THREE

Elodie

As soon as we walk into the club, I have regrets.

It's a nice place. Quinn wouldn't have chosen it otherwise. The walls have this padded velvet thing going on that should look sort of old school asylum, but actually looks classy, like we're inside a jewelry case. But it's busy. The bar is crowded and we have to elbow between two tall blondes to get to it and one of them nearly collects me with her drink.

She gives me the sort of look down her rhinoplasty-ed nose that says I'm on par with the insect she trod on earlier today. Then she turns to her taller, even blonder friend, and they both laugh.

I ignore them, of course. People like that can keep their opinions to themselves. It would be nice if the bartender would look this way, though. Instead, he turns away from me and Quinn toward the other end of the bar where a large group of guys have pushed their way to the front.

I sigh.

"Isn't this place great!" Quinn leans close and shouts in my ear. The throb of the music radiates through the floor and up into my body through my shoes, and despite the crowd, it does make me want to dance.

I shrug. "Sure. At least the music's good."

Eventually, Quinn leans over the bar and gets the guy's attention and we get our drinks. Somehow we manage to squeeze ourselves through the crowd and over to the small seating area. Only, no seats are free.

"Drink up. We're dancing in a minute, anyway," Quinn says. They take a long sip through their straw and I follow suit. That's fine. We can't really talk in here. I'd rather be dancing, despite what I said on Sunday. It's been a terrible week. If there's one thing that might actually make me feel better, it's being out on the dance floor.

After humiliating myself by crying in my meeting on Monday, I've been avoiding Mr. Azeroth all week. I even hid in the ladies room for twenty minutes when I spotted him walking down the hall toward the office I share with the other members of Talent and Innovation. Everyone was very nice to me after the meeting. Painfully nice. I could see the pity in their eyes when they look at me.

Quinn nudges me. "He's got potential."

I follow their gaze to a tall, classically handsome man with dusty blond hair and broad shoulders. He leans against the bar waiting to be served. He's attractive enough. His square jaw and dimpled chin have a rugged manly look and I will admit he has nice arms. His shirt is rolled up to reveal muscular forearms with tattoos I can't make out in the dim lighting.

He doesn't stir anything in me, though.

Shouldn't I feel a little excitement at the thought of dancing with him or talking to him?

"I'm not sure I'm ready..."

Quinn is already looking around the room again. "Oooh, him!"

I look around in time to see a guy with a very wide smile and a neatly trimmed dark beard dancing over to us. No. God, no. He's dance-walking straight at me.

"I need another drink." I tip up my glass and drain the second half of my cocktail in a single gulp. Snatching Quinn's hand, I tug them back to the bar before "Mister Keen" can make it to where we were standing.

"You've gotta get back out there sometime," Quinn says into my ear.

Not with him. Definitely not with him .

This time, I don't muck around. I lean over the bar until the bartender meets my eye and order four shots.

"Yes!" Quinn slams their card over the card reader before I can pay. "You can get the next round."

Here I was thinking three drinks might do me for the night.

Wondering if I've bitten off more than I can chew, I down the first shot, the burn and tingle of it numbing me to my bitterness and insecurity just a touch. I brace myself and swallow the second, not waiting for the alcohol to hit me before I turn and head for the floor.

Quinn has to chase after me, only catching me when I raise my hands and throw myself wildly into motion. The music thumps through me. The buzz from the shots follows. If I close my eyes for a second, I can almost believe I'm enjoying this.

I am enjoying this. I am.

After a few more songs, I actually am. I close my eyes and just feel the music. Moving my body, I let the tension and the disappointment drip off me like sweat.

A hand lands on my arm.

Rougher than I expected. I open my eyes and catch a look at Quinn's expression. Tighter than it should be after those drinks. Lips pressed together as if they're deciding what to say.

Slowly I spin.

I already know what I'm going to see, don't I?

Sure enough, there's Dustin. My brain is so attuned to the particular set of his shoulders and the color of his hair I spot him instantly. What takes me another second to absorb is the sight of the tall bitchy blonde plastered to him, grinding like her life depends on it.

Now I know why she looked familiar.

That's the girl from the photo.

His girl. His fiance.

All of this happens in a moment. He's not looking. At the very second I decide I can't deal with this, his hand slides over her ass and then his gaze snaps up to lock on mine.

He doesn't even have the good grace to move his hand.

He just keeps right on grinding his hips against her as if he's trying to fuck her there in front of me. Then he smiles.

Finally, Dustin lets her go.

He steps toward me.

Quinn tugs on my arm. I don't need to be told.

We break and run through the crowd, tripping between dancers, feet sticking to the tacky floor. The beat of the music thumps through me, but now it's a mirror for my sickened heartbeat.

Thud, thud, thud . Nails in the coffin where my heart is buried.

"Elodie!" I barely hear Dustin's voice over the noise of the club. I pretend I don't and keep moving. I don't even stop to grab my coat. I realize what a mistake that is when we burst out into the bitter street air.

It's only September, for fuck's sake.

Clouds of hot breath puff from our mouths. I search the street for a taxi.

"I'll get the jackets." Quinn heads back toward the door.

"Just leave it. I'll get it tomorrow or something." Any moment now, Dustin is going to come out that door right behind us.

Only he doesn't. We hover like that, waiting too long for it to be anything else.

He doesn't even care enough to come after me and try to smooth things over. Not that I want him to. I mean I don't, do I?

I'm still trying to decide if this is better or worse, when the blue light of a taxi turns the corner and my arm flings out all on its own. "I'm going home."

"No, don't let him spoil our night." Quinn pouts.

"Too late."

Quinn tries to wrap and arm around me and pull me back inside, but I resist.

"I'm going home." The taxi stops on the curb beside us.

They sigh. "You want me to come?"

I shake my head. "It's early. Stay. Have fun. Slip horse tranquilizer into his drink or something for me."

Quinn's eyes widen. "Now that's an idea."

"No." I wave them off. "Don't do anything. Just have a good night, OK? I promise I'll come out with you another time."

They pull me into a fierce hug. The kind that's almost suffocating. "I know it doesn't feel like it now," Quinn says, "but you're better off without him. Trust me. You can do so much better."

"Yeah. Thanks." Without meeting their eyes, I slip into the taxi and give the driver my address.

"You got it." While the taxi driver is pulling out onto the road, I try not to look through the back window at Quinn standing there with a worried expression on their face, or beyond them to the lights of the club. I don't want to imagine that scene again. Over and over, their hips moving together in a practiced dance. Like they've been lovers for years.

God, have they?