Be stronger for it.
Live for me, Ever.
Tears burn the back of my eyes, and my throat tightens. I stare at the Chucks Carlos gave me for learning the bachata. I have to do this. I want to do this. Blinking back the tears, I put one foot in front of the other until I’m staring at the bouncer’s hardcore boots. I glance up and suck in a breath. The bouncer manning the entrance could be my unofficial bodyguard’s doppelgänger.
He has dark hair with a few strands falling into his onyx-colored eyes, a metallic right brow piercing, and a full beard. His facial features are a mix of sharp angles and grim lines, making him look lethal and menacing, just like Gage. I wouldn’t want to run into this man in a dark alley.
Gage never mentioned a brother. Huh. Maybe a cousin? I can’t ask Gage, though. He’ll get suspicious and ask a ton of questions at a rapid-fire pace.
Overwhelmed and ready to be done with the verbal reaming and interrogation disguised as concern, I’d blurt out that I saw his likeness at a nightclub I’m not supposed to be at. Then all hell would break loose.
Mr. Snarly Face sweeps his gaze over me from the top of my head to my skin-tone bandeau, blue jeans ripped at the knees, and teal Chucks. “ID,” he barks.
I involuntarily step back.
Jesus, who kicked his puppy? He used his nice man voice with the person before me and hadn’t asked for her ID.
I pull my driver’s license from my back pocket. He crowds my space with a grunt and snatches my ID from my fingers before I have a chance to hand it over.
Wow, he’s impatient. Just like Gage. Hmm . . . He looks from me to the ID and flicks the plastic on my shoulder. “No entry.”
What?! This can’t be happening. I drove two freaking hours. My mouth opens and closes. My gut knots.
The person behind me steps into my space, bumping into my back, before leaning into me and staying there. A whiff of cheap cologne, sweat, and body odor wraps around me like a heavy, musty blanket on a hot, humid day.
I step forward, away from the frat boy’s hot breath and gross body heat. He and his friends leered at me when they walked by before taking their spots behind me in line.
“Give a girl a chance to dance her heart out,” I plead in a low voice, not wanting anyone else to hear the reason I’m here. It’s too personal. “It’s the anniversary of my boyfriend’s death, and I’m here to dance for him.”
Carlos is either smiling or smirking up in Heaven. He did a lot of good that many people weren’t aware of during his twenty-nine years.
The bouncer glares and shoves my ID in my face. I pocket it and start to turn around, but to my surprise, he removes the rope across the entrance and waves me through. I squeeze by him with a grateful, “Thank you.”
He tips his head but doesn’t let up on the death glare. The moment I step inside the nightclub, I forget about Gage’s likeness.
The club is crowded, and the music is loud. I smile widely and sweep my gaze around the room. Disco balls hang from the ceiling. Booths, tables, and bar-style tables with bar stools line the periphery of the dance floor, offering club-goers a vantage point to observe the dancers from their seats and allowing dancers to catch the attention of those who aren’t dancing or who simply enjoy watching. Either way, it’s a win-win in my opinion.
Smiling, I make my way past the crowded bar and onto the dance floor.
The guys don’t give me a second glance. Who can blame them for ignoring me? They’re not here for plain and understated. They’re here for sexy and stunning. A thick coat of mascara is my only attempt at impressing someone.
The music’s beat is fast and upbeat. I jump, nod my head, and swing my hair as I’m jostled against other dancers. Laughter escapes my lips. My worries about Braxton getting out of prison and my brother finding out soon, as well as my anxiety that I’ll forget Carlos’s scent and the sound of his laughter, fall to the wayside.
The other dancers and I pump our arms and tap our fingers to the beat. I scream the lyrics at the top of my lungs. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed the joy of being with like-minded people who don’t have a care in the world other than to feel the rhythm of the music down to their marrow.
I’m ready to belt out the chorus when muscular arms wrap around my waist from behind and tug me back against a solid body. A surprised gasp slips from my mouth. I stop dancing and look down.
Large hands. Thick fingers. A sprinkling of dark hair on his knuckles. I don’t need to turn around to know he is all man, unlike the guy who intentionally leaned into me while we waited in line to get in. This man doesn’t smell like cheap, generic cologne, sweat, or body odor.
What do I do? Do I shove him away? Or do I give in to the temptation of his muscular arms, his masculine scent, and his solid body?
After Carlos’s funeral, I stayed away from Red Dahlia. Ty and I talked, and looking uncomfortable because I was bawling, he patted my back and said he and the crew understood why I was staying away. It must be difficult to return to the place where I spent a lot of my time with Carlos. Then we reminisced. First, about how we celebrated with Carlos and the crew when I received the letter saying I had a full-ride scholarship to DU.
“You are one smart fortune cookie,” Carlos had said before he grabbed me by the waist and swung me around.
My laughter echoed in the club, and each guy in the crew gave me high fives or a fist bump. They knew Carlos was my favorite, and his form of celebration was reserved for only him.
The next thing Ty and I spoke about was when Carlos surprised me on my nineteenth birthday. He’d said he needed to swing by the club to grab something he’d forgotten. The crew and their families were there, and we celebrated with dance and music into the early hours of the morning.
