by Mia Kayla
Glancing at my half-done hair in the mirror brought me back to the present. "Roland's not the clubbing type. Please, Christene. We need this." Roland had been so focused on work, he needed a break. He needed a night out, other than dinner with his clients. And selfishly, I wished for a real date with my boyfriend.
"Okay, sounds good.” Her tone was tinged with disappointment. “But maybe you and Roland would want to head to Allswell right after?"
I laughed. "I doubt it." My Roland at a club? If the place wasn't serving caviar and champagne, he wasn't a fan.
I glanced back at my reflection in the mirror, seeing a hopefulness in my eyes. A dinner date with two of my favorite people. Maybe tonight was the night he'd try something different. "I'll ask him."
After getting ready, I plopped down on our leather couch in the living room and watched TV. When a couple of hours had passed, I tapped my finger on my chin, staring at the phone resting in the middle of our circular glass coffee table. My feet pushed against the hand-knotted Persian Rug that Roland had ordered from Iran.
I had called him, yet nothing. I'd left a voicemail twice, but nothing.
He was late.
Patience was a virtue, but my patience for Roland's tardiness flew out the door about thirty minutes ago. Minutes ticked by and I wrung my hands together, wishing his neck was in between them.
It was seven-thirty. Our reservations were for eight, and Roland had said he'd be back home at seven, so we'd make it to the restaurant in time. It had taken months to get this reservation. Italia Clement's management didn't care what my last name was. They occupied one of the few properties that we didn't own, so I didn't have any clout.
"Damn it, Roland." I stood and picked up the phone again, waiting for his voicemail to beep. "Roland, this is my third message. Please call your girlfriend back." My tone was calm, cool, and collected, opposite the burning ball of anger inside of me.
I ended the call quickly as my face burned bright and glanced at the clock again as I'd done just seconds ago.
In ten minutes, I was leaving with or without him.
Suddenly, my phone pinged with a text. Hope bloomed in my chest, but then I read his text, and that hope was obliterated like a bomb blowing up in my face.
I should've known better.
Sorry, I'm tied up at work.
Don't be mad.
Please, I'll make it up to you.
I'd heard that excuse before. Many times before. Like a broken record.
I squeezed the phone hard enough that the edges caused an indentation on my skin.
Anger was a crazy emotion. It could consume me and cripple me into someone I didn't like to be. As I slumped against the wall and read his text again, the thought of bleaching all his ties crossed my mind. Or even better yet ... throwing out his very expensive Edward Green leather shoes that had cost thousands. Though I'd never do it, the thought did float to the surface.
I huffed. It didn't matter anyway; I bet he'd just buy himself three more pairs.
If I didn't know him as well as I did, I would have thought that he was having late-night affairs. But since I'd met Roland sophomore year in high school, I knew that he was forever married to excelling in school and work and winning. It was his gasoline. His drive to be the best was what kept him alive, ticking, and well.
So why did I feel so much resentment?
I didn't respond as I stared at my phone, and then I did something unlike me. I texted Tene and did the unthinkable.
Guess who canceled?
I'm eating a quick dinner here.
Meet you at Allswell?
It didn't take long for her to text me right back.
Oh Angie, you just made my night!
I'm canceling with Tim. Meet me at the restaurant.
We're having dinner, baby. You're my date, and dinner is on me.
My insides lightened, and a smile surfaced on my face. I bit at my thumbnail and peered down at my black tapered pants and cream, button-down silk shirt. I didn't have anything even remotely club appropriate, so I texted her again, and she promised to bring me something.
Most likely, my night would end up with me taking care of her or catching a cab home while she made out with some random dude, but I shrugged. Because that was more exciting than waiting around for Roland to come home and risk the possibility of me going crazy and destroying his wardrobe.
I glanced at my phone again, debating on texting him back, but thought better of it.
He wouldn't be thinking of me tonight, anyway, and I would try my hardest not to think about him.
Chapter 2
Tene threw her arm around my shoulder and pulled me down the sidewalk to the bar. As we got closer, I realized a crowd had formed all the way down the block. There had never been a line when this place had been Clyde's. The new sign said Allswell.
My eyebrows pulled together, taking in the scene. Just a month ago, I'd been here to do an inspection as I was shadowing Tene. She had given Taylor, the last tenant, his deposit back, and she was showing me the ropes.
The building in front of me now—our building—had been transformed. The brown awning had been replaced with a classy lit-up sign in curvy letters against the building. Clyde's had been a jeans and T-shirt type of establishment, Allswell was not. Women in skimpy outfits, designer clothing that I was familiar with, and men in button-downs all waited their turn to get their IDs checked.
"Seriously Ang, you look smoking hot. I wonder how many guys will be hitting on you tonight." She flipped her highlighted locks over her shoulder. The color of our hair was identical, dark mahogany brown, but hers was lifted with the lighter burgundy tones of her smooth salon hair. Where my skin was naturally pale, hers was weekly-tanned. But no one could deny we were sisters. It was in our jawline and high cheek bones, which were our mother's, and the shape of our face and the big brown eyes that all belonged to Daddy.
"It's too bad Roland's not here to keep the men away." She playfully bumped her hip against mine. "When Roland's away, Angie will play."
Her chipper attitude broke through my sour mood, and a grin broke free on my face. Oh, how I needed a tall glass of wine inside the club. "Oh, I never asked you. What happened to Tim?"
During dinner, I’d vented about Roland while she listened, so I forgot to ask her about the guy who was supposed to be her date for the night.
She smirked and shrugged her shoulder. "I caught a bug. You know, the 'if I take you, you're going to ruin my game' bug."
I let out a carefree laugh.
The loud bass of the music boomed from inside as the crowd congregated, smoking and waiting by bouncers standing by the velvet rope.
Tene reached for my hand and ushered us all the way to the front. "I called the owner, but he didn’t answer his phone.” She shook her head, annoyed. “We own this joint. I'm serious. I'm not about to wait an hour to get in.”
That was how she always felt—entitled. When we were younger, she exhibited the need to boss me around, take my toys, and be the first in line at every amusement ride at Disney. All because she’d been born first.
But ... she had also been the one to beat up the bully who used to pick on me because I had braces, lie to Mrs. Conner about why I hadn't finished my project, and interview every guy I ever dated ... because she had been born first.
She had her quirks and faults, but she was my sister. And through the years, because of my family name and the money that went with it, I'd learned that, sometimes, family was all you could count on.
Tene reached for the tie holding her ponytail together and shook her long locks until they cascaded over her shoulders. Her hair lay right below her breasts, accenting her evenly spray-tanned skin.
A six-foot, dark-haired male eyed me, and then his sights flipped to her. She gave him her winning smile that made him smile back in response. He was a good-looking guy, lean with muscles that seemed like they wanted to break free of his fitted, too-tight T-shirt.
She leaned in, bendi
ng forward, showing off her perfect breasts, not at all adjusting herself when her tube top dipped a little.
"Hi, handsome," she cooed.
Oh, boy. This guy doesn’t have a chance.
Her voice oozed everything sensual about a woman, sultry and sexy with an underlying ounce of sweetness. "My sister and I are on the guest list. Angelica and Christene Armstrong." She peeked at the clipboard in his hand. Of course, we weren't on the guest list. I doubted that Tene even knew there was a guest list, given that there had never been a guest list at the former bar. She could make anyone believe practically anything—the sky is brown and the earth is flat and brussel sprouts tasted like candy. Besides being born beautiful, she had been born a liar.
With his pointer finger, he scanned the list. When he peered up again, he shook his head. "Sorry, babe."
Her eyebrows shot up to the sky. "Let me take a peek," she said breathlessly. Close to him, she tiptoed and scanned the list.
His eyes drank her in. All of her. And I'd bet my next paycheck that he had a major hard-on. Men probably saluted with their dicks when she passed by.
I pushed down the jealousy that coursed through my veins as I wondered how it would be to always feel wanted. Every-damn-where you went. How crazy wonderful that would feel, to just walk into a room and be the envy of every girl and the object of every guy's affection.
I'd even take one guy's affection. My guy's affection.
I couldn't get the same reaction—naked, in front of my own boyfriend. I used to feel wanted and loved. That seemed like forever ago.
She perked up, her lip pouting as forced disappointment seeped out of her every pore. "I swore I called us in." She placed her hand on his bicep, lightly squeezing it. "Is there anything you can do?"
And then—she fluttered her eyelashes, which was almost the equivalent to dropping her panties, seeing as they produced the same effect.
Just as I expected, he peered at his counterpart wearing an earpiece. Tene took that opportunity to snuggle against him. "Why don't I buy you a drink inside? And if we can't get inside, I can't buy you that drink that you deserve." The sweetness in her voice was like molten chocolate.
She could’ve been an actress in her former life. I stared at the concrete to prevent a smile. He'd give in. They always did.
And as if on command, he uttered one low, "Yes." He reached to unclasp the velvet rope to let us slide in. "Sure, why not? I wouldn't want you pretty ladies waiting forever." Angling toward her, he said, "I get off at midnight. I'm Dax."
Tene smiled, but it was one that meant this guy had no chance in hell. "My name is Christene." She placed her hand in his and shook it lightly before reaching for mine and pulling me into the club. "Find me later," she called back.
Later?
She'd be with another guy by then.
The speakers were blaring some sort of techno music, just beats where I couldn't sing along, but the bass of the tune had my body shaking and not by choice. I preferred places where I could bounce on my seat and sing along to the lyrics. Allswell was not that place.
What had once been booths and circular tables was now reinvented with dark gray velvet booths that lined the perimeter of the room. Strobe lights illuminated the dark wood dance floor in the middle of the restaurant, highlighting the people swaying seductively to the beat.
"Oh, my god. This place is totally amazing. It's crazy in here." I barely heard Tene and would’ve heard her less if she weren't already screaming into my ear. There was no way we could’ve held a conversation in the place.
A tall guy grabbed her from behind, and she exchanged words with him. I swore she knew everyone in our town. After she hugged him, she reached for my hand, forging us toward the bar, where everyone had congregated.
The place was jam packed with people, making my skin itch and me wishing for my couch, my PJs, and a tall glass of red wine.
I adjusted the spaghetti straps of my sister's teeny tiny tank top. I was a cup smaller than her full Cs, so I had no idea how she fit in the black sequined thing I had on as it pressed against my strapless bra.
The humidity caused a sheen of sweat to form behind my neck. I wasn't claustrophobic, but there were way too many people in here. Way more than what the approved legal capacity was.
I shook my head and told worry-wart-Angelica to stop.
The red fire Exits could be spotted at both ends of the room. I released a sigh of relief, thankful that Tene had the lights fixed when the tenant had moved in. I remembered my father mentioning something about the city inspection and our exit signs.
Once we were closer to the bar, she released me and pushed herself to the front to get us drinks. She raised her hand, and when the bartender turned around, I was shocked by an attraction so strong, I swore I stopped breathing. Stopped moving. Stopped thinking. Just stopped.
Wow. Just wow.
His eyes locked with mine. A deep, dark depthless color I couldn't distinguish drew me closer. His dark hair, almost jet black, shined against the strobe lights at the perfect angle.
His face was that of an angel, the planes of his cheekbones sharp but stunningly beautiful. His lips were full and luscious—and smirking.
He stopped making his drink mid-pour and drank me in. All of me. He scoured my face and then my body, as though in the dark room, there was a spotlight on me. And instantly, my body reacted. My nipples pebbled. My mouth went dry. And my insides heated to tamale-hot temperatures by just his one look alone. One look. If my body reacted to him with just one look, I wondered how I would react to his touch.
The moment the thought registered, I stiffened and forced the thought out of my head.
My sister snapped her fingers in front of his face and turned around to see that his focus was on me. Her smile was blinding, and she leaned in to whisper something in his ear. He peered up again and smiled a crooked smile. Not overly big, but just enough where the side of his mouth lifted.
When his gaze locked with mine again, his smile disappeared, and his face turned serious. An undeniable attraction surged between us, almost forcing me to take a step forward. His hands functioned with purpose, making drinks, but he would not tear his stare from my face. And I couldn't take mine off him, either. In those few seconds, it was as though we were the only two people in the room.
Through the darkness, he licked his lips. Heat pooled between my legs without my consent. I felt like he was picturing me naked in his bed, and he was having his way with me. I bit my bottom lip, feeling exposed and vulnerable at the idea of doing something forbidden.
I wiped my sweaty palms down Tene’s tank top as his look turned dangerous, and all that yearning I’d been feeling for something more in my life rose to the surface.
For once in my life, I wanted to welcome this danger. I wanted to live on the edge.
After he handed Tene her drink, he whispered something to the other bartender and then surprised me by jumping over the bar.
I froze, wishing I hadn't welcomed danger mere seconds ago because danger was approaching. He stalked toward me, slow, seductive, and stealthy, like a cat. A really big one. He was almost predatory, and I felt frozen, yet I wanted to run in the other direction.
All thoughts, no talk and no action, I took a step away.
The closer he came, the more my palms began to sweat. His big-as-boulders shoulders blocked my view of Tene, so he was the only thing in my sight. I lifted my chin to take in the height of him, and something ignited deep in my belly—a feeling foreign, yet familiar. His face was ruggedly hot with sexy scruff forming on his cheeks, and a dimple deep in his chin.
But his eyes ... they were hypnotic. The color of steel, strength, and heat oozed out of them, and even if I wanted to, I couldn't take my gaze off him. His profile was strong and rigid, his skin a contrast to the darkness of his hair.
When he reached for my waist, I lost any sense of control, lost the sensation in my legs, my body, but mostly my mind. His grip was rough, but oddly it gave me a sense
of protection.
He leaned into me, so close I could smell the mint on his lips, the masculine scent on his skin, and said, "Let's dance."
It was a command, not a question.
I blinked up at him. "I have a boyfriend."
His laugh was throaty and thick and oh-so-sexy. "Did I ask if you had a boyfriend?"
When he angled closer, I placed one hand lightly against his chest, given his proximity and how close we were, and given that I was already taken. He must have read the reluctance on my face because he uttered, "One dance."
With no other words spoken, he led us to the bass of the beats in the background. His hands moved to my slender hips, pulling me against him. Closer ... until he closed the gap between us and we were grinding on the dance floor.
My arms fell on his shoulders, and his hands tightened around my waist. Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes turned into ten, then fifteen. Songs changed, but we were still dancing, his hands on my body and our bodies in sync, and more intimately, our gaze never leaving each other's. I read lust, need, and want through his dark irises. And though we weren't talking, he might as well have been telling me what he wanted to do to me, to my body.
He felt amazing, he smelled amazing, and he looked ... edible. Too good to be this close.
When he turned me around and wrapped his hands around my stomach, pulling me into him, my body was on fire. This was bad. So bad. When his fingers fell right by my upper thigh, I stilled then moved away. This was no longer dancing. I'd let it go too far, and I wasn't letting it go any further.
I turned to walk away, but he grabbed my hand. Electricity surged at our connection. "Where are you going?"
My voice shook with guilt and grief and remorse. "Home."
He smiled his intoxicatingly beautiful smile. "I didn't catch your name," he yelled above the music.
I shook my head. He didn't need to know my name, and I didn't want to know his. It would’ve made our encounter more personal. I wanted my brief lapse in judgment to be between strangers.
