And as if all of that wasn’t enough, there’s the sudden, unexpected potential for my dream of owning my own restaurant to come true once again. An upcoming investor meeting that I barely even remember agreeing to, let alone feel prepared for.
So on my day off I do the only thing that feels right with so much going on—I shut down. I sleep almost to midday, prepare a large batch of cheesy nachos and guacamole, then start binge watching the latest season of a TV show about supernatural detectives that’s just about dumb enough to follow without my full attention, and just visually interesting enough to keep me above the level of comatose.
Bliss.
Until Asha comes home, full of the crackling energy she always has after her classes.
“Willow?” she calls from the hallway, slipping off her shoes before emerging into the living room.
“Hey?” I mumble around a mouthful of salsa, suddenly seeing myself through her eyes, horizontal on the couch, laptop on the coffee table, nacho bowl on my stomach, guacamole dip between my breasts, a sea of crumbs that makes it clear I haven’t moved in hours. I hold the bowl out optimistically. “Guac?”
Asha’s face is fixed into a horrified gaze for a few seconds before she marches into the center of the room and says, “Oh no. Uh-uh. I do not like this.”
“What?” I say, wincing at the daylight she exposes by sweeping aside the curtains. “It’s my day off.”
“Exactly,” Asha says, looking at me for a second and then turning away as if she can’t bear more. “How long have you been lying there?”
I shrug and try not to let the cramps show as I sit upright.
“I dunno…couple of hours, maybe?”
“Mm-hm. And what episode of that show are you on?”
I shrug meekly.
“The seventh?”
Asha rolls her eyes with a new wave of disappointment.
“How long have you been out here in L.A.? A few months? It seems like you spend all your time either at work, or holed up in here hiding from real life. This city has so much to offer, and you never go out and soak it up.”
“I’m…still getting comfortable. It’s a lot to take in.”
Asha pouts at me doubtfully.
“Los Angeles is not a place to get comfortable, it’s a place to get adventurous! Is it any wonder you fucked your boss? He’s the only guy you’ve met here.”
“I’m just digesting. Recharging, you know?”
“‘Recharging’? It looks a lot like moping to me. Look: You are too hot, too charismatic, and too fucking awesome to be sitting at home alone on a Friday night.” A slow smile breaks on Asha’s face. “Especially when there’s a hot new club opening tonight, and your roommate just happens to have an exclusive invitation with a plus one.”
“Oh no…” I groan, though I know the second I say it that there’s no refusal when Asha starts talking this way.
“Oh yes,” Asha says. “And I’m gonna find you a guy so hot he’ll make you forget you ever laid eyes on Cole Chambers.”
I let out a laugh as I get up to pull myself together—I doubt there’s anyone out there who could make me forget Cole.
By the time our Uber is pulling up outside the club, I can’t deny that Asha’s right. It feels cathartic dressing fabulously and getting out into an electrically-charged night. I’m in a satin pencil skirt Asha lent me, a loose fitting blouse unbuttoned almost to my navel, and a delicate gold chain with a crystal pendant that hangs right between my breasts. She’s in a pale pink dress that hugs her body tight enough to show off every toned muscle. A figure that could kick your ass as easily as it could stalk a catwalk.
The good feeling continues when we step out of the car in front of the building, an incredibly striking collection of curved walls and glass windows, more like a Gaudi-esque art gallery than something you’d expect to find in downtown L.A. The pink and blue neon lighting making it feel like some alien pleasure craft that crash landed on earth rather than some exclusive club for the city’s thrill seekers.
Asha locks arms with me and marches me past the line of beautiful people, all glossy hair and slouching postures.
“Hey,” I say, leaning toward Asha as much as I can while walking in heels, “I think that’s actually the line to get in.”
“Oh, honey,” Asha says, smiling at me as if I said something cute, “You ain’t gotta stand in line when you look as good as us.”
I try to ignore the jealous stares and look as confident as Asha. We reach the door where two colossal bouncers stand beside a pert blonde woman with a Madonna mic and a tablet in her hand.
“Excuse me—” she starts, before Asha interrupts her.
“Asha Greene.”
“Asha…Greene…” the woman repeats to herself as she scrolls down the list on her screen.
“You don’t need to check the list,” Asha says. “Connor would have mentioned me by name. We just spoke this afternoon.”
“Oh! Asha! Right,” the woman says, stepping aside as one of the colossi pulls up the rope. “But Mr. Anderson won’t be able to make it tonight.”
“I know,” Asha says, stepping through and pulling me by the hand behind her, “who do you think is taking his spot?”
As soon as we get inside I lean toward Asha and ask, “Who’s Connor?”
She lets out a flippant laugh before answering, “You’ve got a lot to learn.”
Before I can say another word she pushes through the doors to the main room, and I’m suddenly assaulted by a combination of lights and sound that thumps through my body and shakes all my senses. Beautiful, ecstatic men and women jump and move as if dueling with the strobe lights that flicker over them, turning reality into a slow motion picture slideshow while bass shakes the air around us, pumps the blood in our bodies, ghostlike melodies floating through the violent, tribal drums with heavenly allure.
Asha pulls me deeper into the jostling throng and I see her laugh, head thrown back in the flashing lights, as the music shifts and slows, dulls itself as if it’s underwater. A few songs later Asha puts a drink in my hand, but I’m already intoxicated, mind swirling, body alive with sensation. We agree on a protocol, to text if we need each other, otherwise we’ll meet up on the second floor bar in about an hour, and then the music emerges clearer now, quickening somehow, an unresolved melody pushing back and forth, urging me further each time. When it reaches its climax, the whole places erupts, a sea of upraised arms, a tidal wave of euphoria passing from body to body.
Memories of the raves and parties I went wild at during college flood back into my body, a physical reminder of the exhilaration I felt when I wasn’t concerned about work enough yet to turn down offers to go out. Except tonight I’m here, and I’ve already given up on tomorrow morning—so there’s nothing to do but let myself go, just like old times.
I lose track of time, lose track of Asha, lose track of who I even am as I let myself unfold on the dance floor alongside men and women who share my energy and euphoria with every move. A million miles from even remembering what had me so wound up today, every minute I spend in this place a step further from the tension and stress of my life.
Then I see him. Up on the second floor, leaning over the railing that looks over the main dance floor. Even in the dark, in the crowd, amid the sensory overload of the lights and sounds and movement, those eyes are unmistakable—and they’re staring back at me above an entertained smile. He notices me noticing him and raises his glass, but I don’t do anything in return, just spin back and continue dancing.
Except his eyes are still on me, and I can feel them. Keenly studying every sway of my hips, every arch of my back. If he thinks he’s just going to stand there and watch me all night long with that lusty gaze, I’ll give him something fierce to look at. I glance every once in a while in his direction through narrowed eyes, giving him a glimpse of my half smile before turning away again. Cole’s not the only one noticing me, and soon I find myself with a hot guy right in front of me, his eyes undressing me, his hands on my hips, mine on his shoulders, except it’s not him I really want, and it’s not his eyes that are making me move like this, because however hot he is, Cole is still the hottest guy in this club. I glance up at him every so often, over the guy’s shoulder, wondering if he’s getting jealous. Until eventually I look and he’s not there anymore.