Page 89 of The Devil of Downtown

I roll my eyes so hard it almost hurts. “Join the club,” I mutter.

I exhale, ignore it, and sling the phone to the bottom of my bag, heading to rehearsal.

By the time I’m stretching at the barre, the phone gives off a low, grinding buzz against the floorboards. It’s amazing how a vibration can sound pissed off.

At the water break, I finally cave and open it.

dane

Don't make me come find you.

I clench my jaw tight as I swipe it off with more force than necessary, anger spiking.

Who the fuck does he think he is?

Shoving the phone into my bag, I hurl myself back into rehearsal, letting the beat drown him out. Every kick, every turn, every sharp snap of movement is aimed straight at him.

Another vibration rolls through my bag. Short. Impatient.

I keep moving, not bothering to look. I don’t have to. His scowl practically radiates through the screen.

After rehearsal, I shower, dress, and try to shake off the tension bleached into my muscles. On the journey home, my bag shivers again. I resist checking. Leaving it unread feels like a pathetic victory.

By the time I’m home getting ready for Brody’s launch night, the vibrations seem like they’ve worked their way into my bones. I drag smoky shadow across my lids, swipe on red lipstick, and slip into my black sparkly mini dress and heels. I don’t need Dane Black to feel sexy or have a good time.ThatI can do all on my own.

In the Uber, my phone lights up again and again.

dane

We had a deal

Do-not-push-me.

Ivy.

I switch the phone off completely.

Let him choke on the silence.

Tonight is not about Dane Black and whatever web he thinks he’s spinning around me. Tonight is for me because it’s about time I start putting myself first.

I breathe out, slow and steady. And for the first time all day, a small part of me feels like I’m taking back control.

Vice is already throbbing by the time I arrive, the bass rattling through the sidewalk as the queue snakes around the block. Inside, it’s chaos. The ceiling pulses with shifting lights, strobing through the swell of bodies pressed together tight.

Jennie screeches my name over the music. “IVY! Finally!”

She’s radiant, with her silver eyeshadow up to her temples, hair smooth and glossy, dress a silver shimmer over midnight blue. She grabs my hand, tugging me through the crowd toward our group clustered near the bar.

“We started without you,” she says, thrusting a shot glass at me, pulling me into a quick hug.

“I can tell.” I grin, knocking it back; the burn a welcome distraction.

My eyes flick to the DJ booth, and Brody is already on the decks. You can’t miss him. The booth glows electric blue, and he’s right in the center of it—head bobbing, body moving, fingers adjusting knobs he probably can’t even see straight right now.

There’s a whole flock of girls around him, all legs and hair, reaching out to touch him, whisper in his ear, scream his name. Same old scene. Same old Brody. The only difference is that now there’s no jealousy. I’ve moved on. Jumped from one red flag right onto another. The thought has me clambering for another shot, sinking it before my thoughts can spiral.

Brody looks up mid-transition and catches my eye instantly. His face lights up with a smile that looks a little too wide, his eyes like saucers even from across the room.