11
CHARLI
Cars idled,their running engines adding to the night cacophony as we made our way to Screamers nightclub in Soho. I smoothed my palms down my short black skirt I’d teamed with a sleeveless wrap top in burgundy, thankful that when we left the beach house this morning, I’d grabbed my duffle and threw in clothes.
But agreeing to a relationship and knowing I was risking everything had my belly tied into knots, with anticipation, yes, and also a little wariness. Because with War, I felt so much more than I did with Craig or the other two. Hence me dressing up. It helped soothe the edges of my jangled nerves.
At the crush waiting to get inside the club, I sighed, my fingers tightening on my black evening purse, hoping we didn’t stay outside too long. Because,heels!
Ugh, I had to wear them, wanting to look good and not feel too short next to War.
He put his hand on my lower back, and the tangle within me eased. We walked right past the crowd, startling me a little. Voices rose, shrieks of War’s name echoed. He didn’t look back.
“You could have waved,” I murmured.
“Why?”
“Duh. You’re a sports star.”
“I love the game. It’s why I play.”
Right. From what he’d told me, it was true. What I’d also come to learn about him since the wedding several weeks ago, and these past few days—he worked hard at whatever he did, and he’d earned the respect of his peers.
We made our way to the muscled bouncers, who gave him a nod of recognition. Once carded and stamped, we walked into the dimly lit club.
“Guess being a well-known hockey star has its perks?” I teased him since he was back in his quiet mode. He gave me a slight smile but remained silent. Then we stepped into the split-level dance club, music resounding off the walls and strobe lights bouncing everywhere.
The energetic vibe spilled through me, and I had to curb the urge to move to the beat. I loved dancing, just not the crowds. Gyrating bodies jampacked the lower-level dance floor, the frenzied movements giving the place a hive feeling.
War grasped my hand, and we navigated through the crammed tables to one overlooking the dance floor. My friends and their hubbies were there.
“Charli!” Ila jumped up, and War finally let me go. She grasped me in a hug, and Ray followed. The guys fist-bumped each other, and seats were taken again, my friends snagging the chairs next to me.
With drinks ordered from a passing waitress, I glanced at my friends, setting my purse on the table. Despite the loud music and manic energy here, Ila and Ray’s bristling curiosity surrounded me like a fast-closing net.
Yeah, I knew why.
War and I arrived together,andthey’d seen him holding my hand. Yup, the sisterly inquisition was about to pounce. I was in for a grilling.
I remained silent on that topic, being coolly nonchalant as I looked around the club. “This is nice,” I said, glancing at the dance floor. “I haven’t been to one since Germany.”
“Who cares about the dance floor?” Ila retorted, dragging my attention again.
“Yeah, deets, girl, c’mon.” Ray grinned. She leaned closer. “He’s holding your hand—hell, you’rebothtrending on Instagram!”
“And he’s now got an account, too,” Ila arched an eyebrow. “With onlyonephoto.Youin the rain, paint on one palm.”
“And you have its counterpart onyouraccount with a handprint on his shirt,” Ray added.
Oh, man. I was just grateful they hadn’t bombarded me with texts about this. Ugh, why would they, when they’d planned a siege to interrogate?
I scrunched my nose and pushed back my unbound hair, eyeing War furtively, only to find him watching me. He winked. Gah. Heat flooded my face. He knew.
Ray burst out laughing. “You two are so cute. Now, c’mon, give us the 411!”
“Not much to say.”
“For heaven’s sake, Char, I’m about to yank my hair, so just spit it out already,” Ila groaned.
