ladies, and then, to the suites.”
One of the guys gets to his feet, causing the other two to do the same.
“Suites?” I ask, trailing after Ricky and Brooke as they trudge up the sloped flooring toward the doors in the back.
We find a bathroom, luckily empty, and fortunately no one saw us sneak out of the theater, either. I’m using up all my luck in the wrong places tonight.
In front of the mirror, Brooke blots the shine from her nose using part of her compact. Ricky sighs as she pees, and as much as I have to go too, I’m still trying to figure out– “What suites?”
Brooke tucks her compact away. “Member suites. They’re across from the theatre. It’s like.. If the old guys go too hard on the booze or whatever, the club puts the unlock code on their card and they snag a room to sleep it off.”
“Like little hotel rooms?” I ask, trying to remember if I even glanced that direction as we came up the stairs. Everything in this club is gorgeous, from the wrought iron to the ornate seals bearing their logo—all of it oozes sophistication and wealth. Judging by the girls in class at Dulce, I’m not surprised by this club at all.
Brooke nods, then returns to pout practice in the mirror. She takes her phone out and snaps a selfie of us as I process, swapping with Ricky when she’s done.
“And Chaz has three rooms,” she whispers conspiratorially. I join them at the sink, washing my hands as they lay out the details of the rest of the night. “His dad got him the rooms, and his dad is like super, super cool. He owns the big truck dealership in Bipal, did you know that?” She pops a mint into her mouth before adjusting her panties under the long, satin gown. “Anyway, his dad put champagne in all ofthe rooms–” she leans toward us, eyes wide, like she’s about to tear the sheet off a huge secret. “And… he put condoms in the rooms, too.”
Brooke dances her eyebrows while running her tongue across her teeth, swiping away stray traces of lipstick. “Condoms don’t help you if you’re trying tokeepan entrepreneur,” she says, causing Ricky to gasp, the two of them cracking up at her comment.
I wrinkle my nose at them, which earns me an eyeroll. “I’m kidding, Viv. Geez, take a chill pill.” She reaches into her purse, producing three tiny plastic bottles of cheap vodka. “Or take a swig, rather.”
The twist of the cap disengaging with the seal has my stomach lurching, but the truth is, I’m failing tonight. Not only did I lie to my dad about where I am–again–but I’m not succeeding at putting Reed out of my mind. If possible, all the booze and boys have done is make me miss him more, want him, think about him more.
I down the vodka and toss it in the trash just as someone knocks at the door.
“Just a minute!” Brooke calls, checking her makeup one more time. I take her elbow, but split my wary look between Brooke and Ricky.
“I don’t wanna have sex with those guys,” I say, feeling the back of my neck grow hot with the admission. I don’t know Brooke and Ricky as well as I’d like, but I have to be honest at some point tonight, since I’ve left a trail of lies behind me this far. “I want to forget–” I stop, because neither of them know what’s going on with me and Reed. “I want to have fun, but I can’t sleep with some guy I hardly know.”
“Some guy,” Ricky gapes. “That’s Murray Mills, the starquarterback at Dulce. Hello? He walked past us at the lockers two days ago and said ‘sup,” she repeats, her eyes wild like I’m a fool for not remembering. But I don’t remember. I don’t remember because I don’t give a shit about Murray, or any other macho alpha athlete who roam the halls of Dulce.
“You don’t have to have sex, Viv. Just… talk. Drink and talk. Hang out until we’re ready to go,” Brooke says, unlocking the door and yanking it open. We filter out as an employee dressed in pressed black slacks, a long sleeved white dress shirt and a black vest holds the door open. “The one downstairs was occupied,” Brooke says, using her mostI was raised with an au pair and a drivervoice.
The woman, her hair in a low chignon, nods, closing the door. “No guests upstairs tonight,” she says.
Brooke lifts a hand, ushering Ricky and I down the stairs. “Apologies,” she concedes, but when the woman disappears through a service door down the hall, Brooke yanks us both up the stairs by our hands.
Pressed against the wall in a private hall, the lights off but moonlight drifting in through the windows in the ceiling, I attempt to look around.
“These are the suites,” Brooke whispers, nodding down the hall. “And I just got the text that they’re waiting.” She checks her phone, and the brightness radiates from her screen, illuminating the determination set in her face as she reads the text message.
“Viv, you’re room one. Have fun.”
The vodka shot from the bathroom burns in my veins, radiating through me, leaving my brain foggy. I walk down the hall, intoxicated by the click of my shoes against marbleas night pours in through the window. The setting is beautiful. This club is elegant. And if the right man were in that room, tonight could be magic.
I stop in front of the room with the golden number 1 painted on the door.
This is it.
Chapter Twelve
Reed
Some fucking wingman Fabian turned out to be. Turns out, Sinela’s backless dress was far more persuasive than my need to avoid Vivienne, because Fab and Sin have been holed up in a chair by the pool making out all night.
Granted we’ve only been here for about an hour, but still, if I’m gonna avoid Viv, it’s all on me. Except, I’m a little high, and kinda drunk, and that combo has me fucking focused. Laser sharp focus. I can’t write a line of code if my life depended on it. And I couldn’t drive a car.
