We step through the double doors, and I take in the scene before me. Rows of glossy black tables and chairs fill the cavernous room, illuminated by dozens of pink and blue overhead lights. The bass is so loud it vibrates through me, pulsating in my chest like a heartbeat.
After depositing his guitar at coat check, Jake slips his hand through mine again, and we squeeze through the crowd, making our way to the neon-pink bar. He leans over the counter, holding up two fingers. When the bartender returns a moment later, Jake turns around and hands me a shot glass. “A toast!”
I raise my eyebrows. “And what are we toasting, exactly?”
“To the weekend officially starting.” He lifts his own glass, the corner of his mouth hiking upward. “And the future analysis of many Broadway musicals.”
His eyes lock on mine, and my breath catches in my throat as the air around us stills. I think he’s about to say something more, but then he clinks his glass against mine and swallows it back.
I grimace as I take my own shot, and Jake hands me a lime slice he’s nicked from the bar behind us.
“Seriously? You can’t just keep taking stuff,” I protest. “There are rules, you know, in modern society.”
Jake shakes his head. “Are you always such a rule follower?”
“Always.”
He laughs, then tips his head toward the dance floor. “Shall we?”
“Fine,” I huff. “But I’m definitely going to need another shot.”
“Atta girl!” His dimple pops, and I feel a ripple through my stomach.
He places another shot in my right hand, then takes my left and molds it into a fist. Keeping his eyes locked on mine, he slowly draws my hand to his mouth and licks it, then sprinkles a bit of salt on top.
My heart thumps against my rib cage as I will myself to breathe.Just keep it together, Lexi.
“Lick the salt off your hand before you take the shot,” he explains. “It—”
“—helps ameliorate the burning taste of the tequila. Yeah, I know.”
I run my tongue over the salty skin before bringing the shot glass to my lips. Jake’s eyes bore into mine, the heat in my belly growing.
“Better?”
I nod, and he grins before swallowing the contents of his own glass. Just then, magenta rays of light flash across the room, and the band begins playing. The opening notes to Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” blast through the speakers.
“Shall we?” he asks, gesturing toward the dance floor. When I follow him out to the center, he laces his fingers through mine, pressing our palms together. He lowers his face toward me, and then, when his lips are inches from mine, he throws his head back, belting out the refrain in an impeccable falsetto.
I can’t help but laugh, and Jake’s eyes are bright as he loops myarms around his neck. I curl my fingers into his shoulders, feeling his muscles work beneath the soft cotton of his shirt. His hand slips down to the small of my back, drawing me closer.
My heart is hammering against my rib cage, trying to keep up with the music and the surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins as Jake’s hands find their way to my hips. I can’t even remember the last time I had this much fun. For once, the nagging voices in my head are silent, the cautionary warnings drowned out by chocolate-brown eyes, tequila, and Whitney Houston.
TWO HOURS AND MANYsweaty dances later, Jake’s arm is draped around my shoulders as we stroll up Sixty-Third Street. Before I know it, we’ve reached the entrance to my apartment, a fourteen-story prewar building with a limestone facade.
“Well, this is me.”
“I’ll make sure you get inside safely,” he insists. He pulls the door open, and I duck under his arm to step through. I wave hello to Lionel, the doorman. He takes one look at Jake and grins, then makes a show of burying his head in his newspaper.
The alcohol is still enveloping me like a fuzzy coat, and I jab the elevator button a few times before it lights up. Rocking back on my heels, I study the lobby’s familiar marble paneling, trying my hardest to ignore the electricity emanating from Jake’s body beside me.
Finally, the elevator chimes. The doors slide open, and I step inside, tapping the “6” button. Jake presses one hand against the door frame, then dips his head to brush his lips against my cheek. When he pulls back, his eyes have darkened.
“Good night, Lexi.”
“Good night, Jake.” I flash a smile and try to ignore the disappointment flooding through me as the doors clang shut.
I slump against the metal wall, taking a deep breath to slowmy racing heart. The evening’s events flash before my eyes like scenes from someone else’s life. Someone bolder and more spontaneous, who does impulsive things like drinking too much and going out dancing with complete strangers. Someone whose daily life isn’t dictated by a five-year plan. But if I were really that person, I’d never have let Jake go so easily.
