We wobbled down a corridor. Well, I wobbled, until blaring music filled my ears. It was a large space for a club outside the city. In front of me were a hundred bodies crushing each other on the dance floor and a layer of fashionable women and trendy men up against the bar.
Brooke pushed through to the front of the bar, every man in view staring at her. She was certainly something to behold—her petite figure hugged lovingly by the skintight leather, her flaming red bob tickling her jaw, and her perfect white skin creating a striking contrast. She made her way back to where I stood. I wondered why we were dressed so scantily.
Brooke handed me a Bloody Mary and said, “Cheers!”
“We’ll never find Jonah in here!” I shouted, trying to be heard over the Lady Gaga remix.
“Oh, he’s here. He’ll be in the basement,” she bellowed back, scanning the talent around us.
“Basement?”
“Yup. There’s a strip club below for members.”
I thought maybe I had heard her wrong.
It didn’t take long before a couple of local guys made their way over to us, offering a top-up on our drinks. Nodding, Brooke allowed them to buy us another round.
For over twenty minutes, she flirted and laughed, seemingly taking a liking to the dark-haired boy who was in his early twenties and dressed too trendily in an open black shirt and designer jeans. She soon abandoned me to go to the dance floor with him, leaving me with “the friend.”
“What? Sorry, I can’t hear you!” I yelled back at him while bouncing to the beat. He tried again, but I only feigned interest.
Making my excuses, I strolled away, looking for some sort of entrance to this basement Brooke had told me about. Maneuvering around the gyrating, sweaty bodies, I finally settled my eyes on a tall, stocky man in the far corner. He was suited, booted, and guarding another velvet rope, only this one was a deep red. Fluffing my hair, I attempted a confident swagger over to him, though it was more difficult given the height of the heels I had been forced into.
“Membres seulement,” he said, not even looking at me.
“Sorry.” I cussed myself for never learning French. “I need to go inside.”
I finally caught his eye and he studied me for a moment. Then he lifted the rope and ushered me through.
Carefully, I walked down the large concrete steps. When I reached the entrance I was taken aback. Brooke had been right; the basement was definitely a private member’s area. Music was humming and beautiful girls—dressed in corsets and thongs—were giving lap dances to elegantly dressed men.
The bouncer at the bottom of the steps regarded me, and I thought for a moment that he was going to refuse me entry. Instead, he collected a glittering eye-mask from behind him. It shimmered with the red and white diamanté encrusted all over it. He gestured for me to place it over my face. I didn’t refuse. Feeling now a little like a sparkly version of Catwoman, I made my way to the bar.
Next to the bar was an elevated stage with a pole in the middle. A girl with legs up to her armpits was twirling around it, topless, showing off her finely toned midriff, her long brown hair flowing down past her bare bottom. I don’t think her thong actually knew what a thong was.
Casting my eye around the space, taking in the grand double vaulted ceilings, I quickly realized that all the women were wearing masks of different colors.
Leading to the stage was a small dance floor with a silver disco ball that caught the light, making me squint as it bounced back at me. Beyond the dance floor stood a grand piano, which was, for now, absent of a pianist. An abandoned full-face mask sat on its lid.
There wasn’t an empty seat in the house, so I leaned against the glass top of the bar, scanning the room. I couldn’t see Jonah.
The barman brought over a bright red cocktail without asking for my order and smiled at me. He was pleasant looking, only slightly taller than me, with fluffy dark hair and piercing blue eyes. They were a million miles away from Gabriel’s luminosity, but then he wasn’t an Angel.
I shook Gabriel from my mind. Tonight wasn’t about him; besides, he was probably cozying up to Hanora.
“Thank you,” I said, offering him my plastic, which he refused to take. Apparently if you were a member, which he seemed to think I was, you didn’t pay for your drinks.
I twisted myself back around, scanning the room, when my phone buzzed. I opened my clutch and read a message from Brooke. She was checking that I was okay and telling me that she was having a fab time with Pierre. I replied a quick, YES AM FINE. CALL ME IF YOU NEED ME, and went back to sipping my cocktail.
Just then, one of the lap dancers moved away from an older gentleman and I caught sight of Jonah.
A dark-haired girl with a heart-shaped face who was wearing virtually nothing sat on his lap. He was whispering into her ear and she giggled, pulling away from him teasingly.
My stomach jolted and I gulped hard. A fast shock of jealously streaked through me. It shouldn’t have—I wasn’t in love with Jonah; I loved Gabriel, despite everything I feared he was doing.
So why then did I want to throw up?
Jonah brushed his lips to the girl’s neck, but stopped as his eyes caught my own. I watched them enlarge as he met my stare. Could he recognize me, even with the mask? I turned my back to him and drained the remnants of my red mixture, calling the bartender over for another.
“Ah, vodka?” I forced a smile.
“English?”
I nodded in reply.
“And extremely beautiful…”
“Hey, you’re stealing my line!”
The barman poured a large, neat vodka and scuttled away quickly, surprised by Jonah’s sudden appearance.
His chin nudged into the crevice of my neck, and his breath tickled my bare skin. A flutter of excitement rose inside me.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
I didn’t flinch. “How’d you know it’s me?”
He inhaled long and hard before saying, “I can smell you a mile away.”
He lingered before finally removing himself and took a seat next to me. Cupping my cheeks with his hands, he nudged my mask to my forehead and grinned. “So, you felt like dressing up tonight?”
“Brooke thought we should have some fun.”
“She’s here?” he asked, gesturing to a different waiter to fill his tumbler.
“She’s upstairs with a guy named Pierre.” I trailed off. “She’s having a good time.”