I frown, watching her. What is she up to?
“That would be tragic,” she mutters, pulling something small and silver from her purse.
I glance down at the little stick. Eyeliner?
“Careful not to smudge it,” she says without looking up. “It’s not waterproof.”
And then she starts writing on the inside of my forearm. The curve of the tip trailing over my skin is way too sensual for a number.
I smile again, before glancing down at my forearm.
Nine digits.
“You give me a real one?” I ask, raising a brow. “Or is this just your pizza delivery line?”
“Worst case scenario, you’ll get pizza.” She looks me dead in the eye.
I don’t get a chance to respond because a heavy hand smacks me on the back.
“Dude!” Nate yells, stumbling into view. “The twins just started making out on the bar. Let’s fucking go!”
I groan, barely even glancing at him. “Jesus, Nate, give a man a minute—”
I turn back around.
Gone.
She’s gone.
My heart kicks as I scan the crowd, eyes darting… nothing. Just masks, heat, and chaos. But her number’s still burning into my skin.
And I know two things.
One—I’m going to find her again.
And two—she won’t be able to escape me once I do.
Chapter two
~MELODY~
There’s a sock on the lamp, three bras on the floor, and exactly one heel on my foot as I stand in front of the mirror questioning my life choices.
“Screw this,” I mutter, yanking off the shoe and tossing it onto the bed, where it joins the pile of chaos that is every single outfit I’ve owned since high school.
The bed looks like a boutique exploded. I cross the room, digging through the mess for the skirt I thought I wanted to wear, only to remember I threw it at the wall twenty minutes ago in a fit of indecision.
My hair’s done, my makeup’s decent. But my soul is considering sweatpants and lying in bed for the rest of the night.
A knock sounds at the door.
“Mel?” my brother calls. “You good in there?”
I sigh and fling open the door. Dominic’s already dressed in black slacks, white button-down rolled up at the sleeves, jaw set like always. He looks like someone important. Because he is.
“Do I look good?” I ask, motioning toward the chaos behind me. “Because this”—I gesture vaguely to the disaster zone—“is what a breakdown in real time looks like.”
Dom leans on the door-frame, eyes flicking over the room, then back to me. “The guys will be here any second.”
