T he night was turning into something of a disaster. She closed her eyes and endured the pain.
Thirty minutes earlier . . .
“Come on. Come on. I’m telling you . . . this ID, it’s solid. My brother, he’s good for it.”
“I don’t know .” Nia examined the slightly blurry photo. “Jessica Brown . . . Jessica Brown . . . that’s all he could come up with? I sound like I was born in a barn.”
Hana laughed, “You were . You’re so freakin’ fresh, it’s not even funny. I’ve never met a twenty-year-old virgin in my life.”
“Shut — Up— Already— About that. God. I’ve done everything else. Does that not count for something?”
The line shoved up against them as they inched along into the hottest club along the Seattle waterfront—Johnny’s—the big, green, neon sign blinked ahead of them bringing on a feeling of angst, of boys, of trouble, of fun, and best of all—of booze.
Nia ran her fingers through her long , black hair again, giving it a tussled look.
“You look hot okay . I knew that skirt would suit you; stop fussin’ already.” Hana applied her third coat of pink gloss, checked her bright, sparkly-blue eye makeup again, clicked the Clinique powder case closed, and shoved it in her fluorescent-pink bag. She was in a tight, black, spaghetti-strapped dress with stilettos that could bring any man to his knees. She was blonde. She was bad. At least that’s how Nia saw her friend.
“I just don’t usually wear things this tight . I’m like a tramp in this outfit.” Nia pulled the zipper up higher on her red leather jacket and pulled up her hoodie.
“You need to get laid so bad , you don’t even know it.” Hana teased.
“I don’t need men .” When Nia said the words, a set of stunning, green eyes caught her as she glanced back at the long line of moonlit misfits behind them. The emerald set vanished just as quickly as they found her.
“We’re going to find you someone older this time . I don’t know what it is about older men. These college boys just don’t make the cut sometimes. They’re like drunken dogs, humping anything they can get their paws on. Sophistication. I can spot it a mile away. And a big one. I can tell that too.” Hana ran a thumb confidently under a strap.
Nia burst out laughing , feeling lightheaded all of a sudden. Was it the cold gust of the Puget Sound or something else? She crossed her bare legs. “I’m not getting out of this, am I?”
“Hell no!” Hana declared . “You’re done for.”
“I guess I’ll just lie down and take it then.” Nia watched for those same pair of emeralds. She couldn’t shake them out of her of mind—even though it was just a second that she saw them—but there was nothing, just the blank-faced centipede mass undulating along.
“ID .” The bouncer was typical: big in size, a shiny bald head, tight black V-neck, and black pants. The new best friends and college roommates handed their plastic pieces over. He handed Hana back hers, but faltered on Nia’s, looking her right in her cobalt-blue eyes.
Lowering her head, Nia found herself saying a quick prayer . Why am I praying to get into a club? She interrupted her thoughts and looked Mr. Clean straight in the eye.
“$10 cover .” That’s all he said, holding firm his grim gaze.
Nia had been holding her breath, and she slowly let it out. Hana gave her a friendly nudge, handing over the green and yanking her into the dark.
BOOM . . . BOOM BOOM . . . BOOM.
The bass rumbled against the bodies that struck out against the flashing blue and white strobe lights. Nia and Hana were caught in the wave of salt and sweat that crashed them in only one direction—the bar. It had the same flashing, green-neon light over it as the sign outside. It was the drive behind the sin: Drink and thou shalt See.
“What do ya want?” Hana yelled.
“Rum ,” said Nia. “I only drink rum.”
Hana signaled the bar angel, who was in a short, red
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