Page 6 of Painted Truths

I don’t want to hide away from that beautiful man upstairs; it’s not that I don’t want to see him again. It’s more that I just need a breather. His gaze was… ardent.

Intense, to put it mildly.

I just need a moment to gather my senses as it seems they’ve been scattered to the four winds.

Also, I’m parched, so Alex’s offer comes at the perfect moment.

After trying several different cocktails, we dance and chat for several hours as the club gets more packed. My eyes keep straying to the VIP area upstairs, which is now at capacity, but I’ve yet to glimpse the McHottie again, and I can’t help the discouragement that flows through me.

Alex offers to grab another round, leaving our table to go to the bar as Nola announces she needs to use the little girls’ room.

“I see you, you know.” Jo looks at me, a knowing smirk playing on her purple painted lips.

I’m not even attempting to pretend otherwise, because, with Jo, I’ve learned that there’s no point. The girl is unrelenting, so my lips lift into a big grin, highlighting my dimples.

“Am I that transparent?”

“Yup!” We both dissolve into a fit of giggles. “But you’re so freaking cute, girl! Why don’t you just go and see if you can blag your way up there?”

Shutting my giggling off as suddenly as it started, I shake my head vehemently.

“No. Way. Not happening. I’d never get in there. Those women look like they stepped straight out of a fashion magazine.”

Jo looks at me askance, slowly shaking her head of shoulder-length black curls, her deep brown eyes flicking skyward.

“What?”

“Oh, baby girl, you have no idea how much of a knockout you are, do you? You are an eleven, and those bitches can’t be more than four, or five at a push, on a really good day.”

My cheeks flare with embarrassment as I laugh nervously. “You’re so kind to say that, Jo. I don’t think so, though.”

I send a rueful glance her way, noticing when my eyes meet hers that they are narrowed as though in deep thought before she grabs two shots of something Nola bought, but no one wanted to drink.

It’s syrupy looking, dark brown, and smells of liquorice, which I always liked as a child. It had been Holly’s absolute favourite, though Mum didn’t really buy it after the accident.

“Liquid courage, hmm?” Handing me one, Jo nods, encouraging me to knock it back, which, after taking one final longing look at the VIP area upstairs as an incentive, I quickly do.

The shot burns my throat as it makes its way down my oesophagus and into my abdomen. It settles with a flickering warmth in my stomach, and I find the sensation entirely too pleasant, so when Jo passes me the second one, I don’t hesitate to send it to join the first.

“I’d say you’re as ready as you’ll ever be, baby girl. Come on. I’ll walk with you. Moral support and all that.”

Tossing a wink at me, Jo catches me under the elbow, linking our two arms. Together we walk out from the seating area near the bar, around the side of the heaving dancefloor, eventually coming to a stop at the base of a roped-off spiral staircase.

The syrupy shots are still fervently burning in my stomach, dimming my doubt, and keeping much of my anxiety at bay.

I can do this.

Turning to face each other, Jo places both her hands on my biceps, rubbing them up and down briskly.

“You got this, girl. Go and live a little. We’ll be right here for you.”

Then she swats me on my rear before sauntering back toward our table to wait for our friends. Giving myself a bit of pep talk under my breath, I slip beyond the rope and slowly ascend the stairs before reaching an absolute hulk of a man guarding the entrance.

The sight of his sheer bulk has me slamming to a standstill, pivoting on my heel with a grimace. There’s no way he’s letting me in there.

“Are you alright, Miss?” The Cockney accented voice behind me is soft, in complete contrast to the Hagrid-esque man I just turned my back to.

I look over my shoulder, catching his earnest eyes with mine and deciding that honesty is the best policy, as Father T. always says. It may be the wrong way to go, but lies don’t come easy to me. It’s as simple as that.