Page 18 of Dirty (Chicago Underground 5)
Instead the bouncer said, “Go ahead.”
“Me?” I managed to say.
“You in or out?”
“In.” I gestured to Luke. “He’s with me.”
The bouncer gave him a thorough once-over, which Luke returned coolly. The bouncer nodded a grudging approval. We started to slip past the girls, but the blonde one blocked our way.
“Hey, why do they get to go? We’re next in line.”
I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. Naive much, Blondie?
The bouncer’s face was like granite. “Wait here for your turn.”
“This is our turn,” she complained. “No fair.”
No fair? Oh Lord. Then I realized this would be an opportunity to get them booted from the club—maybe my only opportunity.
I drew myself up to full haughtiness. “Let me give you a little life advice. When someone insults you, it’s best not to draw attention to that.”
Two lipsticked mouths fell open, but the blonde recovered first. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Are you confused, sweetheart? I’m the girl getting bumped to the front of the line. You are the loser standing outside.”
Her face turned mottled red. She looked ready to blow.
“Is there a problem?” the bouncer asked.
She stammered. “I… She… Did you hear what she said?”
“Maybe we should just go,” Striped Stockings pleaded.
Blondie’s face twisted into a cross between a sneer and a pout. She was pretty and slender and probably used to getting her way—I should know.
Luke had viewed the whole exchange with the mild amusement typical of a lowlife watching a girl fight, though I didn’t know if that was genuine or part of his act. He stepped forward. “There’s no need to get upset,” he said in an oily voice I hadn’t even known he was capable of. “Nice-looking girls like you two deserve to party. I’ll bring you guys in, get us a table.” He leered rather convincingly. “I’m sure you can think of some way to repay me.”
With a flurry of rushed excuses, Striped Stockings dragged her friend away, out of the line and out of sight.
Turning back to the bouncer, Luke shrugged. “Their loss.”
Chapter Nine
Inside the door, we handed over the IDs to another bouncer who examined them under a bright light. A cold line of sweat ran down my back as I waited. There was no way they would catch them as fakes, and really, they would have known within two seconds. It was almost as if the extended wait, with the guy glancing from me to the card, was designed to elicit a reaction, the telltale heart of underage clubbing.
Finally, he handed back the cards and stamped our hands with Xs. I plunged into the sweaty mass, eager to blend in. Luke was right behind me, his slick fingers entwined with mine. Everywhere I looked, people laughed and frowned, flirted and fucked with their eyes, their words, their hips against hips. Too many people, too little space. We reached an empty back wall, and I melted against it, sucking in the air at the edges of the room.
Luke’s body closed in on me from behind, and we could have been fucking like this, except for the kindness in his touch.
He murmured into my ear. “What’s wrong? If you’re pretending some sort of overdose, it’s very convincing.”
I shook my head. Even the wall shook with the effort of holding this many bodies, but then I realized it was me moaning. Underwater, unable to hear the sound of my own voice except for its vibrations in my throat. Unable to hear anything at all except the rush in my ears. I let the currents pull me, the too-tight grip on my arm like a hook yanking me out of the water. We stumbled together into a bathroom. I staggered back, supporting myself on the ceramic sink. Luke grabbed a dirty mop and slung it through the metal handle, keeping everyone out.
He turned on me. “What the hell happened out there?”
“Sorry,” I muttered. “Freaked out a little.”
“Yeah, I got that. Want to tell me why?”
