Page 12 of Be Mine

“Happy Valentine’s Day, babe.” She clinks her glass with mine, we lick the salt from our hands, down the tequila, then cram the lemons in our mouths, wincing from the burn of the alcohol and acidity of the lemon.

“Ewww. This shit is seriously nasty.” I nearly gag.

“Sure is, but Jose knows how to get you drunk, fast.”

She isn’t wrong, I already feel a slight buzz, though that could be from the lack of food today. I know drinking on an empty stomach is a recipe for disaster, but I’ve no fucks left to give.

“Let’s get you ready.” Taylor walks around the island, grabbing my hand and leading me to her stairs. “Did you bring anything club worthy?”

“Shit. No. I basically have leggings and band tees.”

“We can work with that.”

The line for Threshold goes down the street and around the block. There are three bands playing tonight, but the headliner is a local band that has had a couple of solid hits that are relatively popular. Taylor and I are huddled together, trying to keep warm in the frigid February temperatures. It doesn’t help that both of us decided to leave our jackets behind to skip the coat check.

I’m practically jogging in place to try to keep my extremities from going numb. Any warmth we had from Jose has most definitely worn off by now.

I’m in one of my band tees that we tied just below my breasts, showcasing the upside-down bat tattoo that goes down my sternum, the wingspan stretching across my ribs. We paired that with my leggings and platform combat boots that give my short stature an extra four inches of height. My hair is pulled into a sleek, high ponytail with my bangs skimming my brows,my amber eyes embellished with a sharp cat eye, and wispy, faux lashes.

We slowly shuffle forward as the bouncers go through the motions of checking IDs before letting people in. By the time we’re at the front of the line, I could cry in gratitude when the bouncer unhooks the stanchion rope and nods us past.

Threshold is a moody venue with black walls, purple lighting, plush velvet seating, and bar-height tables. It’s known for supporting local rock and heavy metal bands, and right now it’s packed, shoulder to shoulder with people.

Taylor and I hold hands as we push our way through the crowd towards the bar. A feature menu above in neon pink highlights their specials for the night, each with a campy Valentine’s themed name.

“What are you in the mood for?” Taylor asks over the booming sound and screeching vocals coming from the stage.

I contemplate the options. “I’ll have the vampires kiss.”

“And shots!” She nudges me with her shoulder.

All the bartenders are female, dressed in red leather attire that leaves little to the imagination with black angel wings, a darker play on Cupid.

We sidle up to the bar, leaning against the top when a beautiful blonde comes over to take our order.

“Two vampire’s kisses and two shots of love potion,” I tell her. She gives me a wink before hollering, “Coming right up.”

The whole club is practically vibrating from the music. Laser lights circle the floor and stage in purples and pinks. “Here you are, ladies. The man at the end of the bar covered it for you.” The bartender slides our drinks and shots toward us. Taylor and I both look at the end of the bar at the same time to a man easily in his late fifties, tipping his chin at us. “I’m not that desperate to get laid,” Taylor says, and I bite back a laugh. But still, we offerhim a smile, holding our shots up in a toast before shooting them back.

Walking away from the bar, we make our way through the crowd, drinks in hand. There’s a carefully controlled mosh pit at the center near the stage, but we try to keep to the outer edges. That’s a lesson I learned the hard way as a teen: mosh pits and short girls don’t mix.

The headlining band, Death Strike, is on stage and the crowd is going wild. We caught the tail end of the second band’s set, and they were killer, too, but this one? There’s a sea of devil’s horns in the air as everyone head bangs uninhibitedly.

The song finishes up with some heavy vocals and a prolonged drum solo. The crowd erupts in whistles and cheers.

“Where’s all my ladies tonight?” the lead singer screams out into the crowd. Every woman in the house screeches, holding their hands up in the air. “I hope all of you men are treating these women right and buying their fucking drinks.” More screams andhell yeahs. “This next song is dedicated to all you sexy bitches, it’s calledVoodoo.” The club goes nuts as the guitar intro starts and the singer growls into the mic.

Taylor and I scream and sing along as he sings about a woman who possesses some kind of voodoo, having men bow at her feet.

I’m sipping my third vampire’s kiss cocktail of the night, waiting for Taylor to get back from the bar with more shots. But it’s a madhouse and I probably should have just accompanied her instead of waiting here by myself. The solitude is making me feel itchy, like every pair of eyes that look my way could be the person sending me creepy stuff, and the alcohol isn’t helping to lessen the anxiety.

I set the half-emptied cup on a table and turn to make my way to the bar when Taylor rushes up to me, flushed and obviously excited.

“Where have you—"

That’s when I notice two tall, very attractive men behind her, both of their hands laden down with drinks.

“Frankie, this is Forest and Emmett. They wanted to join us for some drinks.” She gives me that look, the one that girls exchange that saysplease go along with this ‘cause I really fucking like one of these guys.

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