Page 67 of His To Erase
I sigh. “Fine. But I’m picking the music.”
His smile is slow and infuriating. That self-satisfied kind of smug that says I never actually had a choice.
The doors slide open, releasing us into the thick, early-summer air. It clings to my skin like a warning, but I follow him to the curb anyway.
Ani
The music is too loud. It’s pounding with the kind of bass that rattles your teeth and makes your brain feel like it’s leaking out your ears.
I blink through the strobes, already regretting every life decision that led me here—starting with saying yes to a date without knowing where the hell he was taking me. Frank said dinner. Just dinner.
Which, fine. He delivered. It was a fancy place, with white linen tablecloths, and wine I couldn’t pronounce. The glasses were so delicate I was afraid to breathe near them, and there were more forks than one human should ever need.
But this? This is sensory warfare dressed up as nightlife.
“I thought we were getting drinks,” I shout over the bass, wincing as a strobe hits me dead in the retinas.
Frank leans in like this is the most natural thing in the world—his lips brushing the shell of my ear, and his voice oozes that slick charm. “We are. This just felt more… fun.”
I glance around, taking in the crowd. Designer everything—outfits, cologne, watches. And yet no one bumps into Frank. The crowd moves around him like he’s some kind of royalty. Or worse—like they owe him.
He orders for us without asking what I want and I hate that I’m not surprised. When he slides a drink across the high-top table like we’re at a private tasting instead of a goddamn rave, he flashes that smile. “You good?”
I raise the glass, trying not to grimace as the music kicks up another level.
“I’d be better if I could hear myself think.”
He just smirks and sips his drink, like this is exactly where he belongs.
I work at a nice bar, but this makes mine look like a dive on a bad night.
“I told you I’d take you out,” he says, eyes flicking up from his glass. “I like to keep my promises.”
I lift a brow. “That’s what this is?”
His grin spreads. “Something like that.”
A laugh pushes up—but I swallow it back. This whole night feels off. He’s being too nice. He’s trying a little too hard to impress me, more than usual. And I hate that a small, traitorous part of me notices.
This version of him looks like something you could fall for—right before it ruins you.
I sip my drink, while my eyes drift over the crowd—and for a second, I swear I see a man watching me, but he’s gone the moment I blink.
I tell myself it’s nothing.
That it’s just the lights and the loud music messing with me, not something else slithering beneath my skin.
“I’ve missed this,” Frank says suddenly, dragging my attention back to him. “Us.”
“There is no us,” I say, rolling my eyes with a smile I don’t mean. “So what exactly is this supposed to be?”
His grin sharpens with that signature smirk.
“A beginning.”
“A beginning,” I echo, flat. “Is this the part where I trip into your arms and we slow dance in the middle of the club?”
He laughs, leaning in. His mouth is far too close to mine.
