“I think you’re being hard on yourself.”
“You don’t know me.”
He smiles and taps his head. “I have a sixth sense about these things.”
“What, you see dead people?” I mutter, and he laughs, but I’m not joking. If he did see dead people, I’m sure my old man would be haunting my arse. Probably my mother, too.
“I like you.”
Something strange settles in my gut. “Oh, um… I’m not, uh…”
My bumbling only causes him to laugh even harder. “I’m not propositioning you, honey. I’ve got my own complicated mess going on.” He winks. “Okay. This isn’t your first time here, but you clearly haven’t explored the club.”
I shake my head. “I came for my mate’s girlfriend’s twenty-first last month, but I didn’t stay long.”
He grins. “Only long enough to meet this mysterious pixie that’s brought you back?”
I can’t help the self-deprecating smile that tugs on my lips. “Something like that.”
“One sec.” Diego grabs a radio off the bar and says something into it before calling out to the other two bartenders that he’s taking a break. Then he steps out and motions with his head for me to follow him.
I stare at him, confused for a second, but figure I’ve got nothing to lose and climb off my stool to join him.
He indicates towards three velvet curtains across the opposite side of the room—one blue, one purple, and one rainbow. “Over there we have our male-only, female-only, and LGBTQ+ rooms.” We pass a corridor, and I spot a red curtain down the hall. “That’s our voyeur hall.”
Voyeur hall?
As in watching… okay, yep. I’m in way over my head.
“We also have private rooms people can rent out. Not everyone is into exhibitionism,” Diego says as he pushes through a thick, white velvet curtain.
I hold my breath as I follow him, wondering what the hell I got myself into. But the white bar looks like just that—booths set up for privacy and a few high-top tables. It’s like an upmarket version of Carter’s, minus the drunken university students. Everything is white marble or leather, and the staff behind the bar are wearing white masks.
“This is our Angel Lounge,” Diego says as he crossed the room to a forest-green curtain. “But the place your woman spent most of her night is through here.”
“Wait,” I put a hand out to stop him before he pushes through. “How do you know this?”
He shrugs. “We only had one hen’s party last month, and I was working in the Woodlands Lounge. The hen was dancing up a storm in here for most of my shift, along with three friends.”
I ask the other question that’s been burning in my gut since we left the bar in the main lounge. “Why are you helping me?”
His smile is rueful. “Because I’m a hopeless romantic, and I’m generally a good judge of character. You seem like a nice enough guy, and if I can play fairy godmother to anyone, it would be a six-foot-something hunk with a chip on his shoulder.”
My laugh is genuine now. “Thanks, I think.”
“Look, maybe she’s in here, and maybe she’s not. ButI’m a huge believer in fate, and if you’re meant to see her again, you will.”
We push through the velvet curtain.
This part of the club is more like a nightclub. The lighting is low, with flashing lights, and the music is loud. There are people on the dance floor, and while most of them appear to just be dancing, I notice some other action going on when I look closer.
I follow Diego to the bar, where he shouts something to one of the staff, and a moment later, he hands me another beer.
My eyes adjust to the lights in here, and while I sip the ale, I scan the room, but there’s no sign of my little pixie.
By the time I drain my beer, I’ve given up hope of seeing her again.
Diego picks up on my defeat and claps me on the shoulder, following me out of the Woodlands Lounge.
