Masher jerks his chin to the guy blocking the entrance, and he steps to the side, allowing us to enter without even glancing at me…that is until I start to move past him. “Not exactly dressed for a club, sweetie,” he mocks.
His words slide off just as easily as the other jeers I’m used to hearing. I tighten my arm over Gwen’s and half haul her into the door, even as she protests.
“Hey, Lucy’s prettier than most of the women here and doesn’t need to try half as hard. She’s fucking beautiful,” my best friend snarls at Masher, as if he isn’t a six-foot-four meathead.
I watch as he slowly turns around like he’s now interested in us. I look down, but it’s too late. I see his brows furrow and the recognition on his face as he says, “Felony, what the fuck are you doing here?”
“Come on.” I haul Gwen into the club. There’s no cover charge for ladies, so we sail right past the other door people and into the throng of the club.
“Felony? Was he talking to you?” Gwen is looking at me with horror and maybe a little appreciation.
“I think he said Melony,” I lie and pull her toward the dance floor. “Where are you meeting your guy?” All I’m really thinking about is how mad Winger will be if he finds out I’m here. I’ve just given him a real reason to fire me.
“Back bar,” Gwen informs me, but I can tell she’s still suspicious about the encounter with Masher. I make my way toward the back, but considering I’ve never been here, I’m only guessing I’m heading in the right direction, and Gwen never tries to redirect me either.
“There he is,” Gwen hisses and pulls me back. “How do I look?” She fluffs her hair and runs her hands down the sides of her bodycon dress.
“You look gorgeous.” I’m not just saying it to be nice. She really does.
“Okay, come on.” She lets out a long huff of air.
“Does he know I’m tagging along?” I ask from the side of my mouth.
“Yeah, he said the more the merrier.” I certainly hope that phrase doesn’t mean what it usually does at The Dollhouse. Gwen is smiling wide, showing off all her parents’ well-spent money.
Gwen tows me to a booth in the back corner. All I really see is the back of a few heads and shoulders, but I can already tell the men are all dressed in suits. A guy on the other side of the table stands up quickly and turns to the side. He has his phone up to his ear, and it’s covering most of his face, but I can still see a chiseled jawline and the tattoos on his fingers. Unlike the guys with their backs to us, he’s not wearing a suit. Instead, he’s dressed in a black T-shirt that doesn’t leave much to the imagination and a pair of dark jeans.
Gwen tugs on my hand, and I look away from the man and toward the one she’s trying to introduce me to. “This is Lucy. Lucy, this is Jay.” She grins at both of us, excitement spilling out of her like a kid on Christmas.
I don’t really know what to say or do. I’m used to being quiet and a little flirty around men, but that’s forced, so I just stick with staying silent. I nod and manage something of a smile. Jay’s gaze crawls over me, and his eyes pinch near his nose in a tiny squint, but he washes it away as he scoops my bestie into his arms in a sideways hug. “Hello, Lucy, it’s lovely to meet you.” His voice is deeper than I expected by looking at him, but it almost seems like he’s just faking it.
Gwen widens her eyes at me, then bites her lip. She’s asking what I think. I tilt my head and rub my ear on my shoulder. I don’t think she would like my opinion, but I don’t think very highly of many men. He looks like a sleazeball, and he’s way too old for her. I bet he’s over thirty. What does he want with an eighteen-year-old college girl? One thing, that’s what. Good thing I’m well versed at hiding my real feelings. His hair is light brown, while his eyes look to be a deep brown, but that may just be the lighting in the club. I guess most would even consider him handsome… It sure seems like Gwen does.
“Why don’t you two sit down? We have champagne,” he offers. I look at Gwen. Does he know she’s underage? The men make room for us at the table, but I end up feeling more like a fifth wheel than I ever imagined. Gwen is chatting with Jay as if they have so much in common, and I’m just looking out at all the people dancing so I don’t have to make eye contact with anyone at the table.
I’m already counting down the minutes until we can leave. Maybe I was hasty telling Gwen not to bail on me. I think I want to bail on her, but I can’t leave her with these people. She’s too trusting and barely even knows them.
The guy on the phone never comes back, which is kind of a blessing considering how tightly the guy next to me is pressed against my side. I don’t think there is any more room at the table. After five minutes, I’m about ready to scream. I don’t like being this close to people. Even at work, I have a barrier between me and everyone else.
“I’m going to dance,” I announce, interrupting Gwen’s whispered conversation with Jay.
“Why don’t you go with her?” Jay encourages.
“Okay.” Gwen smiles and scoots out of the booth, keeping her hand on the bottom of her dress to ensure everything remains covered. The guy next to Jay has his eyes trained in the same spot. Gross.
Gwen tries to stop on the edge of the dance floor, where we would still be clearly visible to the table, but I pull her deeper into the crowd. She’s smiling ear to ear when I turn around to face her after stopping. I clench my teeth. I want to ask her when we can go and tell her this isn’t really my kind of scene, but she looks so happy.
“Isn’t he amazing?” She hops up and down a few times, yelling to be heard over the music.
“I don’t really know him,” I hedge, but give her a weak smile to soften the blow.
“Yeah, it’s hard here. It’s so loud and there are so many people.” She doesn’t seem discouraged. “You wanted to dance?” She shimmies as if I can’t hear her.
“I didn’t want to sit there anymore,” I admit, telling her the truth, but it’s said low enough that I know she didn’t hear me. I release her hand and start to sway to the music. This really isn’t my idea of a night off.
Gwen starts bumping and grinding. It’s mostly girls on the dance floor, and there are a few guys that really know how to dance who are enjoying themselves, but most of the others just watch like we’re the paid entertainment. I shake my head and push those thoughts away. Nobody here knows who I am, or should I say what I am. Here, I’m just another person out to have a good time and let off some steam. I don’t twerk and grind like Gwen, instead I just let the music move me. It’s much more fast paced than I’m used to at the club, so that helps me feel like I’m not on a stage.
By the third song, I’m actually having fun. A few bodies have bumped into us, but it’s all been girls or accidental. Gwen lifts her hair and fans her face. “I’m boiling. I need a drink,” she tells me, leaning in close.
