Page 44 of Chasing Lynda

For the next two days, I can just pretend that the horrible stuff that happened to me in the past and that made me run from everything I’ve ever known is just some fucked up story from a book or a movie.

“Are you all right, Lynda?”

There’s only concern in his tone and in the depths of his green eyes, so maybe I didn’t completely blow it when I ditched him last night.

I nod, lost in his gaze, my body suddenly hyper aware of his clean scent and the heat radiating from the smooth, tanned skin left exposed by the short sleeves of his button down shirt.

I’m so distracted by Zane and by the memory of his lips on mine and of the way his solid body collided with mine. I think about how he gave me a pleasure I’d never felt before last night and I must completely space out.

“Lynda?” Bennett’s deep voice pulls me out of my lust induced thoughts and my eyes land on the hand he’s offering me. “Ready to party?”

The elevator doors open into a huge, open space on the roof of the hotel and I put my hand in his, immediately engulfed by his warm, slightly rough skin.

I’m immediately mesmerized by the hotel club when I realize that it isn’t an open space.

The feeling of being outside is given by the fact that the walls are completely made of glass, offering a stunning view of the Pleasure Beach pier and the beach beneath us.

The decor is minimalistic chic, with tables, stools and even stairs made of clear material. Trees and plants offer the illusion of being outdoors, in some kind of lush, tropical garden.

The music is loud, the hypnotic rhythm of a recent chart topper thrumming through my body, making my pulse quicken in synch with it; or at least, this is what I tell myself while Bennett entwines his fingers through mine.

There are people moving and grinding against each other on the dance floor, some of them feeling brave enough to climb on some elevated platforms and dance in view of everyone in the club.

I’ve been to a few parties in my life so far. Mostly with Kelley and his friends, mostly sneaking out of my window once my parents were in bed; or getting out the house by lying to them about where I’d be and with whom.

Regardless of how I’d managed to escape my parents’ suffocating supervision, I’ve never been to a party like this one.

Whether on the beach or at Ashton’s or Bode’s house, the parties I attended in the past were pretty simple; a snacks laden table, a few kegs, maybe a couple of bottles of harder booze.

I’ve never been to a club before; I’ve only ever seen them in the movies.

Bennett must notice the way I’m looking around with wide eyes because he leans down to speak into my ear.

“Cool, isn’t it? The guys and I used all our savings to have this place updated. It used to be a solarium. Can you imagine?”

His warm, minty breath fans over my skin, causing a buzzing tension to run down my nerve endings, settling on my lower belly.

I’m suddenly grateful that Bennett is still holding my hand and that Zane is on my other side, because between their closeness, the music and the sky-high heels I’m wearing, I don’t know if my knees would support me right now.

“Let’s go up to the VIP room, Carter and Dodge are probably there, wondering where we’ve disappeared to.”

I follow them up a flight of stairs that is made of clear material, like the rest of the club.

I realize that despite the clear stairs, the VIP area isn’t visible from underneath but there’s no privacy curtains nor walls to keep the area concealed from the rest of the club.

The walls and the floors are still made of glass, but it’s tinted differently than the lower level; the glass looks opaque, black from the outside but once we get in, we can see three-hundred and sixty degrees outside and underneath us.

Bennett and Zane usher me toward a black glass bar that runs along the entire back wall, every bottle imaginable is displayed around the attractive bartenders that serve the VIP guests.

“What would you like to drink, Lynda?”

I open my mouth, unsure about what I want, expecting to be asked for my ID, but the bartender just smiles pleasantly.

“If you enjoy champagne, our signature cocktail here is a peach Bellini,” he suggests and I hesitate, suddenly nervous.

It isn’t just that I feel slightly out of place here, I realize that I’m uncomfortable with the idea of drinking. It isn’t because of anything the guys have said or done, if anything, they looked out for me when Monroe tried to get me to take my clothes off; but for a painful second, I can’t help but think about how Aaron and my dad insisted on a glass of champagne before walking down the aisle.

I remember how nervous I was, wondering why the FBI agents promised by Ausra and Ashton hadn’t arrived yet; how I didn’t think about what I’d seen in that inner circle gathering where the women were drugged before the pastor and his enlightened men took advantage of the women that had been chosen for “mission.”

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