Page 45 of Forget Me Twice

I understand nowwhy this place is so popular. Formerly a heritage-listed, decommissioned garrison, its footprint is huge—sprawling across three floors and a basement level.

It’s dark and gritty and smoky and loud. Very appealing for bored, rebellious students needing to cut loose from their stuffy Academy rules.

Seems like a place to find ten kinds of trouble.

I let a rare smile ghost over my lips.It’s perfect.

Reaching back, I grab Leo’s large hand, tugging him behind me as I push my way towards the bar. I’m forced to take short, careful steps, having since changed into a killer black burlesque wiggle dress with red trim and matching studded Valentino pumps.

But I don’t mind. My heels and bony elbows are always a perk in a crowded club, and with a few well placed jabs, I manage to quickly clear a place right in front of one of the hottie bartenders.

“A Southside, for me,” I shout, feeling Leo’s heat move in behind me. His hard chest presses against my back as he leans over and yells his own designer beer order over the industrial bass.

As soon as our drinks are in hand, I turn and make a beeline towards one of the many shadowy nooks that line the main dance floor. They look perfect for more private conversations, clandestine hookups or general people-watching.

I dare say I will be making regular use of them for one reason or another.

Silhouettes move within the neighboring alcoves, each spaced evenly around the three walls not already dedicated to the lengthy bar.

The bar itself spans most of the eastern side behind me, ending near the entrance. A wide set of stairs in the north-western corner lead up to the next level. The shadowed hallway tucked away in the opposite corner of this first floor, looks promising. If I had to guess, that’ll be my ticket to The Guardhouse’s basement level.

The dance floor is at capacity; undulating waves of sexual tension and booze and an endless rotation of sweaty bodies. I’ve counted twenty seven Academy students already, and that’s just the dancers whose faces I can see. I expect that count will be much higher by the time I’m done here.

Nobody catches my interest, so I hustle my burly date inside the first empty square nook, which is only a few paces wide but ringed by black suede bench seats. There is a heavy curtain that hangs at the entrance, but I don’t bother pulling it shut. I’m sure it would help by dampening the jaw-rattling house music, but I’d prefer to keep one eye on the crowd if I can.

Charades and lip-reading it is.

I snatch the bottle away from Leo’s grip and shove him rather unceremoniously towards the cushions along the back wall, enjoying the surprised grunt that reverberates against my palm as I do.

The air is thick with smoke and body heat. He’s got a lop-sided grin and a thin sheen across his brow that shines in the flickering strobe of the club lights. I know he has his own ulterior motives for approaching me, but right now, the look on his face says things are going much better than expected and he’s eager to please.

I take a big gulp of my gin cocktail before abandoning both drinks on the low, glossy table sitting in the middle of the space.

Then grabbing the sides of my form-fitting dress, I shimmy the material upwards, allowing just enough room for me to spread my legs and climb aboard Leo Baker’s lap. His thighs are huge and by the time I’m able to straddle him properly, I can feel that the hem is well past the bottom of my ass cheeks. This dress doesn’t exactly co-operate when it comes to panty lines, so I usually just go without.

It’s extremely dark and private in these side rooms, but I’m positive that if the dancers nearest to us took the time to really look in here, they’d be getting one hell of a show.

I hope this hapless footballer isn’t put off by the idea of an audience.

“Hi,” I grin down at him, throwing my arms around his neck and secretly loving the wary, boyish excitement that lights up his face. I wonder how far Leo will let me take this, considering it’s our first time together. Testing the waters, I drop and grind against the crotch of the jeans he changed into during our quick stop by the dorms.

He lets out another pained grunt that I feel rather than hear.Yes.I can feel the tell-tale beginnings of that boyish excitement coming to life beneath me. His chest heaves as my fingers slither through the back of his hair.

Then I begin to move with a slow, seductive rhythm against the bulge now pressing behind his zipper.

“Hi,” he mouths back to me, a little dazed. His huge, sports-calloused hands begin to creep tentatively up the back of my thighs. When I don’t stop him, he continues to drag them cautiously up under my dress until finally, he takes two handfuls of my ass. He gives both cheeks an experimental squeeze.

“I’m not made of glass, Baker,” I huff out with an annoyed laugh. There’s a chance he didn’t catch that over the music, so I further relay the message by gyrating my hips and pressing down harder against his growing erection. His throat bobs and he licks his bottom lip.

Bless him.

I assume he’s used to being with a different kind of girl. Maybe one who prefers a few perfectly nice, wholesome dates first. Who’s not exactly into a good ol’ fashioned man-handling. I can certainly appreciate that—it’s not for everyone.

Then his eyes flick down to my mouth and I see the resolve in his eyes as he starts to lean up.

Shit.

I quickly turn and push my face into an arm that’s covered by my cropped leather jacket—a jacket I needed to cover my tattoos. Can’t risk anyone of importance seeing them and understanding their significance.

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