chapter 10

THERE'S NO WAY I'M TELLING anyone this, but I've never been to a nightclub before, let alone a celebrity haunt like Velvet. I've got butterflies in my stomach as we walk to the back entrance of the club. I assume the bouncer recognizes the guys, as he lets us in with nothing more than a glance. And as soon as we step into the dark hallway, it's like entering another dimension.

A girl checks our coats and bags, and she must see high-profile celebrities all the time, because she barely bats an eye at Loaded God Complex. Then Alisha is taking me by the hand and leading me through a doorway and up a flight of stairs, and as we climb, the volume of the music increases.

"The bottom floor is for regulars," she says, leaning close so she can speak into my ear. Her breath smells like cinnamon sugar, and it sends goose bumps across my skin. "Celebs use the top floors. Come on. "

She continues guiding me up the stairs, and the bass gets louder, thrumming through my veins and into my chest. My heart wants to pound in time with the music.

When we reach the top of the stairs, another bouncer stops us.

"Hey, Brian," Alisha says, and he arches a dark brow at her, his shaved head gleaming under the neon lights outlining the door.

"Back again?" he asks.

"I just can't get enough of you." She reaches out to touch his head, but he swiftly blocks her hand and opens the door.

"Go on. And no trouble tonight." His gaze cuts to Lucas over my shoulder, and somehow, I'm not surprised.

Alisha leads the way into the nightclub, and the music hits me full force.

The dance floor writhes with bodies, and velvet—yes, velvet —couches are set up in tasteful arrangements throughout the large space. The bar teems with people, and I try not to stare when I recognize actors and actresses, singers, and even some big-name YouTubers among the crowd.

"Let's get a drink," Alisha says, raising her voice to be heard over the music.

Jordan steps up on my other side, and we head to the bar together, weaving through the packed space. I glance back over my shoulder, but we've lost the guys, so it's just the three of us.

"What do you want?" Jordan asks.

"Whatever you're having."

Her smile is bright, and she leans over the bar and wiggles her fingers at the bartender, who sweeps over quickly to serve us .

"Hey, ladies." His voice is smooth, his smile easy and handsome. I wonder briefly if you're required to be attractive in order to work here. Probably. "What're you drinking?"

"Redheaded Sluts," Jordan says, and my eyebrows rise. "We'll start with three."

I step closer to the bar, watching with interest as the bartender mixes J?germeister, peach schnapps, and cranberry juice, then shakes the concoction up with ice and strains it into three shot glasses. The resulting drink is bright red, and Alisha and Jordan grab theirs with vigor. I pick mine up and just hope I can get it down in one go.

"Bottoms up!" Alisha says.

We clink our glasses, and then I lift the Slut to my lips, close my eyes, and drain it. It burns going down, a balanced mix of bold and sweet, and my eyes water as I set the empty shot glass on the bar.

Jordan tousles her blond hair with her fingertips, then reaches for my and Alisha's hands. "Let's dance."

While I'm a touch—okay, maybe more than a touch—socially stunted, one thing I do enjoy doing with people is dancing, so following Jordan through the throngs of people and onto the dance floor doesn't make my knees shake with nervousness. Instead, I feel a surge of excitement rising in me as the song starts to transition, and then the next song starts, and Jordan throws her hands up.

"I love this song!" she yells, but it's so loud in here that no one even turns to look at her.

Alisha and I laugh as we gather into a circle, starting to move to the music. The beat pounds through me, and with a martini and a shot burning through my bloodstream, I feel like flying .

The nervousness and stress and anxiety that usually drag me down during social situations finally release me of their clutches, and in this moment, in this place, I'm free. I can breathe.

And I dance .

My hips sway, and I run a hand through my hair, letting the rhythm move me. The music crescendos, and I shake my head, loving how my hair feels flying around my face. Alisha's braids bounce against her back as she jumps to the beat, and Jordan has her eyes closed, hands in the air, the neon lights turning her pale hair bright pink and blue.

I toss my head and turn around, and a bolt of electricity goes through me when I meet Dex's eyes from across the room. There must be close to a hundred people in here, but somehow, I find him, my eyes drawn to his like there's a magnetic pull tugging us toward each other.

Despite the women hovering in Dex's vicinity and the many bodies between us, most of them lean and glittering and scantily clad, it's me he's looking at.

The guys stand around him, mouths moving as they talk and laugh, but Dex just stares at me, one elbow on the bar, his free hand tucked into the front pocket of his jeans.

And even though it's dumb and will only hurt me in the end, I smile at him, and I hold his smoldering gaze as I twist my hips in a circle and run a hand down the tight black minidress and over my curves. And still, he doesn't look away.

My body tingles, and I think I might be in trouble.

I turn back to the girls, and they both move in close, grinding against me, their bodies warm and soft and sensual. The liquor makes my head pleasantly dizzy, and when the song ends, I clap along with everyone else, hungry for the next one to start.

But then a hand touches my elbow. I turn, and it's Dex's eyes I'm looking into. They're ice blue in the neon light. This close to him, closer than I've ever been, I can see how fine his eyelashes are, like soft golden thread.

He leans in, and my body goes rigid when his mouth brushes the shell of my ear. "Get some air with me."

I glance back at the girls, and their eyes are wide, surprised. Guess they didn't expect this.

Turning back to Dex, I nod, and he slides his hand down my forearm, his fingertips leaving a trail of fire burning across my skin in their wake. Then his hand is in mine, our fingers entwining, and he guides me across the dance floor, through the crowded club, and up another flight of stairs. We pass a couple making out against the wall, and watching the way they grope each other makes me burn even hotter.

If Dex pressed me up against a wall right now, I wouldn't stop him.

Dex pushes through a door, and the cold night air hits me full force, almost stealing the breath from my lungs. My skin is still hot and gleaming as he leads me across the rooftop lounge, where a few people linger about, smoking and drinking and laughing.

We walk by a group of women, a few of whom I recognize from one of the popular shows on TV right now, and their eyes narrow and follow us closely.

"Who's she?" one of them whispers, though I expect she intended for me to overhear. "And why's she with Dex?"

Dex either doesn't notice or pretends not to as he leads me to a spot where we can look out over the city and take in the twinkling lights. He releases my hand, leaving my fingers feeling cold, so I wrap them around the iron handrail to keep from trying to reach for him again. The rain clouds have long since departed the sky, and the moon shines down on us, bathing LA in silver.

"It's beautiful," I say, blinking as the cold breeze brushes my cheeks and pushes my hair back from my face.

Beside me, Dex reaches into his pocket and pulls out a joint and a lighter.

"You mind?" he asks, and I shake my head.

He puts the end of the joint between his lips and flicks the lighter once, twice. I admire the tattoos on his fingers, the way the rings he wears accentuate the ink on his skin. The lighter catches, and he shields the flame from the wind as he holds it up. The end of the joint starts to smolder. Then he draws in a breath, holds it, and exhales the light gray smoke into the night. I've always liked the smell of pot, and its musky scent is enticing as Dex takes another drag and then lets it out slow.

Finally, his eyes meet mine, and he holds my gaze.

"So..." I say, leaning back, gripping the cold iron rail as I turn to look out over the city.

"So what?" he asks, his voice low and smooth. It doesn't feel like he's in any hurry, and something about his casual confidence has me melting inside.

"Why'd you bring me up here?" I glance at him, and just under the collar of his baggy tee, a bit of ink stretches up his neck and toward his ear. It makes me want to reach out and pull the fabric down, to run my fingers across his collarbone and trace the ink as it swirls across his skin.

"Because I wanna know you. "

My gaze snaps back to his, but his expression is unreadable.

What is he talking about?

"Know me?" I narrow my eyes.

He nods once, and the joint smolders as he takes another drag. His stance is easy, relaxed. He leans an elbow against the railing and plays with his lip ring. God, I wish he'd stop doing that. It makes it so much harder to remind myself that this will never happen, no matter how much I wish it could.

"Okay." I run a hand through my hair and tip my head at him. "What do you wanna know?"

"Why the violin?"

I'm not sure what I expected him to ask, but his question catches me off guard, in a pleasant way, and I smile.

"Oh, um..." I ponder it for a second, and Dex remains quiet, patient. "Because it's so emotional, I guess. I can express anything I'm feeling, and all it takes is those four strings." I run my thumb over the handrail, thinking. "And it's a difficult instrument to master. I like that about it."

"You like challenges?" he asks, and now, for the first time since he brought me up here, a small smile touches his mouth. It makes heat rise to my cheeks, and I nod.

"Yeah, I guess so. I like having to strive for something. If it's too easy, it's not fun."

"Said every overachiever ever."

My lips curl up, and I roll my eyes. "Okay, my turn. Why do you wear your sunglasses indoors?"

He bursts out laughing, and the sound makes little bubbles of joy rise in my chest. I think this is the first time I've heard him truly laugh, and something inside me wants to hear it again. Over Dex's shoulder, the women who whispered about me earlier turn to glare.

"What the hell kind of question is that?" he asks.

"Just shut up and answer it," I snap playfully, and he holds up a hand.

"All right, all right. Um..." His gaze shifts down, and I watch the way the smoke from the joint curls sinuously into the air. "Because it's all just too much sometimes, and people don't talk to me as much when I'm wearing them."

Honestly, I expected a smart-ass reply, so his candor trips me up, and I don't say anything at first. Then I ask, "What's too much?"

He gestures to the rooftop, then to the city. "All of it. Being in LGC... Being me."

For some reason, I never thought someone like Dex would ever tire of the fame, the devoted fans, the attention. But maybe I misjudged him. I seem to be doing that a lot lately.

"I don't think I could do it," I say softly.

His eyes meet mine. "Do what?"

"Be famous."

Slowly, he lifts the smoldering joint to his lips and takes another hit. After letting it out, he flicks the joint, and ash drifts into the air around us.

"All right, my turn." He scratches the pale stubble on his chin, and the urge to run my hand over his jaw burns through me, so I grip the handrail tighter. "Are you a virgin?"

Now it's my turn to laugh. " What? "

His smile is sharp, challenging. "You heard me."

"Wow." I turn to face him and put one hand on my hip. "No, Dex, I'm not." My eyebrow arches. "Is that surprising? "

"Yeah, kinda." He shrugs, and I narrow my eyes.

"Why?"

"Why is it surprising?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Because you're so . . . intimidating."

My face must betray how ridiculous he sounds, because he quickly explains.

"I'm serious. You're a closed book. I learned almost everything I know about you from social media, and you've only posted, like, nine photos, five of which are your cat. I can't imagine a lesser man could ever get to know you."

"Okay, one, I don't post on social media because I think it's stupid and a waste of time. And two, lesser man ? Lesser compared to whom?"

" Whom? " he says, his eyes going wide. "Dude, Nora, who even says that?" He laughs again, and the sound is light, buoyant. It makes me want to laugh with him, to be near him, to touch him.

God, I wish I could touch him.

"You use whom when referring to the object of a verb or preposition," I say quickly, knowing perfectly well how pretentious it makes me sound.

"What the fuck is a preposition?" he says, but when I open my mouth to explain, he holds up a hand. "You know what, don't tell me. It might make me too smart for my own good." Shaking his head, he goes to lift the joint to his lips again, and I boldly hold out a hand. He looks at it, then at me. "What? You wanna smoke?"

I nod once, wiggling my fingers.

He offers me the joint, and I take it between my first finger and thumb, then lift it to my lips. The fact isn't lost on me that his mouth touched this, and it makes a thrill go through me, makes me feel like I'm in high school again. I draw the smoke in and close my eyes, letting it fill me, carry me higher. It only takes a moment for a tingle to start working its way up my body from the base of my spine. When I exhale, Dex smiles at me through the heavy gray haze.

"You smoke?" he asks as I hand the joint back to him.

"Sometimes. I did a lot in college. It helped me focus for exams and stuff." I shrug. "You've got a lot more to learn about me, I guess." My smile is playful, flirty even.

"I guess so." He draws nearer to me, and his free hand comes up to brush a strand of hair behind my ear. When his fingers touch my cheek, my eyelids flutter closed, and I drink it in, knowing this might be my only chance to know what it's like to have his hand on me.

"Dex!" calls a sharp, high-pitched voice, and the moment—whatever the moment was —is broken.

I open my eyes to see the women from before heading toward us, as if they weren't aware all along that we were standing over here. They give me nasty looks, then turn their attention to Dex, flocking around him like moths to a brilliant flame.

"You didn't say hello," the dark-haired woman says, her lips pulling into a pout.

So, he knows her.

Of course he knows her. He's a rock star, and she's a beautiful actress.

I'm the only one who doesn't belong here.

"I'm busy," Dex says, and his voice is back to that lazy monotone I've come to know. "And you're interrupting. "

The woman narrows her eyes, looking shocked and embarrassed. I'm guessing that wasn't the response she expected. Her gaze catches mine, and it's simmering.

A thrill goes through me.

"Come on," Dex says, reaching for my hand while snubbing his joint out in a nearby ashtray.

The look the women give me as he slips his hand into mine is literal gold. I wish I could bottle it and keep it on my shelf and pull it out whenever I'm feeling down about myself.

"Bye," I say over my shoulder as Dex guides me away, and one of the women lifts her manicured middle finger at me. But I don't even care.

Because he picked me. I don't know why or how, but right now, it doesn't even matter.

Once we're inside, Dex leads me down the stairs, and I wonder why he's still holding my hand. I've still not let myself— won't let myself—believe this could be anything more. He's just being flirty; I'm sure he's like this with plenty of women. Hell, Alisha and Jordan already confirmed it. Alisha's words ring in my head: Dex is a fuckboy.

But right now, I'm not sure I care. I just like how his fingers feel between mine.

Back in the club, the music is shifting from a high-energy dance track to something a bit slower, with a deep bass that I can feel in my bones. Dex glances over his shoulder at me. His eyes meet mine, and maybe it's the pot making my head light and fuzzy, but I swear everything moves in slow motion—the flash of lights across his face, the subtle narrowing of his eyes as he holds my stare. And then he's guiding me onto the dance floor, ignoring the women who look his way as he brushes past them .

"Wh-what are you doing?" I ask as he pulls me close. We're in the middle of the dance floor, and it feels like everyone is staring at us—or staring at him, more like. Dex slips my hands onto his shoulders, and my body tingles when his fingers wrap around my hips.

Leaning in, his mouth a hairsbreadth from my ear, he whispers, "Dancing with you."

And the touch of his breath on my neck makes that spot between my legs ache for him.

What I should do is pull away, remind myself that he's Dex Reid and I'm just Nora Miller. But the alcohol and pot make me bold, make me brave, make me stupid . So I let him pull me closer, let myself indulge in the feel of his hands on my body. For just a moment, I'll be his instrument, and he can play me in any way he wants.

The feel of him is delicious. Intoxicating.

My skin is tingling, is on fire. Every brush of his body against mine sends my nerves bursting to life. He's a good head taller than me, and when I tip my face up to look into his blue eyes, I realize that he's close enough I could kiss him. All I'd have to do is rise onto my toes, and my lips would touch his.

I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about it, haven't dreamt of his mouth on my skin.

But I resist.

I turn around and step back, pressing myself against his firm body, and his fingers dig into my hip bones in response. Bringing one arm up, I reach over my shoulder and slip my hand around the back of Dex's neck, enjoying the tickle of his long hair across my fingertips. He pulls me closer, curls around me, his hands drifting from my hips to my thighs. I try not to gasp when his fingertips tease the hem of my minidress, lightly touching my bare skin.

The music builds, the bass thumping through my body. The flashing lights and writhing bodies make me feel like I'm floating untethered through deep space. I press myself more firmly into Dex's body, wanting to feel his heat.

He hardens against me.

And I feel like a winner, a conqueror. I made Dex Reid hard, for me .

Smile pulling on my mouth, I grind against him, relish the sigh that slips from his lips and across my cheek.

"What are you doing?" he growls into my ear, and a shiver goes down my spine at the sensation of his mouth so near my neck.

"Dancing with you," I respond innocently, echoing his words, letting my hips sway with his as if we're of one body.

Overhead, the singer's voice is breathy, the music deep and sexy. Dex's hands tighten on my hips again, and then he spins me around. Now I'm face-to-face with him, so near I could lick his lip ring if I wanted to.

Oh, I want to.

His eyes search mine for a breath. Once again, time slows down. The neon lights hit his eyes, and the vivid blue makes me think of the winter sky, of a glimmering nebula. Then his hands come up to grab my head, and he's pulling me in, pressing his lips against mine, stealing my everything away.

I can't think, can barely breathe .

This can't be happening.

How is this happening ?

His hands are in my hair, his mouth against mine. I soften, melting into his touch. He smells like pot and cold air, and his lips taste like whiskey.

As the surprise leaves my body, it's replaced with hunger, with the need to touch him, to pull him closer, to drink him in until I drown. I don't ever want to come up for air.

Now my hands are tightening around the back of his neck, and he's pulling my body against his until all I feel is him. The rest of the world disappears; all I know is Dex Reid. His lip ring is cool against my mouth, and when my tongue darts out to touch it, his hard length throbs against my bare thigh. Subtly, I move my leg, brushing against him. In response, he growls against my lips. And between my legs, I get wet.

I want him to take off my dress, to trail his tattooed fingers across my skin, to press his mouth to each of my ribs. I want him so bad it hurts .

The song fades out, and Dex pulls away, leaving me gasping for air as I stare up into his blue eyes. His brow is furrowed, and the expression on his face looks like a mixture of hunger and surprise. His hands are still in my hair. One of his thumbs trails across my neck, making goose bumps dance across my skin.

What just happened?

"Nora! There you are!"

The voice startles me, startles both of us, and we turn suddenly to see Alisha and Jordan staring at us, eyes wide and mouths open in shock. The guys stand behind them, wearing an array of surprised and delighted expressions.

Dex lowers his hands from my head, and I reluctantly untangle my fingers from around his neck .

"Sebastian drank too much," Alisha says, tearing her eyes away from me to look at Dex. "He needs a ride home. Jordan already said no."

"Remember what happened last time?" Jordan says, her nose wrinkling in disgust.

"I said I was—" Sebastian hiccups and looks a bit sick. "Sorry."

Jordan crosses her arms and shoots him a scathing look. "I had to have the Benz detailed twice after that."

"Don't wanna know," I say, trying not to imagine what could've possibly caused the need.

"It's your turn, Dex." Jordan gives him an innocent smile, and he sighs.

"Fine." His gaze shifts to me. "You wanna . . . ?"

The question hangs in the air between us.

Go home with him? Go anywhere with him?

Yes. That's the only answer there is. Yes.

"Yeah," I say, prompting Jordan and Alisha to exchange a look. I smile at them. "Thanks for tonight. It was fun." Then I remember I'm wearing Jordan's dress. "I'll bring your dress back tomorrow."

She waves a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. It looks better on you anyway. Keep it." She pulls me in for a hug, followed by Alisha. "Message us later?" Her gaze flicks subtly to Dex, then back to me, and I nod.

"Sure."

The guys exchange handshakes and fist bumps, and then Dex, Sebastian, and I head toward the exit.