It helps, I’m sure, that the three shots I took are loosening my muscles and making me feel great.
I make a beeline for the bar. A cute blonde with a ponytail is working, and I wave her down. “Mai Tai, please.” I pass her a twenty, and she mixes my requested drink before sliding it over the counter. She pops open the register to get my change, and I shake my head. “Keep it.”
Moving closer to the thrumming crowd, I sway to the music. Just because I can’t dance doesn’t mean I can’t feel the beat as it pumps through me. I sip on my drink, the shots from earlier making me loose.
Then I see him through what feels like a haze. The guy from the cage. He’s put on a shirt, and he’s dancing with a few girls in slinky dresses. I watch him for a few songs and a couple more passing shots. He moves as fluidly on the dance floor as he does in the cage. And the women love him it seems. I down the Mai Tai I bought in one last bitter gulp and set the glass on a passing shot tray. I feel like superwoman with the alcohol running through my veins.
They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing.
Threading through the crowd to get closer to him, I trip over my heels, almost fall, but I totally got it under control. No way I’m gonna break my ankle tonight!Nice save. I ignore the weird tilt of the ground, throw my arms up, and sway to the music. This is definitely dancing... right?
When he spots me, it feels like a fire is lit in my stomach.Then he leans down and says something to the girl currently molded to him. She glances back at me with a pout, following his line of sight before she moves away. He crosses the space between us effortlessly, his gaze running down to my heels that make me six inches taller to the hem of the short blue dress my sister convinced me to put on. And back up again.
It makes me feel powerful. His full attention is just for me, like I’m the center of his world. I hold back my eye roll. At least for now I’ll be the center of his world. But that’s what I want. One night in the arms of a stranger to wash my ex out of my system.
I run my palms down his shirt, and he glances down at my hands. Cupping them with his own, he peers at me.
“Are you okay?” he shouts over the crowd.
“Yeah,” I yell back.
It’s pointless to try to carry on a conversation with our voices, so I press against him, hoping he’ll get the message. His hands go to my ass as he steadies me. Wait, what? Steadies me? Did I almost fall?
“Whoa, I think you’ve had too much to drink. Come on, let’s get you a seat,” he says. His words ghost over the shell of my ear and make my hormones go haywire.
At that moment, I will go anywhere he wants to lead me. He presses me into an open seat, and my world spins. Ugh. I shake my head, and it makes it worse. I need the bathroom.
Lurching to my feet, I slam into him, knocking my head against his chin. He swears and steps back as I straighten. My head pounds where we hit, so I know his jaw has to feel it. I open my mouth to apologize and proceed to lose the contents of my stomach all over him.
He blinks down at his puke-covered outfit in stunned silence as heat crawls up my neck and over my cheeks. Another wave of nausea hits me, and I turn away from himthis time, adding more of my stomach to the floor next to his feet. It splatters across his shoes, as it seems to bounce off the floor, intent on embarrassing me further.
“Christ,” he swears as he stumbles back a step.
I do the only thing I can think of and grab the damn napkin holder off the table, but the stupid thing won’t budge. I fumble with it, muttering, “Come on, you piece of crap,” and swearing under my breath.
Finally, the top pops off, and I yank out a stack of those useless thin napkins. I try to wipe the vomit off his shirt, but it’s not working at all. It’s humiliating in the worst way because he just stands there, staring at me like I’m some kind of alien. He doesn’t even stop me, just watches as I uselessly smear the mess around. A waitress rushes over, clearly horrified, and hands him an actual towel. He takes it and starts blotting his jeans, probably wishing he was anywhere but here.
My sister appears next to me, her face a mixture of horror and concern. “Lilah, what happened?”
I swallow, my throat hurting from the acid I just expelled. I have no words, so I gesture at the man in front of me. Ashlyn glances at him before doing a double take.
“Rafe Carson? Oh my God, what happened?”
His name. It’s familiar. Because it’s in the tabloids right next to my sister's name all the time. At one time, they said they were a thing. But he does not look likethison the magazine covers; no, in person he’s so much—more.Or at least he was until I puked all over him.
Can I die? The room spins, the faces blur, and I’m drowning in it all. I can’t do this. I can’t stay here. I need out. I need air. Without thinking, I lurch forward, my feet tangled beneath me as I stagger toward the front doors. I trip, catch myself, and keep going. The lights outside blind me, and thepaparazzi's shouts turn into a chaotic roar. I can’t make sense of the words. My head’s pounding, my stomach’s churning, and I just push through them, stumbling down the street, barely aware of where I’m going.
CHAPTER 2
Lilah
“Holy shit.”I drop the magazine to my lap, my eyes going wide. In a circle in the corner is me in the blue dress, looking like I’m beyond drunk—with a puke-covered Rafe Carson standing in front of me, his arms spread wide in shock. Just when I thought the worst of the pap pictures had already aired two weeks ago, with me running from the club, this is like being slapped in the face.
Of course, paparazzi made their way inside. Even with the club rules, they are like little snakes slithering their way into places they shouldn’t be. And now, my embarrassment is nationwide. They don’t even know my name. I shake my head with a snort at the caption. ‘Has Ashlyn Robinson’s sister gone off the deep end? Did being jilted at the altar break the younger Robinson?’
What would they know about either? It isn’t like I’ve broadcasted what Jared and Tabitha did to me everywhere. I wonder who got paid for that tidbit.
“What’s wrong?” Ashlyn asks, spotting my face as she enters the living room—my personal sanctuary. “Lil, why are the blankets back on the windows?”
