On My Knees

Page 45

The music is loud, the dance floor crowded. The guests at the bar are stacked three thick, and the bartenders are moving with a controlled, exuberant efficiency. They’re all excellent at what they do; to survive a night at Westerfield’s, they have to be.
I grab Jackson’s hand and tug him across the dance floor toward the front door, adding in a few moves as we make progress in that direction. Right before we get to the front seating area, he pulls me close, spins me, then dips me, just like in an old Ginger Rogers movie.
I laugh, even more so when the couple beside us starts applauding.
“Don’t say I never took you dancing,” he quips as we move counter to the flow of traffic toward the front door. Right now, it really just serves as an entrance, since it’s early enough that no one is leaving yet. Which explains why the crowd waiting in line starts to buzz happily when Jackson and I step outside—two people leaving means two more spaces in the club.
I shatter their dreams, though, when I bend down and explain to the bouncer that we need to get someone halfway down the line inside the club.
To be honest, it would be easier to go in through the VIP entrance. But I forgot to tell Cass to go there, and now she’d have to walk all the way around the building to get to it.
There is a general grumble when we wave her up from the middle of the line, and she’s allowed in past the dozens of people waiting ahead of her.
Honestly, if they’d had tomatoes, they probably would have thrown them.
“Okay, the waiting part sucked, but getting to pass everyone else up? That really never gets old.”
“Great to see you, too,” I say, then give her a hug.
Unlike me, dressed for work in nothing more interesting than a suit skirt and linen shirt, Cass looks amazing. Her hair is midnight black with a single streak of blue tonight. She wears tight jeans and a sleeveless shirt that shows off not only her ample cleavage, but the exotic bird tattooed on her shoulder, its colorful tail feathers trailing down her arm. All in all, she looks seriously hot, as confirmed by the interested looks of both men and women as we move farther into the club.
I lead the way around the dance floor toward the VIP room. Less crowded. A more easily accessible bar. A win-win as far as I’m concerned.
I’m flashing my Stark ID to the girl at the door when I realize that we’re shy one person. “Where’s Zee?”
Cass cups a hand to her ear and frowns. I motion for her to hurry up and go inside the VIP room so that we can hear.
“I asked you where Zee was,” I say as the door shuts behind Jackson. The noise level is slightly more reasonable, but this area also has a dance floor, so it’s still loud. Just not the kind of loud that qualifies as a sonic incident.
Cass makes a face. “I need a drink. They’re on Damien, right?”
“I’ll get them,” Jackson says. He points to the one free table in the room. “You two go sit.”
As Cass rushes to stake our claim, I kiss his cheek. “Thanks.”
“She okay?”
I glance back at my bff. She looks like she’s got her shit together, but Cass is good at putting on a happy face. “I guess I’ll find out. Vodka martinis for both of us,” I say, handing him my employee ID. “Extra olives.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I watch him go, because I can’t bear to miss the sight of his ass in those jeans. Then I sigh when the crowd swallows him and turn back to find Cass.
“Okay.” I slide into the seat opposite her. “What happened?”
“She just said no. She said she was going to come, and then she just said no. That we should stay in.”
“Did she say why? I mean, you told her you wanted to go out with us to celebrate, right? You told her it was your idea?”
“Every wretched bit of that,” Cass says. “And she just looked at me like I was an idiot. And then—get this—she turns all sniffly and says, ‘Well, if you don’t want to stay with me.’”
“Oh, gag me,” I say, and Cass nods vigorously.
“I know, right? I mean, I’m not imagining this? This is a very bad sign, right?”
“She’s being manipulative,” I say, despite my usual rule to not criticize anyone my friends are dating. Because, hey, as far as Zee is concerned, the word bitch is very loudly blaring in my head.
“I have to end it,” Cass says. “God, I can’t believe this spiraled down so fast.”
“Better than dragging it out, though, right?”
She lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know. I wish I hadn’t met her in the first place. I thought—I mean, we clicked at first, you know? That first time we met at Jackson’s documentary she seemed so cool and funny and totally into me. And I felt so comfortable around her, like I haven’t with any girl since Siobhan,” she adds, referring to the longtime girlfriend who broke up with her—and broke her heart—a few months ago.