Page 99 of Destined To Fall

J: I can still feel you here. Smell your sweet, musky scent…

V: I was fair game, Jer.

I left the unspoken truth of just how much I’d wanted him to take me unsaid.

J: I can’t.

V: You mean you can’t, or you won’t?

And then nothing.

I haven’t heard from him since.

I fling myself off the couch and hunt for my cell. Dancing is the question, and Laura is the answer.

“Hooker, what’s up? Wait, please tell me you’re not calling me on the job. Oh wait, that’s right. You’re a free agent.”

“Firstly, no one. Secondly, seriously? Thirdly, we need to get drunk.”

“I don’t know if I can afford your company.” That line never fails to make me laugh.

“I’m off the clock, you dirty mole. Come on, I have this new club in mind.”

“Okay, I’m keen. You handing out freebies tonight?”

I laugh for a good minute before I can respond.“Never.” Why Jeremy pops into my head, I don’t know. Okay, that’s a lie, but he’s not an option. Free or otherwise.“My place, eight?”

“Done.” She hangs up without another word.

I throw myself into the shower—sans clothes, clearly—and clean everything, mentally running through my wardrobe. I want something…I don’t know, something wow. It’s been a while since I’ve made an entrance, at least as myself and not some piece of ass attached to a rich asshole. I cringe; that was harsh. They aren’t all assholes.

Throwing my hair up in a towel, turban-style, I pad barefoot across my cold floor, leaving a wet trail to my walk-in, and flick through the hangers until I find just the thing. I pull off my fancy headpiece and quickly dry off before I slide into the skin-tight, backless V-cut dress. It clings to every, and I meanevery,inch of my body. The white, stretchy, almost cotton-like fabric stops mid-thigh, with long sleeves and a square-cut neckline. It covers everything while hiding next to nothing. I might as well be naked. It’s perfect.

I’m putting the finishing touches on my dark, smoky eyes and nude lips, leaving my hair hanging in a tousled, wavy mess, when there’s a pounding at my front door. My body buzzes with nervous energy. I can’t remember the last time I went out on the town with Laura.

I open the door, and her jaw drops.“Jesus, Vee. You look fucking naked. Hot as hell, but naked.” I laugh.

“You look great,too. Pre-drinks? We still haveawhileto kill before the club gets lively.”

“Yeah, I have a feeling I’m going to need them.” She scans my body again as she walks past me, shaking her head and whistling loudly.

I close the door and make my way to the minibar in my living room to set us up with some shooters. Nothing gets the blood flowing like a Wet Pussy. Pun intended.

“Oh, you dirty bitch. Some things never change.” Her face lights up as she catches on.

I pass her the first.“Here’s to getting drunk with my favorite wench.”

“I’m your only wench. Here’s to the real thing.” She winks, tipping back the shot, causing me to choke on mine, laughing hard.

After four shots each, we’re a rosy glow stepping out of our cab in front of Kicks, the new retro club that opened a month or so ago.

“How’d you hear about this place? It looks neat-o.”

Jeremy. My pulse hums at the mere thought of him. Damn traitorous body.“Neat-o? You run out of adjectives?” I’m still giggling when the bouncer lets us in.“Oh, wow. Thisisneat-o.”

Laura laughs as we take in the club, my face breaking into a huge grin at what I see. It’s fantastic and all sorts of pretty. The lighting is low,withan array of colors illuminates the place.Like thedance floor, what I can see of it, is a multicolored checkerboard, each square lighting up at different intervals.And thebar looks to be made of polished chrome, the front panel a rainbow of glowing colors shining through the waiting patrons. A few colored strobes seem to float above the crowd, hovering in the air on wisps of smoke coming from the top level. I love that, for once, they aren’t flashing like a disco ball having an epileptic fit. Maybe I’m getting old. God, when did that happen?

Laura takes my hand and leads us left, toward the bar and away from the thumping dance floor. The DJ in the back is cranking out a familiar tune, a mix of R&B, club techno, and a bit of pop. I freaking love it. It makes me twitch in Laura’s hand, but I can barely make out her laugh over the noise. She pulls me up beside her, cutting in, and yells out our order, disregarding the glares from a few angry bystanders.

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