Page 149 of If Our Hearts Collide

“What will you have?” the bartender asks.

With the exception of the already-prepared sangria last night, I can’t remember the last time I really had an actual drink that wasn’t celebratory champagne or a dish made with cooking wine. In therapy, we focused a lot on keeping a clear mind. I’m just not sure now is a good time to be exploring my alcohol tolerance—especially when I have no clue what to actually order.

“Do you have juice?” As soon as my words escape, I realize how lame they sound. What am I—five? “I mean, um…”

The bartender smiles. “Orange, pineapple, cranberry, or mango?” He glances behind him at the arrangement of fresh produce. “Or I can make you apple, peach, or pomegranate.”

My head dips. “Pineapple, please. But with something”—I gesture to all the bottles lined up behind him—“fun added to it.”

“Now that sounds enticing,” the man says, pulling my attention back to him. “I’m Neil, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you.”

He clears his throat. “I pride myself in having impeccable manners and not allowing my impulses to take over. You have me so distracted by your beauty, I forgot to even ask you your name.”

I smile. “Penny.” Maybe I’m not the only one who’s nervous.

My pineapple juice cocktail arrives. It is garnished beautifully with a piece of fruit cut into the shape of a star, balancing on the sugared rim of the glass. It seems unnecessarily fancy and decadent.

“How is it, Penny?” Neil asks, watching me take my first sip. His eyes are trained on me, watching with such reverence as I do something so mundane. He might be flirting—or trying to—but I’m too inexperienced to know for certain to reciprocate.

“Best I’ve had.”

His eyes catch my wrist, seeing the red glow of the warning light that alerts everyone here that I’m fresh to the scene. “What brings you here tonight?”

I think about the question, wondering how I should answer it. I don’t want to say I am here for open house because I get the weirdest reaction when I do. So I settle for a reversal question, if just to give my mind more time to think of a viable answer. “Do you want the honest answer or the expected answer?”

“Both?” he laughs.

“I came to prove to myself that I can be normal.” My eyes meet Neil’s. “In reality, I should just be here for fun, right?”

He shrugs. “First, normal is overrated.” He raises his eyebrows. “And boring. Second, if you haven’t had much fun yet, then we need to go take a look upstairs.”

I take another sip of my juice, savoring the taste, all while wondering what this mysterious place upstairs is all about andwhy Daphne hadn’t told me about it during the tour. I have heard several mentions of it already, and I’d be lying if I said my interest wasn’t piqued. Knowing that Daphne escaped with Michael up there gives me the impression that it will be wild.

I glance around the room, looking for a set of stairs or an elevator. “How does one get invited to go upstairs?”

Neil’s eyes light up. “One simply has to ask. Are you asking?”

I nod, as adrenaline rushes through me. “I’m asking.”

Neil slides from his stool, offering his open hand for me to take. Before I can change my mind, I accept, allowing him to help me down from the stool. My eyes catch my wrist and I notice my band is gone. I glance around on the floor, not spotting it. Oops.

We walk holding hands to the hallway on the other side of the bar, where there is a hidden staircase. A few guys smirk at my arms when the lights change, illuminating Daphne’s script on my skin. Several people say hi to him as we pass.

“Aren’t you popular,” I mutter, turning my head to catch his expression. He really is handsome, but in a rugged manly way with a full beard. His impeccable manners are in direct contrast to every stereotype I’d have pegged on him. Maybe it’s the tattoos or the gruffness to his voice.

“I’ve been a member here for some time. I accumulate a lot of acquaintances.”

Like trophies?“So it seems.”

We ascend the stairs, as my heart rate climbs with each step up. I don’t even know what to expect, except that whatever awaits us will surely be worthwhile. How can it not be? Everyone has basically suggested as such.

When we make it to the top, Neil squeezes my hand and studies my face. I know my cheeks are flushed from the exercise, as well as the anticipation.

“You have a particular interest in mind?” he asks.

“Interest?”

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