Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 122514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
I pretended there was a platter in front of me. I served it to Trent.
He just grumbled, “So funny, Charlie.”
I was throwing the popcorn at him now. “Watch it. I heckle too.”
He coughed. “So. Forster, huh?”
“Yeah.” I leaned forward. “Where’d that popcorn go? I might need a vacuum to clean this mess back here.”
Trent burst out laughing but then cursed, veering into the next lane and hitting the turn signal as he eased onto the exit. “Shit. Sorry, guys. I wasn’t paying attention.” He asked Dwayne, “You’re at the Hilton?”
“Yeppers. I always stay there.”
We got off the ramp and pulled into the hotel’s front parking area. Trent got out, talking with Dwayne for a bit longer, and I moved to the front seat. They must’ve mentioned me because I saw Trent motioning to me a couple times before Dwayne nodded. Then they clasped hands and did that chest bump that’s somehow a hug for men.
Trent climbed back into his seat and sighed. “So. How drunk you want to get tonight?”
No question. “Wasted.”
“On it.”
I was dumbfounded, and speechless.
That rarely happened.
We were standing outside a nightclub, the entire exterior all in black except one word in neon pink, Whisper. A line of people lingered outside, there were two bouncers at the door, and I gave Trent a look.
“Really?”
He laughed, moving ahead. “Come on. You said you wanted to get drunk, and I have an ‘in’ here.”
Well, okay then. We went to the head of the line and—why was I surprised?—the bouncers knew Trent, nodding and grunting hellos as they opened the door for us. As we entered, a server approached, tray of shots at the ready.
She offered, but Trent leaned over and yelled over the blaring hip-hop music, “Lauren around?”
Now this made sense.
Now I knew why we’d been allowed to skip the line.
The girl nodded and motioned down a hallway. She gave Trent more instructions, and then we were off.
As we went, I noticed the inside of the club was a mind fuck. It had been created to look exactly like the outside—the same curb and street, just different cars. And instead of one of the buildings across the road, there was a stage for dancing. The DJ booth was set high up, above a streetlight, which acted as a podium bridge.
People were dancing and milling around underneath the DJ, and couches lined one end of the room. Boxes with tables lined the wall on the second floor. As we walked past, I saw the doors open on a few of the boxes, and they looked a lot like the building doors that we’d walked past on the way from Trent’s car.
The “street” wasn’t the dance floor. It was the walkway for everyone to get from place to place.
Suddenly Trent grabbed my hand and pulled us onto one of the “sidewalks” that led to a seating area. “I see Lauren,” he told me. “Come on.”
We were weaving around couches when Lauren spotted us. She was dancing on one of the tables in between the couches.
I was speechless, again.
Lauren was a go-go dancer. But it made sense. She was gorgeous.
Wearing silver sequin underwear (for real, that was all) and a black corset, she had coordinating silver streaks in her hair. She squealed as she jumped down from her table, throwing her arms around Trent. There was some heavy petting for ten full seconds. I counted, right after making sure my gaze was anywhere but on them.
“Sorry.”
I felt a soft touch on my arm. I turned back.
Lauren flashed me an apologetic smile, leaning in close. “I found out about the party a few days ago, so when I mentioned it to Trent, he thought it’d be a good chance for you.” She moved back, inclining her head. “I reserved a table just for you guys. You’ll be close when they arrive.”
Dread lined my insides.
No time for jokes here. This was serious, and I locked eyes with Trent, raising one eyebrow, all villain-in-a-movie like.
Okay. Who was I kidding? Jokes made the world go round. There was always room for at least one.
He flushed, giving me a closed-mouth smile, and there he was: his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slumping like a self-conscious little schoolboy. Not today, Stan.
Lauren led the way.
Trent started to follow, but I grabbed his arm. My grip was cement. He didn’t even look at me. He took my hand, lifting it from his arm like it was cotton candy.
He spoke, even as his eyes continued to follow his girlfriend. “Just hear me out when we get to our table. Okay?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. The asshat took off, knowing I had two choices: follow so I could get all the information, or leave, having only a gut feeling about what was going on here.
I followed. There was a little Veronica Mars in me.