“I will,” I say, dodging the attempt and shoving his hand away. Then, without a backward glance, I head out to the Uber, where Brit and Sienna are waiting.
The concert’s incredible. We get right up next to the stage and scream every word at the top of our lungs. We touch Alex’s hand at one point, and Vinnie, the guitarist, plays so close to the edge of the stage that we can practically feel his body heat.
I do my best to focus on the moment, to savor this time with Brit and Sienna, the kind of friends I’ve never had and only ever dreamed of. The kind of friends who don’t make me hide my enthusiasm or force me to put on a cool, collected front. They don’t want me to be someone I’m not. I can just be myself.
And that’s all I’ve ever wanted.
When the show finally ends—after two incredible encores—we’re high on the night. My throat hurts from screaming, and my ears won’t stop ringing, but I don’t want to sleep. I want to prolong the excitement, so instead of retiring, we head to a club, prepared to extend the fun until early morning.
“I swear, at one point, he was singing directly at you, Violet,” Sienna says in the Uber. “It wasinsane.”
“His voice is amazing live,” says Brit, her tone enthusiastic for once. “Mind-blowing.”
“I know,” I say, sighing dreamily. “He gets better every time I see him.”
We gush about the band and the concert for most of the ride, and it’s not long before we arrive at the club. It takes a while to get through the line, but once we make it inside, we waste no time hitting the dance floor, where we lose ourselves in the flashing lights and pulsing beat.
“I’m going to get some water!” I tell Brit sometime later, screaming to be heard over the music.
She nods. “Want me to come with you?”
I shake my head and point to Sienna. “Stay with her!”
She gives me a thumbs up, and I weave through the crowd of hot, sweaty bodies toward the bar. Waiting for the bartender to approach, I glance around the cavernous interior of the club, and when my eyes land on a familiar face hanging over the second-floor balcony VIP section, my stomach drops. Dread fills my chest at the sight of Christian McCoy, and our eyes meet before I have the chance to duck my head.
“Shit,” I mutter, glancing back at the bartender. I will him to hurry up so I can slip seamlessly back into the crowd and disappear from sight. But the crowd is massive and drunk people are slow, and before I know it, a hand’s landing heavy on my shoulder, forcing me to turn around.
“Well, hello, Daisy,” says Christian. He’s as skeevy as always, golden hair slicked, eyes hooded, shirt undone one button too many. Although he’s shorter than Landon, Christian holds himself differently. He towers over me. Leans in. Crowds my space. I force a smile anyway.
“Hey,” I say.
“Come hang with us.” He points up toward the VIP area.
“Maybe in a bit,” I lie. “I’m waiting for water.”
“Oh, we have water upstairs,” he assures, then winks. “And much, much more.”
Before I can react, his hand slips around my wrist.
Now’s the time to stand your ground. Now’s the time to pull away, push away, get away.
“I should find Brit,” I say, giving a subtle yank on his grip. He doesn’t release me.
“Come on. Just for a few minutes.” He grins, squeezing my arm. “I just want you to see what you’re missing out on all the times you turn me down.”
I try to protest, but he’s already tugging me toward the VIP section of the club, so I give up and follow him. What else can I do? I recognize a bunch of his friends lounging on the leather seats, surrounded by endless bottles and scantily clad women, and it’s no wonder they’re always hungover at the club. When I accidentally meet Kurt’s glazed-over gaze, he gives me a lascivious grin that turns my stomach, and I quickly avert my eyes.
Christian presents me with a bottle of water, and I double-check that the top is sealed.
“Thanks,” I mutter and take a hesitant sip.
“You look fucking stunning, Daisy,” he says, eyes moving over my dress with a hungry look. “Can I show you something?”
I glance over the balcony, back down at the dance floor, and bite the inside of my cheek. “Christian, I should really get back.”
He steps closer to me, assaulting my senses with smoke, sweat, and cologne. “Come on, Daisy Duke. Five more minutes. I want to show you something special.”
I swallow, searching through the crowd for a glimpse of Sienna’s signature red, mermaid hair. I don’t see it. I don’t see Brit, either, and I sigh, looking back at Christian. I could make a scene, I guess, but I’m pretty sure Christian’s all talk. A dick, sure, but he’s notdangerous. “Alright. Five minutes.”
