Life of the Party by Christine Anderson

know you
do.” His voice was lower, guttural. I smiled.
    “Thanks.” The
feel of his fingers was addictive. My heart began to beat harder at
his touch, however slight. I clenched my hands against my legs. He
chuckled and stopped, placing his hand back against the seat,
allowing me to catch my breath—but I missed his fingers the moment
they lifted. I bit my lip and tried to calm myself.
    Soon we could
make out city lights on the horizon. Alex cheered. I laughed,
fairly wasted already just from the drive in, let alone whatever
was happening later. The talk and laughter was rowdy and lively
inside the car. Alex and Grey were arguing about some bands I’d
never heard of; Charlie was trying to regale me with a work story
from the front seat. Zack would throw a few words into the band
conversation. We weaved through the city traffic, the streetlamps
lighting the interior of the car as we passed beneath them.
    Finally we
pulled into a parking lot filled with vehicles. I looked out the
window in interest, but the street was fairly dark. The only thing
that made sense to my poor befuddled brain was the turquoise blue,
neon sign perched atop a brick building. It said “The Drink” in
large green letters, with a martini angled off the side of it.
    “We’re going to
a club?” I asked Grey excitedly. “But I’m not old enough—”
    “Leave that to
me. Come on.” He opened the door and helped me out. As soon as I
stood up, I nearly fell over. I hadn’t expected to be so wasted, it
took me by surprise. Grey laughed and steadied me.
    “You okay?” His
hands were warm on my bare arms.
    “Yeah.” I
laughed happily. Better than okay. Great, wonderful … ecstatic.
    “Come on.” Grey
took my hand in his and pulled me towards the entrance. Alex and
Zack and Charlie were walking ahead of us. As we turned the corner,
I was amazed to see the long line of people waiting to get in the
club. It stretched nearly the entire block. I looked up at Grey but
he didn’t seem disappointed, like he hadn’t anticipated a wait at
all.
    I soon
understood why. When the two large, intimidating men at the
entrance saw us coming, they immediately pulled back the rope and
let us all through. Grey spoke with them briefly—I didn’t hear the
conversation, but I did notice that they called him Mr. Lewis. I
raised my eyebrows at the VIP treatment and smiled.
    “I didn’t know
your last name was Lewis.” I kidded.
    “There’s a lot
about me you don’t know.” Grey smirked. He grasped my hand again
and we made our way inside. I looked around; this club was nothing
like the Aurora at home. Modern and new, the décor was mostly black
and white, with splashes of vibrant blues and greens and oranges in
just the right places. The main floor was dedicated almost entirely
to the dance floor, clear Plexiglas atop swirls of fluorescent
color, surrounded by tall white and black plastic chairs. A shooter
bar flanked the left side, and a large spiral staircase took up
most of the right. The place was packed, the music thumped over the
noisy din.
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER
11
     
    “This way, Mr.
Lewis.” A server appeared from nowhere, and motioned for us to
follow. “The rest of your party has already arrived.”
    “Great.” We
followed the waitress, who led us up the staircase. The top floor
was full of circular tables surrounded by more tall plastic chairs,
impossibly tall backed booths lined the walls, and all of them were
full. The tables were made to mimic the dance floor. There was a
bar for every wall but one, the back wall the server was leading us
to. She pushed back a nearly indiscernible curtain that opened to
reveal another staircase, this one much smaller than the first.
Above us was another floor, similar to the one below. There were no
single tables, only the larger, tall backed booths about twice the
size of the usual. Each was up on its own platform, closed in by a
curtain surrounding it.
    “VIP?” I asked
him.
    “Nothing