Page 11 of Give Me a Reason

Judging by the way Vincent tenses and his jaw starts ticking again, I’m not the only one who feels it.

Shit. Maybe both drinks were spiked. I never let mine out of my sight, but that really is the only explanation for this insanity.

5

OLIVIA

Vincent drops my hand like a hot potato as we leave the pub. I won’t lie, though. I’m relieved. With him back to scowling and glaring at me, things feel much more natural when we reach the club and he leaves me alone, walking to the bar with his arms around two of the girls’ shoulders.

As I follow them, I’m momentarily distracted by the place itself. I read a lot and watch a lot of movies. I’ve read just about every description of the inside of these types of haunts, and obviously, I’ve seen a lot of them on TV, but the reality is something else entirely.

The pulsing lights. The writhing bodies dressed in clothes that glitter under the strobing colors. The deafening music. The scent of alcohol mingling with that of too many colognes and perfumes to get a whiff of one element. All of that meshes with the scent of sweat, old and new. The place is an assault on every one of my senses, but so is just about every Full Moon show, and I’ve been going to those since I was a baby.

For a homebody, I’m surprisingly accustomed to overwhelming sensory experiences. I’m comfortable with them even. But since this is also, in a way, entirely new to me, I’m fascinated by the ins and outs of being in a club.

The jostling as people move together, yet every person is doing their own thing. It’s almost like the ebb and flow of the fans during the concerts, and I’ve always been fascinated by that too, how a crowd of thousands can move as one cohesive unit.

Finding an open spot to sit while I survey my surroundings is a challenge. Eventually, I find an empty sofa-like seat around what appears to be a coffee table. These intimate seating arrangements are almost cozy, yet there are several of these clusters around the main floor of the club. Between that and the vaulted ceilings, it’s definitely more of an illusion of intimacy.

Once I’m seated, clutching my purse in my lap and probably sticking out like a sore thumb, I look around to relocate Vincent. He’s still holding court at the bar, the girls laughing and pawing at him like he’s the rockstar instead of his father.

He does look freaking good tonight, though, so I’ll give it to them. If I didn’t know him, I might also have been trying to get his attention. In dark jeans and a tight short-sleeved black T-shirt, his hair styled to look like it’s been carelessly pushed back from his clean-shaven face and his eyes still electric in the light, even I have to admit he’s one of the more attractive guys in here.

Unlike them, though, I do know him, and I just hope they know what they’re getting into trying to attract his attention. Because whoever gets it will only be getting it for tonight. He’s a complete manwhore, and no girl is going to change him. Eventually, maybe he’ll settle down just like his dad and brother did, but it won’t be soon. It certainly won’t be with a girl he meets while on a bender on the other side of the world. The others might not think he’s on a bender, but let’s get real. It’s a bender.

While I’m observing them from a distance, I sense sudden movement to my left, and when I look, I find two men moving into my little nook and taking a seat. Both are probably around my age, one dark-haired to the other’s light. They’re dressed neatly in button-down shirts and slacks and both of them have some scruff on their jaws, but their hair seems clean and is brushed away from their faces. After my initial assessment, I conclude that neither of them seems threatening.

In fact, they’re both grinning at me almost flirtatiously, and light hair even leans forward and offers me his hand.

“I’m Tom,” he says in a clipped British accent. “This is David. What’s a bombshell like you doing sitting over here all by yourself?”

“A bombshell?” I laugh. I’m so surprised. I can’t help it, but when he nods and flushes a little, my laughter instantly vanishes and my eyes pop wide open. “Oh, you’re serious. Okay. I, uh, I’m here with a friend, but he’s busy at the moment.”

Dark hair, also known as David, looks a little crestfallen. “A boyfriend or a friend? Because no boyfriend should be leaving you here alone.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I reply cautiously, not wanting to give away too much to people I’ve never seen before in my life. “Vincent is a very good friend, though. He’s keeping an eye on me, and I’ve been appropriately warned about accepting drinks from strangers.”

“Since you know our names, we’re not strangers anymore. Are we love?” Tom says, sounding happy about this development. “You’re American. It’s been ages since I’ve met an American. What’s your name?”

“Can we buy you a drink?” David adds before I can answer Tom’s question. “We’re not dodgy. I swear. You just caught our eye, and now we’re going to make you choose between us. The other will back off. I promise.”

“You’re very forward,” I say, surprised that one person even noticed me tonight. The fact that two of them obviously did boggles my mind. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before, but then, I never go out, so when could it have happened? “I doubt even dodgy people think they’re dodgy, though. And yes, I am American. You’re British. Are we playing a nationality guessing game? If so, you should know I’m very good at that sort of thing.”

They exchange a glance, then both burst out laughing. Tom eventually clues me in on why. “You’re delightful. Has anyone told you that? Hilarious, love. An absolute hoot. Can we buy you a drink, then?”

I mull it over before I give him an answer. I’m supposed to be working, but since I can still keep an eye on Vincent while I speak to them, I don’t think there’s any harm in making some friends. It needs to look like I’m here for some reason other than to spy on him anyway, so this might be a good cover. At the very least, it will make it look like I’m having fun, and he won’t be as suspicious when I ask to tag along again.

Smiling as I turn back to Tom, I finally nod. “I’m Olivia, and a drink would be lovely. Thank you. I’ll just have a Coke.”

“Like the soda?” he asks, smooth brow puckering in confusion. “Are you sure? We can get you anything you’d like.”

I laugh, and just as I do, Vincent’s head jerks toward me as if he heard the sound. There’s no way he could’ve, but he must have been watching me closely enough to have seen me now talking with these guys.

Almost instantly, that scowl is back on his face, and then I see him sigh before he says something to his girls and starts in my direction. His gaze zeroes in on mine, and even though he’s still a distance away, I feel disapproval radiating from him.

Deliberately breaking eye contact, I face Tom again. “Yes, the soda. I’m not a big drinker, so just a Coke is fine.”

He keeps looking at me for another moment, then nods. “One Coke coming up. If you change your mind after this one, just let me know. We really can get you anything you’d like.”

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