Redesigning Fate (Revive Series Book 1)

by A. M. Wilson

  “I take it you like it?” Carly yells from the other room.

  I’m giggling and giddy as I rip off my own clothes to slide it on. It fits perfectly, as if it were tailored specifically to me. The dress hugs every inch and curve of my body, hiding all the right places and accentuating my best assets. I step back out into the living room and catch Carly as she finishes sliding on her own new dress. Hers is a bold red with a flaring skirt that barely reaches mid-thigh. It has one thick shoulder strap with a keyhole cut out showing a flash of cleavage.

  “Damn! You look hot,” she says while checking herself out in my living room mirror.

  “So do you! Thanks for getting this for me. Nothing in my closet compares to this.” I cannot hide my excitement. My family had little money, not that they would have given me any, and I’ve worked for every penny in my name. But I could never justify splurging on such a purchase, as beautiful as it may be.

  “It was nothing, baby girl. You deserve it. Now get over here so I can do your hair and find the makeup to finish your look.”

  I am on my way to her when a thought strikes me, and I change course toward the kitchen. I grab two shot glasses, my half-full bottle of Patron, and head back to where Carly is waiting.

  “Can’t forget to pregame. Bottoms up,” I say, filling the glasses and throwing back the burning liquid in one swallow. I slam my glass on the table and sit down on the stool Carly has waiting for me.

  She goes to work curling my brown hair into big, soft curls. We both know it won’t matter once we really get dancing. Clubs are hot and sweaty. I could spray enough hairspray to put my personal hole in the Ozone, and I’d still end up with my hair in a ponytail in about an hour. Regardless, it’s fun for us to style each other’s hair and makeup. The task has become somewhat of tradition when we go out. I have a better eye when it comes to creating her color palette and make her eyes more striking than she could. But she is bolder than I am when it comes to painting my face, and I always look amazing when she is finished.

  Carly pins a few curls back out of my face, leaving the rest cascading down my back. She gives me dark, sultry, smoky eyes, and adds color to my dark ensemble with bold red lipstick. She hands me a silver pair of earrings while she clasps the matching silver necklace around my neck. I pounce to check myself out in the mirror when she grabs my arm, halting my progress.

  “Wait! You can’t look until I’m done too!”

  I sigh. “Damn. Okay, sit down.”

  Pouring us another shot each, I set to work. I toss her hair up in hot rollers and turn my attention to her face while her hair sets. I brush on this light, sparkly tan eye shadow to help draw out her eyes. Then, I heavily rim them with black liner before I curl the long, dark lashes.

  She takes the tube of mascara so she can apply it herself when I’m finished. I may have once poked her in the eye, and now I’m banned from mascara duty.

  Finally, I pick a bold red gloss to tie her lip color to her dress.

  Moving on from her makeup, I remove the rollers and brush her hair back into a tight ponytail. The curls hang freely down her back. I twist a few pieces around to hide the pony holder and secure them with bobby pins.

  The second I’m done, we both squeal, jump up from our seats, and race to the mirror. I hardly recognize the woman looking back at me. She radiates sexiness and confidence in a way I never have. As my eyes take in the fullness of my appearance, I can’t stop from wandering about that mysterious man. I wonder what he’d think of me now.

  Would he like the sexy dress clinging to my body like a second skin?

  Would my hair and makeup draw him in, make him hot for me the same way he invaded my consciousness all day?

  Would I feel more confident? Empowered?

  Would I have it in me to tease him? Maybe even seduce him?

  My thoughts make my skin tingle and blood sing. Since there’s absolutely no chance in that happening, I allow a smug smile to briefly slide into place. Then I wipe it away and glance over at Carly as she’s applying a final coat of mascara.

  She grins at me. “Are you ready?” she asks.

  “Let’s do this.”

  ***

  The cab drops us off in front of Envy, one of the hottest clubs in downtown Minneapolis. The owners converted an old warehouse; the esthetic brick exterior making the club seem inconspicuous. A crisp chill in the early night slides across my skin, and I’m thankful the line is only a few people deep.

  Within a few minutes, a brawny, linebacker of a bouncer gives us an appreciative grin of gleaming, perfect white teeth and ushers us inside. My excitement and the warmth from the club heat me from the inside, and I sigh. Tonight is exactly what I needed. Grinning, I turn to Carly, and she gives me secretive thumbs up.

  I’m barely inside the door when the pulse of the music sets my body to motion. My eyes scan the layout of the club. The first floor is an open plan. All sleek, gleaming silver décor and tables with a stage set off to the back center of the room. A sea of bodies is dancing and grinding away in front of the DJ on the platform. The bar is almost wall to wall taking up the far left side of the room. The ceiling is exposed with original ductwork and piping left in its place.

  It’s packed in here tonight. We make a beeline for the bar, needing a little bit of liquid courage to get the party started.

  Carly orders us a round of Lemon Drops and raises hers into the air. She shouts, “To best friends and a new beginning!”

  “Here, here!” I reply goofily before downing my shot. We wave the bartender down for another round while I pick up my second shot.

  Carly turns to me. “So…”

  I know what is coming before she asks.

  “Are you man hunting tonight?”

  I can’t suppress the urge to glare at her.

  She isn’t deterred but quickly amends, “I know, I know. I ask you this every time we go out, but it’s time, Marlena. It’s been a few months, at least. I don’t know what you’re holding out for. I just think you need to give yourself a chance to get over him.”

  Slamming my shot, I place the empty glass on the lacquered bar top. “I am over him. And I’ve never not been looking while we’re out. Nobody has caught my eye. Well, except earlier today…” I let that thought trail off. Carly looks at me astonished, and I realize I’ve spoken my thoughts aloud.

  “You met someone today? Oh, please don’t tell me it’s your boss!”

  I giggle at the look on her face. “No, it’s not my boss! My boss is a woman. I didn’t actually ‘meet’ him,” I tell her, air quotes and all, “more like, I ran into him. Literally.”

  “Tell me more!” she shrieks. Carly is a magnet for gossip. And I love her so there’s not a chance I wouldn’t tell her.

  “There isn’t any more to tell. He was sexy as hell, and I ran smack into his chest and fell right on my ass. Got up, and ran out of there as fast as I could. End of story. Now let’s go dance!” I spin around, grabbing her arm, and drag her behind me out to the dance floor before she can pry any more. We situate ourselves in the center, bumping and grinding with the bodies surrounding us. We are two women, unattached, and out for a good time.

  I let a few songs pass before I decide I need more to drink.

  “Let’s head upstairs!” I shout over the loud, thumping bass coming from the speakers. The bar has another level. A small staircase in the front right corner leads to a more exclusive area of the club.

  Following the staircase upwards, we are halted by a long line and another bouncer. Carly, feeling little inhibitions due to the amount of alcohol flowing through her system, dares to make a break for the front of the line.

  “Carly, wait!” I hiss, but she doesn’t hear me. That, or she just chooses to ignore me. I watch her talk animatedly with the bouncer, flirting and leaning close to whisper in his ear until she turns and motions me forward with a wave of her hand.

  ‘Excited’ is an understatement as I rush up the staircase, mindful enough to not trip in my hee
ls.

  Passing the bouncer and a few grumbling patrons, we walk through a short hallway, which opens into another dance floor. The bar sits along the left wall like the floor below; but, this one has two scantily dressed dancers with accompanying poles behind it. Mirrors line the wall behind the bar, reflecting the dancers’ every move. Multiple benches and tables are stationed around the perimeter, providing intimate seating areas. Across from the bar is a raised VIP lounge with darkened partitions for privacy. I wonder if any significant people are here tonight.

  Carly and I head towards the bar for another drink. She orders herself a Vodka Red bull while I wait for a Captain and Coke. I sit on the leather padded stool, tapping my foot and bobbing my head to the music.

  “Hey, grab my drink when it comes. I’m going to run to the restroom,” Carly shouts over the music.

  “Sure!” I yell back, turning my attention back to the bar when a drink is placed in front of me. “Thanks.” The cute bartender just smiles and goes back to making another drink.

  My first sip is refreshing on my parched throat. Someone moves in behind my shoulder and I smell the liquor seconds before I hear the words.

  “I’d like to see you up on that pole.”

  Shock momentarily paralyzes me at the sound of that voice. I recognize that voice.

  It’s a voice I had hoped never to hear again.

  My body unfreezes, and I spin, knocking his drink to the floor with my elbow.

  “Why are you here?” My voice is harsh and accusing. I realize that we’re in a public bar, but he doesn’t live in this town; he doesn’t even live in this part of the state. And the mix of shock and alcohol has my brain struggling to form any competent thoughts.

  My ex is standing before me inspecting me with that shit-eating grin of his, knowing I’m not happy to see him. Travis and I dated for three years; three long, miserable years. At first I was blind in love, and after that I was just blind. I finally found the courage to leave after he tossed me down a staircase a few months ago. To say things didn’t end amicably would be a colossal understatement.

  “Just lookin’ for a good time, honey. Care to help me out with that? I still remember what it was like being with you. I miss you.” He grabs hold of my elbow, and I immediately tense in his grip. “C’mon, Lena, honey. Let’s go dance.”

  I shudder at hearing the old nickname he gave me. Lena. If he won’t give me a straight answer, I’m not going to wait around for one.

  I fight the urge to slap him or throw my drink in his face. My elbow jerks from his grasp. I whirl around, grab my drink, and stomp out to the dance floor; but not before sending a “go to hell” and middle finger in his direction.

  I press myself through the throng of bodies, losing myself in the thundering bass. I keep pushing until a pair of strong hands snag on my hips, pulling me near a tall, lean body. My heart thunders in panic, and I glance behind me, reassuring myself it isn’t Travis. I allow myself to relax then let loose, shaking my body in time to the beat.

  Thumping, pounding music surrounds me; bright strobe and colorful disco lights pulse to the beat. Sweat runs down my neck and back in beaded lines. The anxiety and haunting thoughts trickle away with each beat that passes, and I loosen up. I will not think about Travis. He doesn’t control me any longer.

  I bend at the waist to flip my hair into a quick ponytail, finding cool relief against my overheated neck. Standing back up with a roll and grind of my hips, I lean back into his chest, resting my head near his shoulder, and reach behind to run my fingers through his sweat-dampened locks. This is what I focus on. An unattached connection. A distraction.

  His hands roughly grab my hips, fingers digging into my soft skin, yanking me against him while a possessive hand skates around my abdomen.

  This man can dance.

  I can’t tell if the wetness between my thighs is from dancing or from being turned on. His lips press near my ear, and he shouts above the music, “What’s your name?”

  “My name’s Marlena!” I holler back, trying to be louder than the music the DJ’s producing.

  He traces the shell of my ear with his lips causing me to shiver. “Well, Marlena,” he drawls in a rich, velvety voice. “I prefer you pressed up against me like this…” Somehow, he manages to pull me even tighter against him for emphasis. “Rather than sprawled out at my feet on your ass.”

  My eyes grow wide.

  Oh shit.

  There’s only one human being on the entire planet who could say that to me. I groan inwardly with embarrassment. Somewhere between shaking my ass and flipping my hair in a ponytail, my dance partners switched. I don’t know what I did to piss off whatever god or karma fairy arranged this little meeting, but I am not pleased.

  Okay, maybe I’m a little pleased.

  His hands firmly grip my hips, and I think he’s waiting for me to turn and face him. At least my intense dancing turned my cheeks red enough to hide my humiliation.

  I turn awkwardly in my high heels, wishing to delay the inevitable. As soon as I turn, a full megawatt grin is directed entirely at me.

  “This is just not my night.” The words slip out before I can swallow them back down.

  For a nanosecond, his grin falters and his eyes narrow, but he shifts his expression back into place. He brushes a loose strand of hair out of my eye.

  “What a coincidence, running into each other again so soon.”

  “I’m sure that was a coincidence.” My voice drips with sarcasm. “What did you do with my dance partner?”

  “I told him to get off my girl.”

  My heart stutters. “I’m not your girl; I don’t even know your name.” My arms fold over my chest. The maneuver meant to be defensive but only serves to display my rack to him further. I catch his gaze drifting before he returns it to my face with a smirk.

  “My name’s Elias. Let’s go sit at the bar. We can grab another drink.” He places his palm on the small of my back, trying to steer me through the crowd.

  I plant my feet. “No thanks, Romeo, I’m staying here.”

  “Okay, let’s dance then. We can talk later.” His hands glide from my back to rest casually on my hips. He’s overconfident. The second I can, I’m running away to a place where I can hide from all the strange men in my life.

  “No. I’m not talking with you. I’m not dancing with you either. I’m going to go dance over there by myself,” I reply with a gesture of my head. “I don’t need a boyfriend, and certainly don’t need a creepy stalker either.” I sashay away when he snags my elbow and pulls me up to him.

  “Jesus, I’m not stalking you. How would I know you’d be here? But I saw you and,” he pauses, his brilliantly blue eyes drifting down my body from face to heels. As his gaze traces the upward path of my body, I feel as though he’s lighting me on fire with his eyes. My entire body is alive with heat. I’m going to burn.

  “You look fucking amazing in that dress. I needed to be near you. Dance with me.” His blue eyes are piercing. As if he can see directly to my soul, to every deep dark need, every desire and want. The awareness is frightening.

  He needed to be near me? I’m not ready for this. I’m about to protest again, but it dies in my throat when Carly rushes my way.

  “Marlena, I just saw Travis. He’s here, and he’s looking for you.” She glances over the top of my head. “He’s coming this way now, actually. Do you want to go?”

  I’m about to nod my head when another idea strikes me. “You know what? No. I saw him at the bar earlier. But I’m fine right here.” So much for not dancing with Elias. I grab his shirt and pull him flush against my body. His heat seeps inside of me, straight to the bone as our chests collide. He looks at me, eyes bright and twinkling, as he lowers his mouth to my ear.

  “Have a change of heart, then?” He asks, his voice silky, smooth, seductive.

  “I’ll give you tonight, Elias, because I desperately need a distraction but nothing more. Now, let’s dance.” I tug him in the opposite d
irection of Travis’s quick approach.

  He stops me by grabbing my wrist firmly while wrapping his other hand around my hip. His fingertips dig in to the soft, plush curves, sending a delicious quiver through my thighs.

  “One condition,” he starts. “Tell me who Travis is.”

  I sigh, cringing. This encounter couldn’t be any more awkward. “He’s my ex. And that’s the most he will be besides a memory. Now let’s move. He’s coming this way.”

  He must sense my anxiety. His eyes soften, and he lets me drag him away. With a quick glance behind us, I catch Carly’s wide, approving grin.

  Our bodies are melded together, chest to chest. My breasts push up against him, popping the swell out of my dress. Rough, yet caressing, hands rest low on my backside, gripping my ass and hauling me up against him. His muscled thigh is between my legs.

  My sweat is his sweat is our sweat, mingled together. He smells deliciously of pure male and cologne, intoxicating me. I’m as drunk off him as I am off the liquor.

  I’ve never done the one night stand thing, but the way he’s rubbing, grinding, and rolling his hips against me has me reconsidering that idea. A sweat drop rolls smoothly along his neck, disappearing under the collar of his blue button down shirt. I want to run my tongue alongside the same path, following the ridge of his pectorals, straight to his naval. My fingers sift through the dirty blonde locks of his sweat damp hair while his trace the curve of my spine up and then back to the curve of my bottom, producing a soul-clenching shiver.

  The music thunders in my ears, and I dance harder. My body rocking against his body. The hem of my dress slipping higher exposing the curve of my bottom. Damn, this dress is short!

  Abruptly, I’m yanked backwards by a bruising grip on my arm, and I let out a startled yelp.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Lena? Get off my girl, jackass!”

  “I’m not your girl!”

  “She’s not your girl.”