by Nola Sarina
Ignite (The Core, #1)
Nola Sarina & Emily Faith
Copyright Nola Sarina & Emily Faith, February 2014
Smashwords Edition
Originally written as THE CORE, September 2013 by Nola Sarina & Emily Faith
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Core
Ignite
Nola Sarina & Emily Faith
We sincerely hope you enjoy this short story. THE CORE: IGNITE is free on most venues, and intended for an 18+ audience. We have been inspired by so many passionate readers who have crossed our paths and share our love of reading. Thank you for all you are!
Table Of Contents
Meeting Alice
Holy Shit What Is This Place?
And Then We Dance
I’ll Drink To That
Coming Soon From The Core
Stalk The Authors
Meeting Alice
This mascara is really, really blue.
Courage, Andee. It’s just mascara. I never do anything like this. Never try something weird for fear I might be noticed and singled out for it. Today, though, I’m sick of blending in. Today I want to stand out.
Should I, or shouldn’t I? I know my manager won’t care... the new girl wore the longest fake nails I’ve ever seen to work yesterday. The manager didn’t say anything about it, even when she was on the sandwich counter smearing cream cheese and (possibly) a flipped-off pink-lacquered acrylic onto someone’s daily cinnamon raisin bagel. So if anyone balks at my bright blue mascara, I’m just going to bat my cerulean eyelashes like she does. Pretend I don’t know the rules about tasteful makeup and minimal weirdness. I’ve been slopping out coffee at Hot Bean for over a year on my days off from school. I’ve earned a little leeway on the rules.
I stroke the mascara on my eyelashes, edge my lower lid with black liner and step back to take in the view, to gauge if I like the look. Hell yeah, I do. I might not look like a respectable dentist, but I’m not one yet, anyway. And I sure don’t look like a coffee-shop employee. Without my bright green apron, I look like a girl who’s about to go hit up a club and down some shots. But I’m just off to work after all, so I drag a brush through my hair and throw it in a claw clip, hustle out the door of my one-bedroom apartment and slide into my crappy, maroon PT Cruiser. The engine sputters when I crank the key, and eventually turns over.
No one at work notices the mascara. I don’t wear makeup often, so I’m surprised not a single co-worker compliments me on it. Damn! I spent half an hour in the store debating whether I should buy it or not, and no one gives a shit. I wouldn’t be so irritated if I wasn’t still stewing from the text-fight I had with Max last night. Breakups suck, but it’s been a month, so it’s about time we both move on, and he just won’t stop texting me his I love yous and Can’t we try agains. It’s not that he isn’t attractive. He just doesn’t seem to want to go anywhere with life, and I’m tired of being bored.
I slap a lid on a steaming paper cup and pass it out the window. “Large skim latte,” I say without bothering to look up.
“Holy shit, I love your mascara!” the driver says, and I straighten, surprised.
In the driver’s seat, fingers brushing mine as she takes the latte, is a woman with brown hair that’s short in the back, spiked up off her scalp, and long in the front, the tips grazing her chin. She beams at me, taking in my whole appearance, though I swear I’m not much to look at. I’m in a Hot Bean uniform, for God’s sake.
The woman lets out a giggle, and I can’t help but smile back. She’s so pixie-like in appearance, a bright, pearl-white smile behind pink-glossed lips, and her good mood is infectious even over a drive-through counter.
She glances in the rear-view mirror to verify she’s not holding up a line—there’s no one behind her—and leans out to talk to me. I lean to her, too, curious, and the aroma of peach body spray hits me like Florida morning sun. “Do you rave?” she asks.
I don’t, but she obviously does. Her makeup is perfect, bold around her eyes, and her hair is done in that half-messy style that must be totally intentional, but looks like she just tumbled out of bed and fell into a pile of bombshell hotness. I wish I could look like that. So even though it’s a lie, I flash her a devious grin and say, “Yeah, all the time. Where do you go?”
She checks behind her Lexus again and then her expression lights with excitement. “An awesome place. Best music, best lights. There’s no place like it. Got a pen?”
I pass her one and a napkin to write on, and she scribbles for a moment, her silver bracelets clinking together like wind chimes. She hands it back to me. “Tonight at nine. Be there?”
“Yeah, sounds great!” My heart thumps with anticipation.
“Okay,” she says, grinning, “get ready. This is a really unique place. The rules are different. The guys are fucking gorgeous.”
I nod enthusiastically. “I can’t wait.”
She waves, fingers wiggling in the air, and drives off. I glance down at the page. It says three words, and an address.
Her name is Alice. And I’m meeting her at The Core.
Holy Shit What Is This Place?
I’m so bored with coffee by the time my shift ends that I don’t even take one to go. I scramble across the street to a little clothing outlet I love and grab four new shirts, two skirts that look fairly short, and a stack of new makeup. I swipe my credit card without looking at the total, head back to my car, and race (Well, it’s a PT Cruiser, so I kind of slog along, not race) back home. In my apartment, I try on the first outfit and am happy with what I see in the mirror: a tight, white top shows off my barely-visible curves, and the skin-tight jeans make my legs look longer than they really are. I dive into the makeup and try to recreate the look Alice had, and fail miserably, so I resort to a silver, glittery eye shadow and a fresh coat of bright blue mascara. Ten minutes of fussing with uncooperative dirty-blond waves later, I’m ready.
I’m going to a rave. Twenty years of life spent doing well in school, having boring boyfriends that might become boring husbands, and I’m ready to do this. Something my parents would disapprove of heinously. But I don’t want Alice to know I’m such a shut-in—held captive for the last two years by my desire to please a boyfriend who cared more about video games than about me—since I hope I’m not going to be one anymore. She seemed so excited I said I’d go. What did she hope to get out of it? Was she hitting on me? Who cares if she is? A small, adventurous voice inside me argues that I should stop worrying, get my ass out the door, and go have fun.
That blue mascara was the best purchase I’ve made in a long time, and I slide on the low-heeled silver stilettos I wore to my sister’s wedding and head out before the clock hits nine.
The Core. I’ve never heard of it, but I think that’s just kind of how raves work. You either know someone to get in, or you never hear about them. From what I’ve seen in movies, you just kinda show up looking sexy and pretend you know what you’re doing, so that’s exactly what I do. Though the building is short and warehouse-like with a small, vertical sign hanging by the door and a single bouncer in black, I park and lock everything in my car except my clutch purse which holds my cash and ID. I brought the other outfits I bought with me just in case I need them, since I have no idea what the dress code is at a place like this. I remember to snatch my keys off the seat at the last minute and straighten my shirt.
I’m relieved as hell when the girls in front of me are dressed similarly to me, though they’re showing a more dramatic cleavage-view than I am and quite a bit of leg. I know I’m not as dynamic as they are, not as model-esque, but at least I wore my heels. A vigorous beat pounds through the walls, and a high sort of energy surges into me with each hit of the bass. The bouncer checks my ID when I get to the front of the line. “Andee,” he mutters, and I smile, batting my blue lashes once. He notices, cracks a grin, and lets me in.
Yes! I did it. I got into a rave. Excitement runs through me like an electric shot, and I’m suddenly craving a drink stronger than I’ve ever craved one in my life.
Just inside the door, the hall is dark and the girls in front of me giggle and shout above the music. I can’t hear what they’re talking about, so I lean in to try and catch their conversation, and that’s when I get my first glimpse inside The Core beyond them. Everything else around me drowns out, diminishing into nonexistence, as I step into a world so unlike mine it takes my breath away.
So many lights pour fountains of colors across the dance floor that it feels like I’ve stepped into whatever place must hide at the end of a rainbow. Dancers move with abandon around the open, central dance floor, floating across in spins and hair-flips, and just as many guys are out there as girls. Hot guys, as Alice promised. Platforms suspended in the air mid-way across the dance floor hold go-go dancers, caged by bars and dressed in scant, neon bikinis. The go-go girls wind and twist in their cages, hips making a sexy rhythm of their own, and I take in the length of the marble bar to my left. Everything in here is electrified, amplified, and my mood perks up with each inch I move further into the club. I can’t make out any faces beyond the dancers, but I squint and think I see dark, leather booths behind the spiral staircase on the far end of the dance floor, beneath another level above the club. I can’t see what’s up there and hope with all my heart I find out tonight.
Someone bumps into me from behind so I squeeze forward between the two girls ahead of me. Craning up, the DJ booth comes into view—it hangs over the side of the club opposing the bar, and beneath is an open space with less light, and lots of ravers getting cozy in the shadows. Two guys are in the dark corner nearest me, deeply engrossed in a kiss that goes on and on. I steal my gaze away from the romance and look up as I move across the perimeter of the dance floor, hesitant. Above the bar, dark windows hide private rooms, and my heart flutters. Wow. A balcony and private rooms overlooking the club. What the hell goes on up there?
Everything is chrome and neon, and the walls are painted with elaborate graffiti illuminated by the black-light fluorescents, though the furniture screams elegance and class. I slip over to the bar and find an empty stool, slide in, and let the music wrap around me. I dance without thought even while I’m sitting, letting my arms move above my head. It’s like once I stepped in, I became a part of this place, and I don’t ever want to leave.
The bartender leans over to me. “Meeting a friend?”
I glance at him, take in the short sleeves that ride up just high enough along his dark, chocolatey skin to reveal enormous, solid biceps. “Alice,” I say, unable to keep the grin of excitement off my face.
“Oh, good.” He flips a shot glass over on the bar. “What’ll you have?”
I hesitate. I don’t even know where the bathroom is, yet. But somehow, with the vibrancy of the dancers on the floor and the crazed energy around me, I doubt a shot of vodka is the most daring offer I’ll face tonight. I order one, down it, and sit back to watch while the liquor takes effect, smoothing out the edges of my nerves. No, I haven’t been to a rave before. But I sure as hell am glad I’m at one now.
Long, lean legs twirl on the dance floor, and I follow them up to take in her face. She’s tossing her short, dark hair around in mad circles as she dances, her shirt barely covering her breasts, scooping in layers down over her chest but leaving a deep dip to her navel. The back of it is completely sheer. Shit, I should have worn something more revealing. Her pink skirt swishes with her movement as fringe bounces over the top of her bare thighs, and she’s in ankle-high, heeled boots with silver studs all over them. She moves like a professional dancer from a music video, both men and women staring, dancing near, trying to just brush against her if they can.
She’s everything I wish I was, and everything I don’t know how to be. Alice. She catches sight of me, lets out a squeal I hear over the music, and strides over to me in smooth steps, smiling from ear to ear.
“You came!” She swoops me off my barstool into a hug and drags me to the dance floor. I trip after her—she’s too graceful, too fast for me to keep up. But when we hit the dance floor, she spins around and crushes me to her, breasts against mine, her hands on my hips. The music pounds as I laugh out loud, surprised, and the dancers around us cheer.
And then she’s kissing me.
The club goes wild as a new, industrial rhythm starts, the lights strobing harder than before, fog from the go-go cages spilling out onto us. Alice’s lips are soft on mine, and as surprised as I am, I kiss her back.
I’m not gay. I mean, I’ve had those thoughts once in a while. Little ideas of things I might want to try someday. It’s just not something I’ve ever really decided, something that’s lingered in my head as a temptation I’d never give into. But something about Alice’s kiss doesn’t feel like it means anything out of the ordinary. We’re not girl and girl here, just two people doing something that feels good, so I dive in with both feet and get lost.
It’s slow, it’s erotic, and her tongue is warm. Kissing her is how I always hoped Max felt when he kissed me, but he never talked about things like that. Never told me what he liked or what I did well, just lazily suggested what he wanted to do next. And the more I kiss Alice, the more that pisses me off. I was a fantastic lover to him, and I’m pretty enough that he shouldn’t have ignored me the way he did. I step into Alice’s embrace, my hands on her hips, pulling her tighter to my body, and let my tongue sweep over her lower lip.
She lets out a faint moan and tilts her head to kiss me deeper, her fingers threading into my hair-sprayed blonde curls, and my fingers spread over the small of her back. It’s hot, my first kiss with a girl, awakening something inside me I didn’t know was there. Here, it doesn’t feel like anything unusual. It feels like what we’re supposed to do, what I came here to do. Kissing Alice is easy, and we flow together, touching just right. She moves her hips, and I move mine back. She grinds me in rhythm, and I stroke both my hands down her sides. We slip into dancing as naturally as two people slip beneath sheets after sex, and when she breaks her kiss and turns around to slide down my body and back up slowly, I glance at the crowd. They’re doing the same thing as us—all of them—desire dripping from the glances they steal at us, and I can’t help but smile, a rush of high lighting me up inside.
The song transitions into another one and Alice spins around, catching me by the waist. Her cheeks are red, her eyes excited, and she bounces as she talks. “You like The Core so far?”
I nod more enthusiastically than I mean to, but her smile brightens in response. “Love it!” I shout over the music, and Alice plants a quick kiss on my cheek.
“This is the kind of place where everyone has fun,” she says against my cheek, close to my ear so I can hear. “Everyone. If you want, I can introduce you to some friends of mine.”
I pull back to take in her expression, and her gaze is heated as she searches my eyes. “Friends?”
“No pressure,” she’s quick to say. “This is all just fun. No strings, no drama. But it’s all gonna feel good, I promise.”
I inhale the aroma of her and the place: a mix of perfumes, sweat, and alcohol. And though she hasn’t quite spelled it out for me, I don’t need her to. We’re talking about sex; I can feel it in the air, like a scent. If I meet Alice’s friends, I’m gonna get laid tonight.
“I need another shot first,” I say.
Alice grins and tugs me a
long by the hand. At the bar, she orders two shots of vodka, and we don’t pay for them. I figure she must know that body-builder-slash-bartender. Or maybe she works here... nothing would surprise me, at this point. My heart flutters with anticipation. I haven’t stepped out of my little, struggling-forward world like this before, and The Core is so unique, so alive, that it’s another world altogether. Hell, it’s another universe, one where I can dance, touch, and taste life in so many ways. The music thrums through me, enhancing my buzz, as I watch Alice’s toned arms stretch over the bar to take our drinks.
We clink glasses and down the shots, and a few passersby greet Alice. She pulls me over to a booth where a guy sits alone wearing a short-sleeved button-down shirt, watching the action. He sets his drink down as we approach, a slow smile creeping across his lips, and it’s as though he’s appraising me with his gaze, scanning up and down my body. I swallow hard, feeling exposed, but in an enticing way that makes me want to show him more.
“Shaun!” Alice shouts, jumping into his lap. Her energy is so natural, not fake like other girls I’ve met who look as drop-dead fabulous as Alice does. He pulls her close and kisses her deep, and she breaks the kiss to turn and gesture to me. “I want you to meet my friend Shaun,” she says, her eyes glowing with what I can only guess is arousal, as Shaun rubs her arms and gazes at me, a curious smile on his lips.
I reach out and take his hand, his tanned skin a contrast to mine, which nearly glows in the black light. Vodka is highlighting my system an inch at a time, and I like the way our colors look together... his, tan and seductive against mine, bright and eager.
“I’m Andee,” I say, shaking his hand. He tugs and I stumble into the booth, laughing, not afraid because Alice is totally relaxed. I don’t know why, but I trust her. Even though everything about this is crazy, it doesn’t feel like a bad insanity.