Page 55 of A Song for You

“Where’s Cat?” I grit out, enunciating each word.

The man, who’s still got an arm wrapped around her, interjects, “Who the hell are you?”

Sophie grabs his arm. “That’s her Jay. Her Mr. Hansonnn,” she says, drawing out my last name in mock awe.

Fuck, she’s useless. Fortunately, my don’t fuck with me face works on her friend, and he gives me the answer I’m looking for. “She went to explore,” he says with a cheeky grin.

Or maybe not the answer I’m looking for at all.

Explore? Alone? Here? As in explore the sex club upstairs, or just explore the dance floor?

Once again, the guy reads my mind. “She was curious.” He points upstairs.

Fuck. Covering my face with my hand, I let out a groan.

“Have fun,” he says with a wink.

Yeah, if Cat is anywhere near as drunk as her friend, this is going to be the exact opposite of fun. I swear if anyone has laid a finger on her, I’ll burn the entire building down.

Never in my life have I cared about another person in this way. Especially not a woman. She’s not even mine, and I’m losing my mind over the thought of anyone touching her. Of anyone hurting her.

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Before I do anything, I need to calm the hell down. Getting caught in a sex club is bad enough for a board member. Getting caught beating the shit out of someone in a sex club would be significantly worse.

I pull my phone from my pocket.

Me: I’m here. Where are you?

Please be in the bathroom.

All I get back is a wink emoji.

“Fuck,” I growl. What do I say to that?

Another text comes through.

Kitten: Let’s play a little game.

Another groan escapes as my dick decides it wants in on the fun. I adjust myself and text back.

Me: What kind of game?

Kitten: A little game of cat and mouse.

Though I want nothing more than to find her and get us both out of here, I can’t help but smile.

Me: You do realize you’re the mouse in this game, right, Kitten?

Kitten: We’ll see about that.

With renewed purpose, I head to the elevator. The bouncer looks me up and down and frowns.

“My girlfriend is upstairs,” I tell him. The words slipping from my lips too easily.

“You gonna get in a fight?” he asks.

I make a face. Is that normal here? “No. She told me to meet her up there. We’re playing a little game,” I add.

He nods like that makes total sense—and, of course, it does, because once again, we’re in a sex club—and he motions for me to enter the elevator.