With A Twist

by Staci Hart

  “You look amazing.” He leaned back to get a good look, smiling crooked.

  “So do you. Come on in.” I turned, swinging my hips as I made my way into the kitchen, congratulating myself on the decision to keep it going with Blane.

  He followed me into the apartment, closing the door behind him.

  I looked back over my shoulder and caught him looking at my ass. Let me just say that in that moment, I was sure my hips could bring world peace. “Can I get you a drink?”

  His lips tilted in a smile. “Sure. Whatever you’ve got is fine.”

  I poured him a whiskey on the rocks as Rose and Maggie walked in, whispering. He turned his killer smile on them.

  I strutted back into the entryway with his drink in hand. “Blane, I didn’t get a chance to introduce you to my roommates last time you were here. I’d like you to meet Rose and Maggie.” I gestured to them. “Girls, this is Blane.”

  Rose’s smile was fake — I could tell from across the room — not that he would know the difference. I wondered what her problem was.

  She gave a half-hearted wave. “Nice to meet you, officially at least.”

  Maggie was more genuine. Must have been her dutiful Southern manners. “It’s so nice to meet you! Come here, I’m a hugger.” She stepped up to give him a hug, and he leaned back a little, surprised. Definitely not something New Yorkers were ever prepared for. “We’ve heard so many good things about you, Blane. Glad you could make it tonight.”

  I handed him the whiskey, and he eyed it for a long second before taking a sip. He tried not to cough and failed.

  Rose didn’t miss it and rolled her eyes when he wasn’t paying attention. I gave her a look.

  Another knock sounded, and Rose answered it to Astrid who looked stupid awesome in nearly no makeup and with her hair virtually untouched — a shaggy, blond, fabulously unfussy mess. Her white dress was patterned with large jewels, loose enough that it looked vintage and bohemian, short enough that it somehow covered her ass without looking whorey.

  “Hey,” she said to the room and made her way around, pressing her cheeks to ours and making kiss noises. She raised a blond eyebrow when she reached Blane. “Blane Baker?”

  He looked a little flustered, though he shot her the smile and somehow still looked adorable. “Wow, Astrid Thomas. Good to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” she said, bored by his enthusiasm. She hated when anyone openly acknowledged who she was. She found it tacky, much preferring when people just treated her like she was a normal old nobody. She turned to me. “Is there time to drink?”

  I glanced at the clock. “We’re supposed to leave in a second.”

  Rose handed her drink over. “Here, finish mine.”

  She shrugged as Rose handed it over, knocking it back without so much as flinching. Blane watched, fascinated.

  The third knock of the night came, and this time it was Maggie who answered. Patrick stood in the doorway, dressed to the nines in a black-and-white houndstooth tailored shirt and black suit. His jaw and cheekbones were chiseled — seriously, the guy could have actually been a marble statue covered in Sharpie — black hair combed back, eyes on Rose, who stood stock still for a long moment as he walked in. She blinked and took a deep breath, turning to Astrid to hide the fact that she was totally eyeballing her ex.

  When I looked back to the door, West stepped from behind Patrick, and every thought left my brain.

  His hair was down with those deep ruts in the top from running his fingers through it, somehow keeping it messy and tidy at the same time. He was wearing the suit he’d had on the night before, that glorious suit that made him look like a man who made things happen. My eyes caught on his full lips, framed by his beard, but only for a moment because I could feel his eyes on me like a command. My gaze snapped to his, eyes a shade of electric blue with something burning behind them, something he was trying to hide.

  My brow bent in question, asking him what he needed, what he wanted, but he broke the connection, looking across the room at nothing in particular.

  I picked up my clutch, shaken, tucking it under my arm as I took Blane’s. “Everyone ready?”

  A chorus of agreement rolled through the group as we stood packed in our tiny entry, and Patrick opened the door. We filed out, everyone chatting as we walked down the stairs and outside. Patrick and West threw up their hands to hail cabs, and two pulled up, one in front of each of them. Patrick opened the door, and Astrid, Rose, and Maggie ended up in the back seat with Patrick in the front, leaving me, Blane and West to the other cab.

  West opened the door for me, and I took a step, but Blane headed me off and climbed in first. West watched him like a starving velociraptor — I could almost feel him seething as I climbed in behind Blane. And six seconds later, I was sitting snugly in the back seat between the two of them.

  I crossed my legs toward Blane, and he laid a hand on the outside of my thigh, pulling my legs into his. I wound my arms around his bicep, and he glanced over at me. We smiled at each other. Blane was finally happening.

  It was everything I’d hoped for.

  West was pushed up against the door, scowling out the window. “So, I’m glad you finally decided to come out with Lily. She’s been talking you up an awful lot.”

  I shot him a look.

  Blane looked out the window, sounding bored. “Has she? She’s never mentioned you before.”

  My head swiveled as I pointed the look at Blane instead.

  West’s voice screwed a little tighter. “Funny, that. Sounds like you guys don’t do a lot of talking anyway, so I won’t take it personally.”

  My head spun around again. West had always been a little overprotective of the women in his life, but this was ridiculous. Not that what he’d said was a lie, but still. Inappropriate.

  “So,” I interjected, desperate to change the subject, “West and I went to the opera last night to see Madama Butterfly.”

  “Oh, was he the friend you went with?”

  I frowned. “Uh, yes. Do you like the opera?”

  Blane made a face. “Not at all.”

  West laughed, then glanced over at him. “Oh, wait. You’re serious.”

  “The way that they sing is so overdone. Plus, opera is never in English. Why can’t they be translated?” He shook his head. “The only time I’m reading subtitles is for Kung Fu.”

  Satisfaction rolled off of West, and I shifted, taking the opportunity to elbow him. I turned my attention to Blane just as his phone rang in his pocket to the tune of a Nickelback song.

  West snorted, trying to cover his laughter with a weak cough as Blane shifted, hurrying to quiet it. He used the arm I was wrapped around to reach into his back pocket, forcing me to lean into West to avoid getting elbowed in the boob. Blane glanced down to see who it was, eyes darting to me as muted it, cutting Chad Kroeger off mid-wail.

  “So, Nickelback, huh?” West wasn’t even pretending not to be an asshole at that point.

  Blane leaned forward to glare at him around me. “What’s your problem, man? You’ve been a dick since you walked through Lilypad’s door.”

  There it is. I braced myself.

  West fumed. “Look, I don’t have a problem with you, Blaney. Not so long as you’re good to Lily. You fuck that up, and all bets are off.”

  “What, are you in love with her or something?”

  West’s eyes were as hard as diamonds. “Why, are you?”

  “Fuck you, bro.”

  “Don’t call me bro, you fuckwit.”

  “That’s enough!” I shouted, head swiveling around so they received equal parts of my rage-stare. “What has gotten into you two? Jesus Christ, I didn’t know you were going to bomb the cab with testosterone or I would have gotten my own.”

  The cab pulled up to the curb, and I glared at West, who didn’t move, just stared right back at me. “Let us out, West.”

  He scowled and opened the door. The interior lights of the cab threw harsh light on us as we scoot
ed out, and West offered me a hand that I batted away, leaving Blane to pay the cabbie. He leaned out, looking sheepish.

  “Ah, I don’t have any cash.”

  “Oh,” I muttered, caught off guard. I opened my clutch, but West beat me to it.

  “You know they take cards, right, asshole?” West shot as he passed the money through the passenger window.

  Blane fumed, and West shot me a pointed look. He was close enough that I had a hard time breathing with his eyes boring into mine like they were, but he broke the connection, turning on his heel to walk up to velvet ropes.

  Thumping bass marked the silence between West and me as the other cab pulled up in front of the club. I took a moment to look around. A massive line wrapped around the side of the building, jam packed with people who watched us haughtily from behind the velvet rope, like we were just a bunch of schmucks who would end up in line behind them. Normally, they’d be right.

  The word NOIR was written in thin gold Art Deco letters above the door, and the architecture was all very 20s — black and gold plated panels, inlaid with swirling patterns that were freeform and geometric all at the same time. The building itself must have been from about the same era — even the stone column façade had a sleek, moderne feel.

  Everyone climbed out of other the cab as Cooper stepped out of the door and past the bouncer, clapping him on the shoulder as he moved the rope.

  Paparazzi came out of nowhere as soon as Cooper appeared, flashes strobing, and bouncers flocked toward us, backing the paparazzi away. I felt like I was caught in a mob as we hurried to the door to the sound of photographers shouting Cooper and Astrid’s names.

  We didn’t stop moving, just made our way inside in a train. I watched West’s back as he climbed the stairs ahead of me, the wall he’d thrown up between us feeling like it was a hundred feet tall and bulletproof. But I nearly forgot all about it when Blane touched the small of my back and whispered something dirty in my ear. Something that made me really glad I’d gotten that Brazilian.

  The music grew louder with every step until we hit the main floor. The club was beautiful, and I gaped as we walked through. Acrobats spun on hoops suspended from the ceiling above an ocean of sequined bodies, dancing under a cloud of cologne, moving like a wave in time to the music. Everything was black, trimmed with gold in lines, starbursts, and swooping patterns. The bar was sleek, plated in gold with black accents, lit by bright lights that made it shine like gold leaf.

  It was like we’d somehow stepped back in time and into the future.

  We turned for the stairs up to the VIP floor and past a bouncer who looked like Marcellus Wallace from Pulp Fiction. I’m not gonna lie — I almost tripped looking for a Band Aid on the back of his neck. We kept climbing until we reached the top where the space opened up into a smaller, less crowded version of the club downstairs, with wall-to-wall windows so the elite could watch the peasants from the comfort of bottle service and velvet couches.

  Cooper led us to a set of black velvet couches around a low, gold table inset with a chiller, full of ice and bottles of liquor and rocks glasses — real, swanky-ass glass, not plastic — mixers, and garnishes arranged on the surface. Cooper swept a hand over the display, looking pleased with himself, and we all laughed and clapped. He bowed dramatically before making his way through the group passing out kisses to the girls and bro hugs to the guys. He stopped in front of Blane.

  “How’s it going, man? I’m Cooper Moore. You must be Blane.” He extended a hand, and Blane took it, clearly starstruck.

  “What’s up?”

  “Just living the life. You know.” He smiled that million dollar smile and gestured to the club behind him. “Come on and have a drink, guys.”

  Rose hooked an arm in mine and dragged me to the couch with Maggie and Astrid in our wake. We took a seat on the couches, and Rose immediately poured drinks for everyone, passing them to Patrick, who handed them out accordingly.

  “What do you think Blane wants to drink?” she said over the music.

  I shrugged. “I don’t think he likes whiskey.”

  Astrid snorted. “Maybe you should make him an Appletini, Rose.”

  I made a face at her before turning back to Rose. “Maybe a vodka tonic would be safe.”

  She poured his last, but Patrick had already taken the other drinks and walked away. I took it and smiled. “I’ll give it to him.”

  They all nodded at me, not seeming to be as amused as I was. But I didn’t care. Nothing was going to get me down tonight.

  I stood and tugged my dress down a little before striding over to Blane, who had sort of glommed on to Cooper. Coop just sipped his drink, smiling amiably as Blane went on.

  I slipped an arm into Blane’s. “Here’s your drink.”

  He smiled down at me and slipped a hand around my waist, fingers grazing my ass. A little shock shot through me. “Thanks, Lily.”

  “No problem.” I looked to Cooper. “Thanks for inviting us. This place is amazing.”

  “I’m just glad everyone decided to come,” he said with a smile, eyes darting over to the couch. I guessed he and Astrid were more into each other than I’d realized, and I smiled back at him.

  “Me too. I’m gonna get back to the girls.”

  “Don’t go too far.” Blane’s voice was silky smooth in my ear.

  “You know where to find me.” I gave him sexy eyes, I think, and made my way back to the couch with my hips ticking like a metronome to the beat of the music that boomed all around us.

  I sat between Astrid and Rose, who handed me a drink. “This is the only one, okay?”

  “It’s water. I’ve got your back.”

  “Thanks, Rosie.” I raised my glass, and the girls clinked theirs to mine, but it hadn’t yet reached my lips when I caught sight of West leaning against the wall next to Patrick, tall and gorgeous in that suit, arms folded across his chest, eyes like lasers on me, brooding. And I was instantly mad as fuck all over again.

  “What the hell is West’s problem?” I popped at no one in particular. “He was so rude to Blane in the cab. If I hadn’t already been sitting between them, I would have separated them.”

  Maggie made a weird face. “Ah, uh … I think West said he and Patrick got drunk last night. Maybe he’s just hungover?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “He’s lucky I’m on a date and don’t want to make a scene.” I took a sip of my drink.

  Maggie smiled, changing the subject while trying to be polite, I suspected. “So, Blane seems nice.”

  I beamed at everyone. “He’s being so sweet, guys. I can actually see how this could work out. Thanks for talking me into this, Astrid. Best idea ever.” I raised my glass, and Astrid raised hers in answer with a look on her face.

  My eyes narrowed with suspicion before my glass reached my lips. “Why do I feel like you’re bullshitting me right now?” I looked at Rose and Maggie too, so they’d know they weren’t off the hook either. “What has gotten into everybody? We’re at this posh-ass club with sexy dresses and bald vaginas. I can’t be the only one excited about this!”

  A laugh shot out of Rose. “You’re the only one with a squeaky snatch.”

  “I’m just saying. My dream guy has a chance at redemption, here. Why are we not having fun? Why are we not into this?”

  Rose was still smiling, but I didn’t buy it. “We’re happy for you. I think everyone’s just worn out. And the best way to turn that around is always whiskey.”

  We all laughed and raised our glasses, cheering, “To whiskey!” before killing our drinks.

  SWAN DIVE

  West

  AN HOUR LATER, I WAS sitting on the couch alone, watching as Blane leaned into Lily. She was pressed up against the wall looking hotter than I’d ever seen her — legs ten miles long, body wrapped in fabric so blue, it practically gave off its own light. That dress left nothing to the imagination while still possessing class and style, and I hated that she was wearing it for that douchebag.

 
Lily smiled up at him, and he whispered something in her ear. She laughed — I could almost hear the sound in my burning ears just on memory alone. I squeezed the rocks glass in my hand so tight, I thought it might bust.

  But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from them, just watched them, torturing myself as I drained my glass, hoping the whiskey would ease my nerves.

  It didn’t.

  Cooper sidled up next to me, and I looked away, feigning indifference.

  “You all right?”

  “Fine.” The word was flat.

  He eyed me. “You’re really not going to tell me what’s going on? You’ve been watching them all night like … well, like this.” He gestured to me.

  I reached for the bottle of Makers on the table and poured well more than a shot. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I just want to know why you look like you’re ready to throw that glass.”

  I stared down at the amber liquid. “Lily and I went to the opera last night.” I took a long pull, thankful for the comforting burn of whiskey in my chest.

  “Is opera code for something?”

  I couldn’t look at him. “I’m in love with her, Cooper.”

  He didn’t miss a beat. “What’s new?”

  I shook my head and killed my drink. “Does everybody know?” My voice was rough.

  “Everybody but you and Lily.”

  “Everybody but Lily, you mean.” I poured another drink. “Rose and Patrick said I should wait it out until she got through tonight with Blane, but that’s feeling like a fucking terrible idea right about now.” My eyes found her again, zeroing in on his hands on her waist. I emptied my glass and set it down, reaching immediately for the bottle.

  Cooper watched me. “Yeah, I’m thinking this isn’t much better.”

  I scowled at him. “Don’t even think about taking my drink. I’ll fucking deck you.”

  He looked genuinely concerned, which was disquieting. “Maybe we should go. Let everyone go to separate corners.”

  “Yeah, except they’re going to a corner together.” I ran a hand over my beard as sweat beaded on my forehead. My shirt felt like a sauna, and I set my glass down to peel my jacket off. “It’s fucking hot in here.”