Pamorn's eyes darted around the room, drinking in the sight of celebrities and singers mingling freely. Tonight was special—the club had opened its exclusive Dusitia floor to all stars and VIPs, not just the usual super-VIP members. As a die-hard celebrity fanboy, being this close to his idols had Pamorn practically vibrating with excitement.
"Don't you dare slap anyone's ass, Pamorn. Those security giants will toss you out faster than you can blink," Wittawin warned, glancing toward the hulking guards stationed near the super-VIP exit. Something in their stance suggested they remembered him.
"I can't believe we just saw Asumi Nakamura and Seiko Kudo walk right past us—close enough to kiss their cheeks!" Pamorn's voice still trembled with excitement.
"Keep it together. There are cameras everywhere," Wittawin cautioned, his mind drifting to a certain someone who might be watching those closed-circuit feeds from some control room. He still remembered the night that spotlight had "randomly" selected him for super-VIP status.
What a joke.
The guests always got so thrilled when that spotlight swept the crowd, thinking it was pure chance. But Wittawin would bet money that Teeradon had been watching the monitors, pointing directly at him, ordering that beam of light to find its target. This place was too high-tech, and he felt eyes on him constantly. Even when Baramee had dragged him aside for that bathroom conversation, Teeradon's three lackeys had found them instantly—no searching required.
So you want a show? I'll give you one.
"Pamorn, serious question—do you think I'm attractive enough to actually turn heads?" Wittawin asked casually.
Pamorn whipped around, eyes widening before he let out a disbelieving laugh. "Are you drunk? What the hell kind of question is that?"
"Am I good-looking enough to make you question your sexuality?"
"Shut up."
"Come" on, if Baramee's been getting ideas, why not you? Wittawin teased, tugging Pamorn closer by the arm.
"Hey, Win, don't do anything crazy," Pamorn's face flushed. "What did you drink tonight?"
"No idea," Wittawin shook his head, adding a slight slur to his voice. "Just know my face feels burning hot. Strong stuff."
"Don't pass out on me." Pamorn raised his hands to steady his friend, then immediately swiveled to gawk at a Korean actress in a glittering dress who sashayed past. But Wittawin caught Pamorn's face in his hands, forcing eye contact.
"Let's go rest in that room."
"We can get in there?"
"Super-VIP gets us anywhere on this floor."
"Fine, I'll get you settled so you can sober up. Then I'm going celebrity hunting again. Maybe tonight's my lucky night for some sweet, curvy—" Pamorn raised his eyebrows, ogling another Japanese singer who glided by.
Wittawin bit back a smile and shook his head. His friend was getting bolder by the minute. Tonight, he'd definitely be going home alone while Pamorn chased his celebrity fantasies.
***
Teeradon nearly punched his computer screen watching the two young men flirting shamelessly before heading toward The Rommadee—the club's no-smoking sanctuary with oversized private loungers where guests could escape the chaos outside.
Pamorn actually has his arm around Wittawin, completely shameless. And Wittawin's cupping his face like he's about to lean in for a kiss. What exactly are they planning to do in that room? Damn shame The Rommadee doesn't have surveillance cameras.
Well, that changes next week. I'll have them install more.
---
Teeradon stalked out of the club in frustration, heading for the parking garage. He'd initially planned to visit The Rommadee himself, prowling between the sofas to find Wittawin. But his floor manager had reported seeing only one young man—tall, baby-faced—sitting alone. The other had already left.
The Rommadee featured circular sofas two meters in diameter with high backs that curved around most of the seating area. White silk curtains hung like gauzy cocoons around each lounger, with dim lighting creating an intimate, romantic atmosphere perfect for private conversations—or other activities.
The parking garage overflowed with luxury vehicles as always, some double-parked due to space constraints. The Dazzle's lot was so massive it required golf carts to ferry guests to their cars, with valet attendants stationed throughout. When guests emerged from the club's inner doors, staff used radios to coordinate, ensuring their vehicles waited ready at the entrance.
Near the back corner of the inner lot, several high-end motorcycles sit parked. Including that speed demon's blue BMW.
Wittawin had worn a white suit riding that bike here with Pamorn. Claims he wasn't interested in visiting my club, but here he is, clearly trying to make me jealous.
What would happen if Wittawin finished his clubbing and discovered his beloved motorcycle had vanished? The little monkey would probably throw a tantrum and demand I investigate. I'd escort him up to the control room, let him review the security footage after closing time. Just the two of us, alone.
No motorcycle means no speeding away. This time, he'd have to ride behind me on my brand-new bike. I'd gun the engine at full throttle, and he'd have no choice but to wrap his arms tight around my waist, press his face against my back.
This could be interesting.
***