Jannah
"Would this be a perfect moment to steal you from your friends?"
His voice brushes against my ear like velvet-low, warm, with the faintest tease of a grin in it. I tilt my head, and there he is-Mr. Blondie. Standing confidently, hands casually stuffed in his pockets, like he's too cool to pose but too deliberate not to. He's got the kind of smile that makes promises it doesn't intend to keep, and his eyes-liquid gold in the strobing club lights-scan my face like he's memorizing it. There's a flicker of amusement in them, but also heat. Calculated heat.
I glance at Anastasia and Kait, guilt instantly gnawing at the edge of my fun. This was supposed to be a girls' night-heels, glitter, bad decisions we'd laugh about tomorrow. And now here I am, caught between two men and a moral dilemma. I knew that dance was too much. I practically flung my body into the ocean and waited for the sharks to circle.
My so-called best friend and friend flash matching thumbs-ups, grinning like two perfectly aligned molars in a toothpaste commercial. Useless. I shoot them a death glare before turning back to Blondie, who hasn't moved an inch-still watching me like he already knows the ending of our story.
"They don't seem to mind," he nods toward the traitors I call friends.
I know I should say no. Every introvert cell in my body is begging me to fake a phone call or develop an imaginary allergy to alcohol. But instead, I find myself nodding, lips betraying my better judgment.
"Yes..." My brow lifts, unsure why I said it but rolling with it anyway.
He catches my tone and lets out a smooth, knowing laugh. "Lyle. And you are?"
"She's Jannah!" Anastasia's voice cuts through the music like a fire alarm and makes us both flinch. I squint at her. How does she even hear us over this noise? Then I remember-mime artist. Lip-reading freak.
"It's her secret talent," I tell Lyle with a sheepish smile.
He nods, eyebrows raised like that somehow answers everything. "I wanted to talk to you earlier," he says, stepping a little closer, his cologne mixing with the scent of citrus and expensive leather. "But it looked like someone else beat me to it."
His eyes drop to my lips for a beat too long, like he's debating whether to say something charming or downright inappropriate. I'm supposed to blush, giggle maybe-feel desired. But all I can think of is Aaron. The way he stared at me. Like my lips were... distracting. Then disapproving. Cold, critical. Honest.
Lyle's gaze feels like a fox stalking a rabbit. Aaron's stare felt like a storm cloud watching you from a window.
I blink and glance at my nails, pretending I care about imaginary dust. "I knew you'd be back."
His eyes widen slightly, impressed-probably thinks I'm psychic or seductive or both.
"Oh? You did?" he grins.
I didn't. He looked like he was rethinking his life choices the second I made eye contact. But I don't say that. I'm too tired for honesty.
"The guy who owns this place was checking you out," Lyle says, motioning his drink toward the second floor. "Made me think twice before coming over. I'm brave, not suicidal. The way he glared at me? Man."
He lets out a low whistle and sips his drink, brow furrowed like he's recalling war trauma.
Wait-What?Aaron owns this club? The Grid? The biggest, bougiest, most impossible-to-get-into club in the city? That explains the nerve. That smirk. That audacity.
"You mean Aaron?" I ask casually, even though my blood's heating like an overheated car. "Well... good thing you're not just anyone." I let my lashes drop slightly, trailing my eyes across his jawline and down his torso like I care. I don't. But I can fake it. Girls have Oscars for less.
He chuckles and rubs the stubble on his jaw, the sound dry like desert wind. "Yeah, well, I'd rather stay off Aaron's blacklist. I've heard stories."
His tone shifts. There's something under it. Not fear. Not quite respect either. Something colder.
"Aaron has a blacklist?" I lift a brow.
Lyle laughs, but it's stiff. "Guy's got eyes everywhere. Runs this place like a silent god. People fall in line."
I blink slowly. That explains the vibe. The tension in the air every time Aaron's around, like everyone's waiting for lightning to strike.
"Let's forget about him." Lyle leans in slightly, lowering his voice. "So, what brings a gorgeous girl like you to my corner of the universe?"
I take a step back, pressing a palm to my stomach where the nausea of boredom begins to swirl.
"Nothing serious. Just a girl unwinding. I'm here for my friend's best friend." I clap once, the sound awkward even to me, and offer a lopsided smile.
Whatever devil possessed me to do that over-sexual dance earlier has clearly vacated my body. I'm back in software mode-low energy, glitchy responses, buffering brain.
My attention starts drifting. Lyle's words blur into background noise, like raindrops tapping a closed window. I catch myself saying, "Huh?" and "What was that?" while pointing at my ear like I care.
I laugh when I think I should, but it's fake, brittle, unconvincing. Truth is, I don't give a damn about a single syllable spilling from his lips. The second Aaron vanished into the shadows, something inside me shut off. The only reason I'm still here is because it's Kait's birthday-and because walking out would feel like letting him win.
My eyes scan the crowd. Neon lights flicker like lazy fireworks. Music thumps against my chest, rattling bones and breaking focus. Then I spot it.
There's a spiral staircase tucked in the far-left corner, polished railings glowing under soft blue light. A thick pane of glass separates the level above-subtle, elite, off-limits. The VIP section.
Lyle follows my gaze. "That's the VIP lounge. Want to check it out?"
I turn to him slowly. His pupils are dilated, swallowing the hazel in his eyes, and I see my reflection there-shimmering, unreadable. He doesn't just want to show me the lounge. He wants to show me the bed.
I force a smile and shake my head. "I'm good here."
But my attention flicks back to the stairs-and there he is. Aaron. In the glass-enclosed heaven. His body angled intimately toward a brunette with skyscraper legs. She presses her hands to his chest. Her eyes rising slowly before her red lips graze his. Then-she kisses him. Feathery. Possessive.
He smirks.
And squeezes her ass.
I freeze. I feel it-rage, something black and sharp curling in my gut like smoke. My nails dig into my palm. I shouldn't care. I shouldn't. He's not mine. But the bastard was acting like he could control me. What was all that talk about not flirting with strangers? The thought alone makes me choke on a scoff. I'm pretty sure he just met that girl.
Fucking hypocrite.