Page 62 of Exposé

Aria turned back to the plywood surface held up by two wooden casks. "Hey, can we get a vodka shot?"

"Oh God, Aria. Can't you make it something worthwhile?"

She snorted and shook her head. "This is a college rave. The only thing they have here is bottom-shelf vodka and watered-down beer. Don't expect anything better."

"But we just had a Jack and Coke…"

"I took a shot in the dark, and they had it. Do you want that instead?"

"No." The remnants of smoky timber left on my tongue had me scowling. "Let's just get this over with."

"Alright." Aria replaced her empty red solo cup with the plastic shot glasses left behind. "Here you go. Last one, enjoy."

Right.

I knocked back the shot, the liquid sharp and harsh like fire coursing down my throat. My eyes watered, and my belly burned as the medicinal aftertaste caused me to shiver. "Fucking hell, Aria." My whole body seized as I dropped the cup onto the bar top.

"I know, right?"

"Thank you for reminding me why I never do these things."

"Come on, let's assimilate."

"Why me?" I tipped my head back and groaned as she dragged me onto the floor where bodies writhed together, their hands swaying in the air. Beams of light sliced between them, their random neon-colored socks sticking out against the blackened cement floors. "Do you think he'll be here?"

Aria stopped at the edge of the crowd and turned, looking into the throng of people. "I know he is. It'd be a wasted opportunity if he wasn't."

Buzzing hit my brain, my lightweight system taking a beating on all fronts between the liquor coursing through my veins and the loud music violating my eardrum.

"I'll take this side. You take the other?" I pointed towards the back end of the warehouse, the furthest from the stage, where DJ Kabier stood, his hand pinning a headpiece to one ear while his other bounced in the air to the beat.

"Sounds good to me."

"Pay attention to your phone so I can find you."

She waved me off. "Yeah, yeah."

Aria's phone rang in her hands as I darted off to the right, my ankles loose in my high heels.

Assimilate.

Assimilate.

My arms moved in stiff up-and-down shifts against my ribcage to the music as I pushed through the people, their clothes glowing in the black light.

How does one assimilate?

A woman wore a black fishnet top, revealing a white glowing sports bra underneath. With a seductive touch, she slid her hands down the other woman's chest, her see-through spaghetti strap shirt adorned with small, bead-like candies. She put her hands in the air, waving them in time with the beat, their feet shuffling on the warehouse cement floor.

I tossed my hands towards my chest, mimicking the woman's motions, and moved forward. The bass dropped, and people screamed, their feet leaving the ground as they jumped to the pulse.

A man dressed in a white striped shirt spun around the support beam, his black painted eyes in sharp contrast to the bright whites as he rolled them back into his head while he spun.

What the hell was he on?

I bumped into a blonde wearing sunglasses inside, her cup in hand with plastic covering the open top and a straw sticking out of the center.

She twisted and wrapped her free arm around my neck, her hand covered in a single net glove. "I love your dress," she yelled in my ear.

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