Page 225 of Enigma: The Complete Collection
My heart warms when genuine admiration flares in Peta’s eyes. “Thank you.”
Even with the drinks being ridiculously high-priced, and a booth costing more than most people earn a week, the VIP dance floor is packed with partygoers eager to spend their Saturday night dancing. The atmosphere is electrifying, and when its added to my alcohol-fueled carefree attitude, all the worries that have been plaguing me the past several weeks vanish into the bass blaring out of the speakers.
While making my way back to our booth, I swipe away the sweat beading on my nape from dancing the past three hours. My eyes roll when I hear the heavy footsteps of Hugo shadowing me. Even while dancing with Peta, he’d incessantly peered over at me.
“You could have stayed dancing with Peta.” I slide across the booth seat before signaling for the waiter. I’ve been sampling a delicious array of cocktails tonight, but unlike the last time I went out, I’m ensuring my ratio of water to cocktails is more even, so I’m only now getting the pleasant buzz of alcohol prancing through my veins.
Hugo remains silent, but he doesn’t need to say anything. His arched brow and straight lips reveal his answer, anyway.
When the waiter sets down a large bottle of sparkling water, I add something more appealing to my order. “Can I also get a strawberry daiquiri, please?”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Brahn. We’ve been instructed to only supply you with water for the remainder of the night.”
I glare at the water in shock and bewilderment. “By whom?”
With every second that passes, my anger unsteadily grows. “Are you kidding me?” My furious eyes dart to Hugo. “I’m not even drunk, yet my alcohol supply has been cut off.”
Hugo shrugs, but his eyes relay that Isaac’s instructions weren’t given to him.
My gaze floats back to the waiter. “ThenHugowould like to order a strawberry daiquiri,please.”
It isn’t the waiter’s fault he’s been shoved between me and an arrogant, egotistical asshole, but he’s the only person I can lash out at, so he, unfortunately, suffers the main brunt of my anger.
The waiter cringes. “Mr. Holt advised the waiting staff that Hugo was not drinking tonight since he’s driving.” He places down a second bottle of water like it will somewhat subdue me. “Is there anything else?”
With a huff, I shake my head before shifting my focus back to the dance floor. Two eye-catching males flank Harlow and Peta. Seeing them dancing seductively with a range of eye-catching men inspires a brilliant idea. Isaac can cut off my alcohol supply, but he can’t stop me from dancing with a bunch of horny, fearless men.
An hour later, I stomp toward the women’s restroom on the VIP level of the club. My disenchantment isn’t just from Isaac failing to react to me dancing with other men, it’s because no matter how up close and personal I get with my dance partners, their dance moves severely lack in intensity and seduction. Maybe it’s just me? Perhaps my disheveled appearance from the past few weeks has resurfaced? Or maybe I’m just too fussy about the caliber of dance partners since I’m forever comparing their dancing style to Isaac’s.
Either way, I was certain Isaac would have reacted to me gettingfriendlywith any suitor who wasn’t him, but nope, not a peep has been heard from him the past hour. Even Hugo seems surprised. Anytime I caught his gaze, he just shrugged before the confusion on his face intensified.
Hugo grins before taking a protective stance on the outside of the bathroom door. I do my business before walking to the vanity to wash up. After placing my clutch on the black granite vanity, I lift my eyes to the mirror. Half the makeup Harlow put on earlier has slid off my face, but I still look halfway decent. I have a sexed-up look going on, the look I usually hold after strenuous sexual activities with Isaac.God, I miss seeing that look on my face.
I dampen a napkin before running it across my cheeks, removing the mascara smears giving me raccoon eyes. My attention diverts from my disastrous face when I hear a group of ladies giggling through a frosted glass door at the side of the stall. I throw the dirty napkin into the waste receptacle before pacing toward the cheer-filled noise. My heart rate quickens when I open the door to discover another bathroom on the other side. Unlike the one I’m using, this one is crammed with women.
The female security officer guarding the door eyes me curiously as I stroll into the bathroom. She’s standing guard to ensure the regular patrons don’t mill into the VIP bathroom, but she has no qualms about the opposite happening.
Seeing this as the prime opportunity to replenish my parched mouth with a fruity cocktail, I exit the bathroom from the other side. The lower half of the club is just as impressive as the VIP section. Hundreds of people are gathered in the sweaty-scented space, meaning I have to stand on my tippy toes to locate the closest bar.
I located it a few seconds later. It’s in the far-right corner. Sweat rolls down my back from the stifling heat as I pace through the throng of people. The bar is packed with patrons requesting service, so I move to the end and wait my turn to be served.
A male bartender with gorgeous chocolate skin and a twisted afro smiles a greeting approximately two minutes later. “What can I get you, baby?” He has the type of voice that would be perfect for a jazz singer.
While digging a twenty-dollar bill out of my purse, I reply, “A strawberry daiquiri, please.”
My attempt to pay is thwarted by a deep voice at my side. “This one is on me.”
The bartender nods before moving down the bar to prepare my order. While he does that, I drink in the dark-haired man offering to buy my drink. He’s wearing a snug pair of jeans and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt. His chin has a small layer of stubble, and his arms have veins entangled around them, revealing he works out. His eyes are dark and sharp, and his lips are plump, although his bottom lip is slightly smaller than his top.
“That isn’t necessary.” I strive to project my voice over the thumping music blaring from the speakers above my head. My efforts are less than stellar when he tilts closer to me. “That isn’t necessary,” I repeat, shouting. “I can pay for my drinks.”
These types of places are great to mingle with others while looking for a casual sex partner, but even heartbroken and tipsy won’t alter the facts that I’m not ready for that. I don’t think I’ll ever be prepared for that.
My skin prickles when the unknown gentleman places his hand on the bare skin on the lower half of my back before brushing his lips against my ear. “How about we move down to the end of the bar so we won’t have to yell.”
Not waiting for me to reply, he guides me to the very far end of the bar. I could maneuver myself out of his hold, but he seems harmless enough. Because we’re no longer under blaring speakers, the music simmers to a more manageable volume.
My eyes lift from the countertop when the bartender places my order in front of me. I attempt to pay him, but once again, the casually-dressed suitor beats me. Thirsty, I take a sip of my daiquiri. I moan when its sugary goodness hits my taste buds. It’s well worth a trek through a human jungle.
