“You’re wasted on that stuff, you know. A woman like you should be the center of every room.”
Men like him always thought flattery was currency.
I gave him a bland expression. “Then let’s not waste either of our time pretending this is going somewhere.”
His smile faltered.
“Enjoy the party, Bryan.”
Alan finished his drink, setting the glass down on a passing tray with a casual flick of his wrist. Then, without a word to the people around him, he stepped away from the crowd. I waited a beat, then followed, leaving Bryan standing there gawking.
Alan turned down a hallway. It was quieter here, the low hum of voices from the main room fading into a muffled backdrop.
Once it was safe, I noticed the lighting was dimmer, and the air seemed thicker. Or was I just nervous?
But that feeling bloomed low in my gut, dark and familiar again. I hadn’t felt it in years—the quiet, electric rush of doing something I shouldn’t. The slippery kind of thrill that came fromwalking a razor-thin edge and knowing I could fall, but still choosing to balance there anyway.
That was the feeling I hated the most. I knew it was bad. But why did it feel good?
I inhaled shakily, flexing my hands and rolling my shoulders back.
It felt like going up to the top of a rollercoaster and waiting for the drop.
Alan stopped in front of a door that I presumed led to another hallway. Then he pushed inside.
I counted to five before following. The door swung open easily under my hand, but as soon as I stepped inside, I realized my mistake.
The room wasn’t empty.
Six men stood in a semicircle, their conversation cutting off the moment I entered. Alan was among them, his posture shifting from relaxed to guarded as he turned toward me. Another man, broader and older, took a step forward.
“Lost?” the older man asked.
My stomach dipped. Still, I summoned a look of mild embarrassment—chin slightly tilted, brows drawn together, just enough to look harmless.
“Oh my God yes,” I said, laughing softly. “I was looking for the bathroom. Must’ve taken a wrong turn.”
Too breathy. Too casual.
I used to be better than this.
The man didn’t move, his eyes narrowing as he assessed me. “The bathrooms are back by the main hall.”
Get the fuck out of here and pray they don’t recognize or remember my face.
I nodded, stepped back, slow and easy like I wasn’t dying to bolt. The door shut behind me.
And then it hit me—hard.
What the hell was that?I used to be smooth. Lethal. Jenese had taught me better than this.
But now? I was offbeat. Sloppy. Rusty.
I heard the door open up behind me, and I knew the man was watching me.
I pretended to look into a few open doors before I found a restroom and stepped inside and closed the door.
I was fucking up.
