NEAT
ON THE ROCKS
WITH A TWIST
There’s no way that this wasn’t Eric’s idea. The section is marked out almost exactly the same way that the VIP menus at Envy – and probably Nash’s other clubs – are set up.
The effort that it takes to hide the smile that my face is determined to wear is honestly a little bit embarrassing, but I manage while I write down the girls’ orders, taking my tray with me to the bar to fill it up. There are security guards all over the place inside; strategically placed by the doors, the VIP booths, and a few others patrolling through the crowd.
I turn, my back pressed against the bar, while I wait for my tray to be filled, watching the women dancing on suspended platforms above everyone else dancing. Their leather lingerie leaves little to the imagination; almost less than my own outfit does, and they seem to love it, like they’re really in their element up there. I sway my hips along with them to the song playing over the sound system, one of my favorites. The past three songs have been ones that I love, and it’s really helping me feel more confident in my place here.
Not a single hand touches my body uninvited while I cart the tray back to the girls. Not a single word of proposition meets my ears. One guy gets bold and tries to approach me while I make my way toward the girls’ table, but he’s stopped by one of those strategically-placed security guards stepping between us.
The rest of my shift goes just as smoothly, and by the end of it, I feel the same way that I felt every night when Eric was coming to see me at Envy; but it’s not just an oxygen mask now. It’s just pure, clean air, and my lungs are so thankful to breathe it in deeply.
I dance to another one of my favorite songs while I change my clothes, swapping out my lingerie for a baggy bandt-shirt and a pair of white denim jeans before heading off to Eric’s office, hoping that he’s still here.
I tap my fingertips across the office door before pushing it open to reveal Eric perched on the desk with his phone held to his ear. “Offer ten more and see what they come back with,” he says. His eyes land on me while he listens to the person on the other end of the line talking, throwing me a wink. “I gotta go, old bastard.” He hangs up without waiting for his friend to say anything, and he crosses the room to put his arm around my shoulders, bending down to kiss me. “How’d it go?”
“Well my boss made sure that I was with my friends all night, and the music choice just happened to be practically every song on my favorites playlist, so, it was alright,” I tease.
He might not use his words; he might notbe ableto use his words. But that doesn’t mean that he isn’t terribly loud in his affections.
“Hey listen,” he says, “my nephew’s getting some big degree next week and we’re throwing a huge party after.” Reaching into a pen holder on the desk, which I can only assume was not his doing but probably Colt’s, he pulls out a fine point pen. Grabbing my hand, he scribbles out an address onto my palm. I don’t think I’ve ever really seen his handwriting before; a doctor writes more legibly than this man does. “Go to this address, pick out whatever you wanna wear.”
He slips his wallet from the back pocket of his slacks, slipping a black card from one of the slots, and I freeze when he hands it to me. “Eric.”
“Would you stop saying it like that?” He laughs.
“I’m sorry, I get a little flustered when a man drops the cost of ahouseon me in the span of four hours,” I snark. “I’m not using that.”
“You are,” he says, dropping to sit on the desk. God, I wish he would stop doing that. It makes it really hard to focus on being mad at him. “And you’re not gonna worry aboutcoupons or price tags or any of that shit while you’re with me.”
While I’m with him.
My teeth tug at my lower lip, biting back a smile that I worry will scare him away and send him running, and I take the card from his hand. “Fine,” I concede. “What’s your favorite color?”
He lets out a laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling and his beautiful smile sparkling. “What?”
“Your favorite color,” I repeat. “What is it?”
•
Walking into the shop takes my breath away. Tall, arched ceilings hang over crisp, white walls. Three massive couches line the widespread aisles, poised in front of small pedestals on the floor which are surrounded by floor-length mirrors. Decadent gowns and suits of every color and texture line racks upon racks upon racks that seem like they’ll never end.
A woman approaches Ava and I, a flute of champagne in each hand, and she offers them to us. “Miss Costas?” I give her a slow nod, and I can feel my eyes bugging out of my head while I do it. “We’ve been expecting you. This way, please.”
Ava and I exchange a look and her elbow knocks into mine while we each accept our glasses of champagne. We follow the woman through the boutique, taken to the center couch, and we settle into the crushed velvet cushions.
“Are we looking for anything in particular, this afternoon?” The woman asks.
“Um, yes,” I stammer. “I need a dress for a party, preferably green.”
With a nod, she excuses herself to flit through the aisles, throwing all kinds of dresses over her arm while she moves. Ava and I sip our champagne silently for the first fewminutes, both of us too shocked to say anything, until the woman has disappeared to another area of the store.
“I like your boyfriend’s love language,” she leans over to whisper.
‘Boyfriend’ doesn’t really feel right; it doesn’t feel big enough for whatever it is that he is to me. He’s so much more than that. A boyfriend is a passing thing that can become more, but Eric Davis has alwaysbeenmore for me. From the second that I approached him in that club to the minute he let me look into a piece of his past, he’s been more.
