Love So Dark: Billionaire Romance Duet

by Stasia Black

  For a second when the bouncer eyes each of our passes, I’m sure they’re fakes and we’ll all get rejected. After all, how reliable is it that Jamaal just happens to be friends with a guy who knows the owner? Now that I think about it, it seems pretty sketchy to me. Not to knock Jamaal, but this place is super swank.

  But within seconds, the bouncer has the velvet rope raised and is ushering us through.

  “Sweet,” Lydia says as she heads into the club. Totally echoing my thoughts. Way to go Jamaal.

  “I have a good feeling about tonight,” she continues.

  “Maybe you’ll meet somebody,” I lift and drop my eyebrows at her several times.

  “Ha,” she says, then holds her hands up dramatically. “Oh please, ye club gods and goddesses. Let the perfect single woman be inside looking for love just like me. And let her have a thing for small, athletic women with sub-standard hair weaves and half a college education!”

  “Oh shut up. You make a great living doing what you love,” I shoulder bump her. “And your hair looks fabulous. YOU are fabulous.”

  Lydia just got the weave done a couple weeks ago, after a recent breakup. She said she felt like the extensions she previously had looked cheap. I thought she looked great, but God knows I get how refreshed a new look can make you feel. We all need it sometimes. It still seems crazy to me the always kick-ass Lydia could feel self-conscious about anything.

  I’m not lying either about her looking fabulous. My girl looks hot with glossy, layered hair down to her mid-back, perfectly applied makeup and bright, intelligent brown eyes. And oh yeah, did I forget to mention the kick-ass minidress that shows off her wickedly toned arms and thighs? Teaching self-defense and kickboxing classes at the local gym will do that for a gal.

  She closes her eyes and then looks back up at me. “You know what? You’re right. I am fabulous. And screw anybody who can’t see that.”

  She grins at me, her genuine smile that shows all her teeth. There’s the Lydia I know and love. It just threw her for a loop when she and her girlfriend of eleven months broke up a few weeks ago. We’ve had several Ben & Jerry’s action movie binge nights. No chick flicks for these ladies. No, the more blood, guts, gore, and explosions the better. And Lydia’s not the kind of girl to spend hours doing postmortems of everything she thinks went wrong with the relationship.

  Which was good because then she might have expected me to reciprocate. Lydia knows there was a guy who I thought for a while might be the guy. And that things went bad right before she met me. She got super pissed when I mentioned him and started crying one of those nights when the wine had been flowing, bullets were flying on screen, and I broke down.

  She thought he was the reason I showed up in her self-defense class. No matter how much I tried not to think about Jackson, I couldn’t bear to have her believing that. Not about him. He was so good and amazing and—

  I cut off the train of thought. How the fuck did I start thinking about this anyway? My sister Shannon is always talking about meditation now that her boyfriend’s this Zen master guy. She says the hard part is stilling your thoughts because they’re not only running a hundred miles an hour, they’re chaotic like a puppy. One second here, the next there. You can barely grab hold of them and then they’re gone again.

  Trying as hard as I have these past few months not to think about certain shit, I wonder if there’s not something to what she’s saying. Well, I don’t know if frickin’ meditation is the answer.

  Me? I go for the grown-up version of shiny toys. Distraction. Get my mind off it. I take Lydia’s hand and drag her farther into the club.

  Already I can see the flashing lights. Bonnie grabs my arm and starts jumping up and down. I don’t know how the hell she manages on those heels she’s wearing, but there she goes, making her boobs bounce with great effect. This is not lost on Jamaal, who’s staring at his girlfriend’s chest like all the answers to the questions of the universe can be found there.

  Aww, even him ogling her is cute. They’ve been together how many years? And he still can’t take his eyes off her.

  When the small, dark entryway finally opens into the main club area, it’s fucking insane. Laser lights flash out from the raised platform at the front of the room where a DJ spins. Music blasts from a speaker that feels like it’s right above me.

  People dance everywhere, illuminated only by the flashing lights and columns throughout the room that are studded with tiny neon lights like constellations of stars. The lasers scatter across the crowd in patterns that match the beat of the music. More lights spin and flash from the giant chandelier that hangs over the center of the dance floor.

  Even with the alternating lights, though, the atmosphere is dark. Heavy. Sensual. Immediately, it makes me want to go on the prowl.

  But damn, that’s not what tonight is about.

  “Isn’t this great?” Bonnie grabs my arm and screams to be heard in my ear.

  I wince and shrug out of her grasp. Suddenly I wish I hadn’t taken her up on her offer, VIP passes or not. My eyes keep getting caught by everyone dancing on the floor. Yeah the line was long outside, but I could’ve handled the wait. This place… My gaze continually wanders back to all the bodies pulsing on the dance floor to the music.

  Like that hot guy over there, dancing by himself. I bet he wouldn’t mind following me to a dark corner… My gaze strays to the wall. The club is huge and from what I’ve heard, even has multiple levels.

  So many places to get lost—

  “Cals?” Lydia asks loudly. I jerk my gaze away from scanning the edges of the dance floor to look at her. From the expression on her face, it seems like she might have been trying to get my attention for a while.

  Fuck. What am I doing? This is exactly why I didn’t come here alone. I didn’t want to deal with any of my messed up shit tonight.

  “Yeah?” I zero in my attention on Lydia.

  “Jamaal said the VIP section is up there,” she shouts, pointing to some roped off stairs that lead to the extended loft-like balcony that circles above the first floor. I saw all about it on the documentary I watched last year.

  It’s a VIP section with a smaller dance floor and small exclusive rooms that can be rented out. All of it overlooks the central dance floor and whoever’s performing or DJ’ing for the night. As we head toward the stairs, I realize just how crazy it is that Jamaal got these passes.

  At the top of the stairs are more columns lit with dotted neon lights. They aren’t an obnoxious neon, just a barely-there scattering of light. Without the laser light show flashing directly in your face like it is downstairs, these columns make it almost feel like you’re dancing among stars.

  The pumping music rattles through my entire being more up here on the suspended platform. I know it’s safe. There might be empty space underneath the floor beneath my feet, but the columns beside me run all the way through, from the ceiling above down through the platform all the way to the floor below that. You know, as columns do. I’m sure we’re very secure and it’s all an illusion of danger. But still, when the floor shakes beneath your feet with every beat of the bass, it adds a sense of wildness and thrill to each moment.

  A waitress in a pair of silver glittery mini-overalls and high heels that rival Bonnie’s in death-defiance pauses when she sees us standing at the top of the stairs. “Would you like to open a tab?”

  Jamaal starts to pull his wallet out of the back of his pants. Lydia and I do the same, though we grab our credit cards from our bras.

  “Nah, ladies, I got this tonight,” Jamaal tries to say.

  Lydia and I both shake our heads firmly.

  “Thanks,” I say, “but I’ve got a policy, even when it comes to friends.” I smile so I don’t come off looking like a dick. I hand my card to the waitress. “Double vodka tonic.”

  Lydia rolls her eyes at me and orders a Sex on the Beach.

  “Seriously, you have got to start ordering better drinks,” she says, eyeing the people around
us and not bothering to hide that she’s sizing them up. “You think anyone overhearing you ordering a vodka tonic is gonna think, now damn, there’s a girl who lives on the wild side?”

  I roll my eyes right back at her. “And you’ve got to stop ordering drinks based solely on their names. Do you even like how that thing tastes?”

  Lydia cracks a grin and raises her hand in a so-so gesture. I shake my head at her and we all head to the banister to look down at the revelers below while we wait for our drinks.

  It’s just a few minutes before the waitress is back with our cocktails. Gotta say, service in this place is impressive. Maybe it’s just for VIPs, but still. I’ve never gotten my drink so fast.

  I take a sip and it’s good. I raise my eyebrows and nod at Lydia. She seems similarly impressed with her drink. She certainly downs it fast enough.

  I laugh at her, but I drink mine just as quickly. The club soda is just enough to take the bite off the vodka. I did come here with a plan tonight after all.

  Get drunk. Dance. Forget my life for a while.

  Have fun.

  I know, a fucking foreign concept for me.

  Bonnie and Jamaal must be on a similar page because in the blink of an eye, their drinks are gone too. We pile our empty glasses on the tray of a passing waitress and then Bonnie throws her arms around Jamaal’s neck and starts grinding her body against his in what I can only call a loose attempt to mirror the beat of the music. The next minute they disappear into the thick of the crowd.

  The dance floor here isn’t large—it’s just built on an extended rectangular platform that overlooks the light show below. It’s not as packed as the downstairs, but it’s busy.

  Lydia laughs at Bonnie and Jamaal and then grabs my hand to pull me in after them. I give in to her tugging and follow her. Already, I can feel the vodka lighting up my veins and loosening me. My limbs feel lighter. More liquid.

  Lydia starts dancing and she’s fabulous. Like, she’s actually taken lessons. Started out with ballet when she was a little girl and then when she got older, she did contemporary and jazz. Now she just does whatever the hell she wants. Hip-hop, whatever. She does Lydia.

  At the moment, she’s bustin’ it all out. I dance beside her, just appreciating the beauty of her movement. She embodies the music. In her hips. Up to her torso. In her chest and out through her arms. She pops her hips back sharply and drops to the ground. The next second she’s back up and a sensuous wave works through her entire body, shoulders to knees. I whistle and clap and I’m not the only one.

  She does a three-sixty spin on her heels before brushing some non-existent lint off her shoulders and continuing on. I laugh more and it feels so good, so goddamn good that I throw my head back and dance and dance and dance.

  We keep at it for another twenty minutes. Several guys try approaching Lydia and she smoothly shuts them down each time, most often by coming over to me. We start dancing seductively together for a while and most guys get the picture. They aren’t welcome.

  Well, except for a couple that just start whistling louder. One actually tries to move in between us like he thinks he’s gonna be the meat in our girl sandwich. Lydia not-so-accidentally stomps on his foot. She’s a self-defense instructor, so she knows exactly where to land to make it hurt. He jumps away from us so fast, shouting something we can’t hear above the beat of the music. Probably a good thing if he wanted to leave with his balls intact. Things stay copacetic after that.

  God, I love Lydia. She’s always so kick-ass.

  A redhead who’s been dancing near us pulls out some sweet moves. She sidles a little nearer and starts to breakdance. There’s just a small space that opens up in the crowd, but she still manages to show off some wicked skills.

  Lydia slows down her own dancing, bobbing her head to the beat as she watches the redhead. Red culminates with a headspin and then does one of those body flips to get back to her feet. Day-um. I clap fervently. Most people in the surrounding circle are equally appreciative.

  Red’s only got eyes for Lydia, though, her crop top covered chest heaving hard. She grins at my friend and then dips her head, hand held out.

  A challenge.

  Lydia’s grin deepens further than I swear I’ve ever seen it. She steps forward into the small, empty circle as the redhead retreats into the crowd.

  Lydia starts dancing and absolutely kills it with some crazy-ass moves. She’s wearing combat boots but fuck me if she doesn’t go up on the toe of the damn things and do a fuckin’ pirouette like she’s a prima ballerina.

  Then she drops down into the splits. Oh, damn! My inner thighs hurt just looking at her! Good thing she opted for sparkly leggings underneath her oversized T-shirt dress. She’s got that crazy-ass giant grin on her face as she somehow slides up from the splits and keeps on dancing.

  The small crowd around us bursts into applause when she finishes. The redhead looks similarly impressed. And if I don’t miss my mark, Red also looks completely turned on. I smile as the crowd melts together again and everyone starts dancing.

  Lydia approaches Red and they begin talking. Good for Lydia. Maybe tonight’s the night she’ll meet the great love of her life after all. Or at least get a fabulous hook up out of it. Red looks just as athletic as Lydia.

  I laugh to myself as I move away to give them space to get to know each other. The DJ transitions into an upbeat dance track and my body starts to move with the beat. I don’t make the mistake of closing my eyes like last night. No, I’m ever aware of all the people dancing around me. If I see any guys eyeing me who look like the kind to approach uninvited, I flash them Angry Bitch Face, which pretty quickly switches off the light of interest.

  And really, it’s not that bad, not in an uptown crowd like this. I watch others lose themselves in the way I wish I could. Sweat-slicked bodies grind against one another. Just to the left of me, a dark-haired man holds a woman to him, her back to his chest, his one hand slung around to caress her bare stomach while he grinds into her from behind. She’s totally into it. This is not an unwelcome position to her like it would be for me. Her head is thrown back on his shoulder, mouth open, arm lifted and hand buried in his hair as she slithers back and forth against him.

  My mouth dries just watching them. They’re all but fucking, right here on the dance floor. I turn away from them but everywhere I look, couples dance in similar positions. Knees nudged between thighs. Hands on asses. Bodies hunting for friction. And below it all, the music—a sensual, rasping vocal over a deep bass that rings through every speaker and up through the floor.

  My panties get slicker with each passing moment. I glance behind me. I can’t see Lydia or Red. My head swings back around and before I even realize what I’m doing, my gaze searches out men who aren’t coupled up yet. The ones who don’t look like douche bags or overly aggressive assholes.

  Immediately, I see a couple potentials.

  That slim blond guy who’s laughing while he dances with some friends. All his friends are paired up, but he’s alone. Then, a little bit further out toward the fringes of the crowd is a dark-haired guy who’s a really bad dancer. He keeps bopping his shoulders slightly after the beat. He looks awkward as hell, but in the occasional flashes of light from below, I think I can make out that he’s good looking. I’d have to get closer to really tell.

  I glance back and forth between him and the blond guy. Hmm, blond guy seems good-natured and he’s with friends so that means he’s not too creepy. But dark-haired guy seems nervous and awkward, and that’s always endearing as hell. I could be his equivalent of a knight in shining armor. Or, you know, chick in a tight mini-dress who’ll give him a hot fuck in the dark corner of a club. Po-tate-o Po-tah-to.

  I start to head toward the dark-haired guy when my step falters.

  Wait. What the fuck am I doing? Tonight’s not supposed to be about this. At all. Remember last night? How quick that went from zero to super fucked up?

  I stand in suspended animation, wracked with indeci
sion. Tonight is supposed to be low key. Fun. Just hanging with friends. No stress. Just spending time with Lydia and Bonnie. Maybe I get a little plastered. Laugh my ass off. Share an Uber on the way home.

  My chest vibrates. What the—?

  Oh. Right. My phone.

  I pull it out of my bra and see a text from Lydia.

  LYDIA: Hitting things off with Shayna. You mind heading home solo?

  Wow, that was fast. Lydia’s usually pretty cautious about who she lets into her life. At the same time, just the other day she was telling me how sex-starved she was, so maybe she just really needs that itch scratched tonight.

  ME TO LYDIA: No probs. Have a blast and be safe, gorgeous.

  LYDIA: You too xx

  I smile and shake my head at the phone, then drop it back in my bra. Even before I’ve really decided what to do next, my eyes start searching out Mr. Adorably Awkward.

  But dammit—I frown and crane my neck—he’s not there anymore. I mean, not that I was definitely going to go try something with him. That’s not what I was about. Really. It wasn’t. But now that Lydia’s got a hook up and Bonnie is with Jamaal, well…

  I stretch my neck, trying to peer over people’s heads to see if I can find him again. I work my way through the crowd, halfway dancing to the music so I don’t look super weird. But when I get to the spot that I’m sure Adorable was standing in, there’s no dark hair. No cute awkward body bopping slightly offbeat.

  I deflate a little.

  It wasn’t like I was married to the idea or anything.

  I dance for a few minutes, halfheartedly.

  My mind keeps spinning thoughts. It’s just, maybe getting with guys is my way of letting off some steam. And there’s nothing really wrong with it. It’s a Friday night. I’m single. I have a stressful life. People hook up all the time. Even Lydia. So what?

  And okay, so maybe Lydia doesn’t like, get off on doing it in public, but people have all kinds of, you know, things they like with sex. So what if that’s my thing?

  It’s fuckin’ hot. Lots of people think so. And sure, maybe last night got out of hand. But I can keep that from happening again. I’m the one in control. Nothing bad would’ve really happened with the knife. A girl has to protect herself. It was all fine.