We sit at the table Nastya reserved near the dance floor and order a round of tequila shots. The server returns with them quickly, surreptitiously glancing at Hade. Looks like we have him to thank for the prompt service. Another perk of being famous, I guess.
Nastya holds up her shot glass. “To poor decisions.”
I lift mine as well and amend the toast. “To better judgment.”
Hayden raises his bottle of water and winks at me. “Cheers.”
The pulsing EDM envelops me quickly, the thunderous bass reverberating deliciously through my body, loosening up my muscles.
Nastya grabs my hand. “Come on. Let’s dance.”
“Will you be okay on your own?” I ask Hade as I stand.
He nods. “Go. I’m here to observe. If you need anything, just wave, and I’ll join you.”
Nastya pulls me to the dance floor, and when we’re surrounded by the throng of people, I let my body take over. We lose ourselves in the music. We laugh, we spin, we joke. It feels good to move, to turn off my brain. For several songs in a row, I do nothing but exist.
The first man to approach is dressed in a white shirt and black pants. I turn him down quickly, easily. He reminds me too much of the finance guy.
When we make our way back to the table, my already elevated heart rate increases even more.
Hayden is still here. It surprises me, actually. I figured he’d be bored after a couple of songs. He’s still alone, so maybe the staff has been discreet about his presence. He looks relaxed, but I can’t tell whether it’s genuine or whether he’s putting up a front.
Has he been out since Owen died? Why didn’t I ask? The club atmosphere is probably overwhelming to someone who’s grieving.
“Don’t want to join us?” I ask him while we wait for another round of shots.
“I’m good.” He leans closer so I can hear him over the music. “Though I almost stepped in when the white-collar asshole approached you. Good job sending him packing.”
I snort. “What makes you think he’s an asshole? You didn’t even?—”
“You were the third girl he’s approached since we’ve been here. He isn’t looking for anything serious.”
I’m speechless. His words make heat radiate through my chest. Hewaskeeping an eye on me.
“Finally, our shots!” Nastya’s voice brings me back to reality.
Thank God. I need a drink.
I’m not really a lightweight, but within minutes of hitting the dance floor again, the alcohol goes to my head. I blame it on my lack of sleep and the nerves that have plagued me since I agreed to let Hayden come with us.
I keep my pinkie curled around Nastya’s when a man approaches and chats me up.
His name is Andrew, and he seems genuine, unlike the other guys who’ve tried to talk to me tonight. Cute smile, dark blue eyes—a plus, given my history with green-eyed men—and chestnut hair. He’s confident but not pushy, and he’s easy on the eyes. So far, he checks all my boxes.
Andrew makes some joke about racehorses. It’s silly, and there’s no way I’ll remember it tomorrow, but for now, it feels good to laugh. Though as I scan the space and my attention catches on our table, my mood plummets. My overheated body suddenly goes cold, as if I’ve been doused with a bucket of ice water.
Hayden is still at the table, but he’s no longer alone. The woman sitting beside him has shiny blonde hair, red lipstick, and impressively long legs. They talk and laugh, clearly at ease with each other—so much so that she’s got a hand on his thigh, and he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he leans in.
The music hasn’t changed, nor has the crush of bodies around me. Yet, my world has stilled.
I blow out a breath and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, trying to recenter myself. He suggested screening guys to give me his perspective, but I didn’t agree to screen women for him. I agreed to his plan with the hope it would distract himfrom his grief, even though I knew his presence here could cost me.
But it seems looking after me hasn’t been enough of a distraction—though the blonde might be.
Tears prickle the backs of my eyes. My not-so-sober state isn’t helping.
I blink rapidly and focus on Andrew, fighting back the hurt.
