With the mix of EDM, hip-hop, and pop, along with killer cocktails and a dive bar vibe with high-end decor, it’s no surprise this club is a magnet for celebrities and influencers. One would think my teammates would dial it back with all the phones filming us, but they’re not concerned. I don’t necessarily blame them.
We’re set up at a table next to the DJ booth and dance floor, but instead of celebrating the win or soaking up the scene, I’m checking my phone to see if Maya’s texted me back.
Cole Berrett
How’s karaoke? Winning a Grammy anytime soon?
Maya Silver
No one can sing Taylor Swift better than Taylor Swift, Cole. Don’t be ridiculous.
But I will admit I do a pretty good All Too Well.
Cole Berrett
10-minute version?
Maya Silver
The fact that you know about Taylor’s 10-minute version just turned that very innocent text into a sext.
Cole Berrett
I aim to please. ;)
Maya Silver
Time for me to sing backup on Bohemian Rhapsody. Enjoy your strippers!
Cole Berrett
I’m at a club, not a strip club.
And even if it was one, I’d rather be at karaoke with you.
Maya Silver
Well, duh. I’m kind of amazing.
A slender body bumps into mine and I come face-to-face with the redhead who’s been eye-fucking my crotch from across the dance floor for the past thirty minutes. She looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place how or why. It’s probably because she resembles almost every girl in this club, short skirt and crop top and all. I’m not one to judge, but this place feeds every LA stereotype about influencers.
“Hi there. Want some company?” Her husky voice is like nails on a chalkboard.
The high I was feeling after Maya’s last text vanishes, and I fix my expression into something resembling a polite smile. I’m not interested, but I can’t flat-out ignore her. I’m not that much of a dick. “You’re more than welcome to sit.”
“Thank you.” She taps her sparkly nails against her overly plump lips. “What are you drinking?”
Humor rolls through me at the question. Not because of this woman, but because I can’t help but reminisce about the time I asked Maya that same question in a lame attempt to start a conversation.
The redhead, no doubt assuming the smile is for her, rests her hand on my arm like she has the right to do so. Four or five months ago, I’d be flattered by the attention. Now, I’m slightly annoyed by it.
“I’m drinking a Grey Goose martini with a twist,” she says. She leans super close as she adds, “Extra dirty.”
The club may be loud, but the innuendo in her voice is clear, nonetheless. She waits for me to respond, probably with a comment about how I like my sex how she likes her drinks, but my lips stay zipped.
“I’m Roni,” she says.
If she expects that to mean anything to me, she’ll be sorely disappointed. “Nice to meet you. I’m Nicholas.”
