The elevator dinged and the doors opened.
We stepped inside without another word.
SIXTEEN
ANNA
Why did she always feel like something was missing?
Angel’s Club
“Okay,you were not joking about how popular this place is,” I said to Claire.
We were standing in line together behind what seemed like a hundred people. Claire was dressed in a short denim skirt and a halter top that tied around her neck, leaving her shoulders bare.
I was pretty sure she was not wearing a bra. The pronounced nipples gave her away.
I was a little more conservative in black jeans and a sleeveless red blouse with a deeper v-neck than I was used to.
When I’d put it on, I’d felt like it was club appropriate. It certainly wasn’t work appropriate, you could see the top of my boobs. However, standing in this line, surrounded by mostly scantily dressed young women – and yes, that was the first timein my life I’d used the word scantily – I could see I was a little overdressed.
Should I take off my bra?
Glancing down at my chest, I didn’t think the lack of support would help my chances of getting in the club. Especially considering I wasn’t sure what contest I was participating in. I only knew this was some kind of competition.
The bouncer at the front of the line held a clipboard in his hand and I could see certain people were moving to the front of the line, giving him their names, and he was waving them inside.
Meanwhile, the riffraff remained outside on this line, which didn’t feel like it was moving at all.
“Should we have made reservations?” I asked Claire as another foursome of girls got inside.
“Nope,” she assured me. “This is just how it works.”
Any time the door was opened we could hear the pulse of the music playing inside. Which was kind of crazy, too, but because it didn’t ever sound like the song was changing.
So, this was fun? Standing in line, watching privileged people cut in front while we could hear intermittent snippets of music. Not to mention there was no outside bar where we could even get a drink. Not that it was stopping Claire. She’d brought her own flask to keep the party going that she’d started in her apartment before coming here.
When I’d showed up at her apartment, she’d offered me a drink and called it pre-gaming. I accepted a beer to be polite, but declined the shots, with E.G.’s voice in my head about being diligent. I couldn’t be on guard and dead drunk at the same time. But Claire didn’t seem to have any such reservations.
“Ugh!” she groaned. “We’re never going to get in. It’s already eleven and the line isn’t moving. This sucks!”
I didn’t agree vocally, but in my mind, I was trying to imagine how this was better than watching the second season ofBridgertonon Netflix for the fifteenth time.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket and I took it out to see I had a text from E.G.
That was unusual. While it was no surprise that he might work on the weekends, he’d never intruded on my free time.
“Who is it?” Claire asked. She must have seen my frown and assumed it was bad news.
“E.G. He must need something. Hold on.”
“Hey! He’s famous! Ask him if he can get us into the club.”
Yeah, I wasn’t going to do that.
So it was a total surprise when I actually read his text.
E.G.: Did you get into the club yet?
