Page 101 of Remy

There are two alcoves along the back wall—darkened, shadowy spaces that each house a stone-faced, broody man who visually scours club-goers.

Bouncers.

They must be the men the waitress was referring to.

Dread churns in my gut.

If I were Ivy I’d already be all up in that man’s daydreams, schmoozing my way through a conversation that would not only get Remy’s cell number but also the bouncer’s, along with his address and probably his social security number.

I focus on the one closest to me who has a faux-hawk, his muscled arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the right side of his brick enclosure.

I approach, hiding my nervousness behind a raised chin and a flirty smile.

I’m a few feet and closing in when the guy drags his attention from the dance floor and captures me in his sights.

He’s a towering figure up close. Broad shoulders. A stern face that’s softened only by the hint of curiosity in his eyes. He rakes his gaze over my body, his lips kicking slightly as he makes his way back up to my face.

“Hey, big guy.” I fight a cringe. Holy hell, I’m awkward. “Have you seen Remy tonight?”

His chest jostles as if with a huffed laugh, but I can’t hear it over the music.

“Who’s asking, bright eyes?” He pushes off the wall of his alcove and inches closer.

“I’m a friend.” I rake my teeth over my bottom lip and pray it looks teasing, not traumatizing.

He gives me another once-over. “You seem quite the friend. But not at all his usual type.”

A thud of discomfort forms beneath my sternum. I’m not jealous of Remy’s conquests. I’m not. I just don’t like being referenced in the same sentence as them.

“I haven’t seen him though.” He shrugs. “He doesn’t usually make an appearance.”

My face falls, my positivity plummeting along with it. “Not at all?”

“He’s more of an afternoon guy.” He raises his voice to combat the new tech song with a heavier beat. “He prefers to punch numbers and direct staff when it’s quiet. We run this place by ourselves most nights.”

Shit. Fuck. No.

I need to talk to him.

I need sleep.

“Don’t worry. He might show.” The bouncer enters my personal space. He’s so close I almost drown in his potent aftershave. “Want me to keep an eye out for you?” He places a hand on my hip.

I freeze.

What would Ivy do?

“That would be great.” I swallow over my discomfort and tap a lone finger against his chest, dragging it over his pec a little as I struggle to hold his gaze. “I’ll come back and check in later.”

He smirks. “Don’t wait too long.”

I backtrack, his touch falling from my hip as I fight a shudder. “I won’t.”

I turn on my heels and flee, heaving a relieved sigh.

This is ridiculous. All I need is a phone number. One measly number. Why is that so hard to obtain?

I make my way back toward the bar, finding Ivy and Allison standing close by, a gaggle of sex-starved men circling Ivy like she’s a meaty carcass they’re salivating to devour.

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