“Come on then, let’s get you some male attention that’s actually wanted,” Luna says, tugging me through the crush of grinding bodies.
I snort, because if she only knew. I’ve been collecting attention all night, the kind that sinks under my skin and stays there, and my brain immediately hands me his glowing heart eyes like a secret I’m not supposed to be smiling about.
The way his mouth curved like he was entertained instead of pissed. Strong jaw, sharp chin, lips that hovered way too close to mine for someone holding a blade. The guy who watched me like he already knew I’d run and liked that I did.
Yeah.Thatattention.
But, I let her drag me along anyway. Through the crowd to the dance floor where the base vibrates through my body. Standing still feels like a terrible idea anyway. The second I stop moving, my thoughts start drifting into places they shouldn’t—brick walls, knives, the way danger didn’t scare me nearly as much as it should’ve. Hard no. We are absolutely not unpacking that right now.
We shove deeper into the crowd, the bass hitting my chest so hard it actually knocks the breath out of me for a second. Lights flash. Bodies are everywhere. It’s loud and sweaty and chaotic in that way that makes bad decisions feel less like mistakes and more like suggestions.
Luna disappears into the music immediately, arms up, hips moving like she was born on this dance floor. Of course she was. I snort and follow, letting myself get dragged into it.
I roll my shoulders, stretch my neck, and let the beat do the work for me. My top shifts when I move, the little red drippy pieces bouncing and swinging every time I step or twist. I can feel the strings around my waist tug when I roll my hips,beads brushing my thighs, catching the light whenever I turn. It’s distracting, but then again, right now, everything is fucking distracting.
My body loosens up fast, like it’s running on a delay. Or maybe I am. Hard to tell. Movements get slower, sloppier, then suddenly sharp again when the beat drops. I sway, then snap my hips, then laugh because I almost lose my balance and absolutely do not care.
Someone bumps into me and the contact sends this stupid little jolt up my spine, way bigger than it should be. I laugh again, shaking my head like, wow, okay, calm down, body.
God. I am so fucked up.
As bass crashes through my body, all the tension starts to melt away. Everything starts to smooth out, like someone took an eraser to the sharp edges of the night. Thoughts don’t really finish anymore, they just kind of…drift. Consequences feel fake. Like something future me can deal with, and honestly, she’ll probably be way stronger than I am anyway.
I dance harder, messier, letting the music jerk me around. Shoulders rolling, hips grinding without a plan. Sweat slicks my skin, my hair sticks to my neck, and I don’t bother fixing it. My body wants something. Attention. Trouble. Validation. Shit, maybe all of it. I’ll decide later. Or not.
Right now, I just laugh, and let whatever else the night has planned, happen to me.
That’s when the awareness creeps in.
It starts as that prickle between my shoulder blades, the kind that sneaks up on me when I’m already too fucked up to care. I’ve been dancing with Luna for a while now, long enough that time feels bendy and fake, long enough that the music has melted my brain into something pleasantly useless.
Then something shifts.
Not in a loud or dramatic way. Just that quiet little click in my head that says I’m not just another sweaty body in the crowd anymore. I’m being watched. Properly. Like someone locked onto me and decided,yeah, that one.
I keep dancing anyway because fuck them. Loose and lazy, hips rolling like they’ve got their own agenda, shoulders relaxed, and my head tipped back while I laugh at something Luna says that I barely even process. I slow just enough to feel smug about it, letting the beat keep my body moving while my awareness sharpens around the edges.
I don’t turn right away. Whoever it is definitely wants me to notice, and being the absolute brat that I am, I make them wait. Let them stare. Let them wonder if I’ve clocked it yet.
When I finally glance over my shoulder, all casual and unbothered, there they are.
Those glowing fucking heart eyes again.
I smirk, slow and crooked, because of course it’s him. Because tonight was meant to be a clean little revenge tour, and instead the universe went, nah, let’s blow this up in the most unhinged fucking way. I roll my hips once more just to be a bitch about it, already buzzing, amused, and so fucking ready for the night to get even more fucking interesting.
He’s a few rows back, just standing there like he owns the space. Shirtless, obviously, tattoos everywhere, angel wings strapped on like he knows exactly how ridiculous and hot it looks and decided not to fight it. The heart-eyes glow every time the lights hit him, and he’s not even pretending to dance. He’s just watching me, calm as fuck, and completely unbothered.
Which is fucking annoying.
Because my stomach does that stupid little flip again.
Not nerves. Definitely not fear. It’s that other thing. That smug, traitorous rush you get when you know someone’s looking at you and you like it way more than you’re supposed to.
I smile anyway, slow and intentional, because if he thinks I’m about to pretend I don’t see him, he’s lost his damn mind. We already played this game once tonight, and I know exactly what it did to him.
He likes that I’m not scared. Likes that when I move away, it’s playful, not panicked. That I’m choosing this instead of being chased into it.
It’s fucked up. A little twisted. Probably a red flag with a pulse.
