Except I’m definitely overdressed. The club is practically steaming, and I’mparched. But the crowd around the bar is at least three deep, and I don’t feel like wading through all those bodies just for a vodka cranberry.
Part of me feels like I’m too old for this, but shit, I’m only twenty-seven.
Maybe I’m just tired. Good thing I put in for vacation time over the holidays, although I need to spend it packing.
“Ow! Santafucker!”
At Fern’s exclamation, my head snaps around. “What’s wrong? And did you just say—”
“Yeah, I did, and—shit.” She grimaces in pain as she balances on one leg. “I twisted my ankle.”
“Here, hold on to me. Can you put weight on it?”
Gingerly, she sets her foot down and gives a relieved sigh. “It hurts, but I can walk a little.”
“I’ll help you get home.” I move to slide an arm around her, but she wags a finger in my face.
“Nuh-uh. You never go out anymore, and I’m not letting you leave early because of me.”
“I really don’t mind.” I pull out my phone to check the time. “I’ve already been here ...”
“A grand total of forty-five minutes.” Fern shakes her head. “No, Valencia. Stay. Drink. Dance. That’s an order. Mwah!”
And she’s gone.
Around me, the party rages on.
Well, hell. If this is the only Christmas thing I’m doing this month, I suppose I should make the most of it. Patting the battery pack between my boobs for good luck, I push through the crowd toward the bar.
Chapter 2
Gideon
One drink. I came to Brooklyn forone drink, and only because it’s Rodrigo’s birthday and he’s my self-appointed “work husband.”
After we finish the first round—paid for by me, as usual—I’m getting ready to leave. But then Rodrigo’s boyfriend, Bailey, insists that everyone check out the party down the block at Dazzler, so off we go.
The two of them don’t miss a beat. The second we arrive, they both strip to the waist. A random person smears body glitter on their bare chests, and now they’re dancing under the strobe lights like happy disco balls. Me? I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here. I ditched my suit jacket, but I’mwearing a tie, for Chrissakes, while everyone else is dressed as anthropomorphic candy canes or whatever. I’m more of a leather-armchair-and-whiskey-neat sort of guy, and yes, I realize this makes me sound approximately sixty years old instead of twenty-seven.
Fuck this. Onemoredrink, and then I’ll wish Rodrigo a happy birthday, call for a car, and hit the treadmill in my building’s fitness center for a quick and brutal run so I can actually sleep tonight.
But as I approach the bar, I realize “one more drink” is easier said than done. It’s an absolute shit show. I peer over the festively attired masses, searching for a break in the crowd, when—
Holy fuck.
The club is loud, dark, and smells like bodies and beer, but everything fades away as my eyes land on the shapely brunette trying unsuccessfully to flag down a bartender.
The back of her red dress shows more smooth beige skin than it covers, and lights twinkle like fireflies around her upper body. Her ass is, frankly, out of this world, but that’s not what consumes my attention. Not all of it, anyway.
Her black hair is pinned up, leaving her long, elegant neck exposed. My gaze fixates on the arch of her hairline where it meets her nape, and I’m gripped by the sudden and intense urge to taste herright there. My lips tingle as I imagine kissingher skin, slow and deliberate, before closing my mouth over the column of her throat and dragging my tongue along her soft, warm—
Shit.Where the fuck did that come from? My pants are tight, just from staring at some unknown woman’s neck. I haven’t felt desire this strong in months. Not since ...
Since my father died. Since I started therapy. Since I broke up with Christina. Take your pick.
I let out a shaky breath. Nothing like thoughts of your dead dad and your indifferent ex-girlfriend to make your sex drive slow to a crawl.
But it’s still there. Like a craving. I haven’t even seen this woman’s face yet, but the way she’s standing on tiptoe and waving her arm, trying desperately to order a drink, is kind of adorable.
