Parker has already peeled off his mask, the blue lights reflecting off the sink he rested it on. I tug off my own, relief hitting me as the cooler air in the bathroom melts onto my sweaty skin.
“Hell, I can breathe again,” I moan.
Parker laughs, his steel-blue eyes glinting as he pulls two shot glasses out of his pants pocket. I raise my eyebrow at him.
“They’re sanitary, I promise. Got them fresh from the lad at the bar,” he drawls. Parker’s enough of a princess that I believe him. He tears off the plastic and pops off the lid before tipping the amber liquid into the shot glasses, filling them close to the rim.
“Cheers.”
I roll my eyes at him before reaching for my shot glass and clinking it with his. “Cheers,” I say back before downing the liquid. The heat burns down my throat, settling in my chest. I hand the empty glass back to Parker before turning to the mirror. The mask mixing with the heat of the club has my hair sticking to my skin. I give it a quick shake, running my hand through it before turning to my outfit. It’s hot as balls, so I unbutton all but the last four buttons on my red shirt, tucking one side into my ripped black jeans and rolling the sleeves to my elbow.
“Very fuckboi, I like it,” Parker croons over my shoulder.
I give him a light elbow back into his bare chest. “Like you can say anything.”
His floral blue short-sleeve shirt has been open all night, which he paired with a pair of white jeans. White jeans. In a club.
“It’s what the ladies like.” He winks at me. “We have to give them a show.”
He says that, and yet the likelihood of him bringing a girl home is astronomically lower than Jackson and me. The kid acts like he is a baller, but he’s a romantic at heart. He’ll flirt with every girl, but he’ll never go any further. Jackson, on the other hand, will probably head somewhere else after this and find someone warm for the night. Me? Depending on the night, I would’ve headed downstairs to find some girl to bring up to this bathroom for an hour and called it. But now, the idea makes me sick. It turns the tequila in my stomach. My head has been taken over by a slinky brunette. She’s eaten her way into my mind, burrowed herself so deep that I don’t know how to get her out.
I shot her our nightly good night text earlier but haven’t heard back yet, which is weird. She’s normally in bed way before me. God, I sound like a simp.
Parker hands me another shot, and I down it before tossing it back his way. He catches it against his own empty glass and clinks them against the handle.
“One more for the road? Doubt we’ll be able to get in here again before we need to leave.”
I eye my phone. It’s just hit midnight, which means everyone who isn’t here is about to be. How have we only been here an hour? It feels like a lifetime, and we can’t leave until at least one.
“Fuck it, why not?”
He shoots me his trademark grin and fills up our shots. I’ve honestly never met someone who can hold their liquor like Parker. The guy isn’t even as built as Jackson and me, but damn he is a machine. I wouldn’t be surprised if a quarter of his blood was actually champagne at this point.
I down the final shot, the collective warmth of all the tequila building deep in me. I feel a bit looser now, though I doubt any of the alcohol has made it into my bloodstream already.
“Alright, back to battle,” I joke.
“After you, Captain,” he tosses back, pocketing the shot glasses in his jeans again. We reach for our masks and, reluctantly, put them back on. I love the damn things, but I also hate them. The world plunges into red, and I give my body a shake, becoming Blade once again.
We push out of the bathroom only to be greeted by someone yelling in our faces.
“What do you mean it’s occupied? Do you know who I am? I’m Daniel-fucking-Decker.”
Hell.
My mood instantly plummets as I stare at the disgruntled redhead in front of me, his hair gelled within an inch of its life, gold watch glinting in the lights as he flicks his fist holding a vape toward us.
I know, logically, that there is no way he will just let us pass him without a fight, but still I try. I weave past the security guard, Parker on my tail. I make it past Decker when his hand shoots out and grips Parker’s shoulder before snatching the tequila from his hands.
“Seriously? What were you two doing in there? Making out and taking shots? Guess that makes sense. You guys are probably all screwing each other. Not like you can get any chicks with those freakish masks on.”
My patience hangs by a thread. It’s always hanging by a thread when it comes to Decker.
I spin back around and rip the tequila from him, tucking it under my arm.
“So, what if we are? Got something against that, Decker? Afraid of a little dick? Although, in English’s case, little is a bit offensive,” I lean closer, “or maybe you’re just projecting?”
He pushes back from me, spluttering.
“The hell do you mean?”
“I’ve gone a couple rounds before, wouldn’t mind showing you the ropes.” I wish I could wink at him right now. Damn mask.
“Fuck you, Blade.” He shoulders past Parker and me, heading into the bathroom.
“Only if you ask nicely enough,” I throw back. Decker slams the door behind him, and Parker slings an arm around my neck.
“Love you, mate. But if you fucked Decker, I would really have to reevaluate our friendship.”
I laugh and drag him along with me back through the growing crowd to our table.
“I’d sooner dip my dick in acid than Decker’s ass.”
We make it to the table and claim our spots next to Jackson again. The VIP area has gotten noticeably busier since we left. I count a few more familiar faces, including Allison’s best friend, Deer—her pink hair stands out at the edge of our booth. I slide the Don Julio to them.
“All yours.”
Lee tosses me a giant smile. “Always the gentlemen.”
Jackson pours them both a shot from the glasses piled on our table. They down them quicker than Parker and I did, Lee scrunching up her face while Deer laughs at her.
“You need to get better at that.”
Lee sticks her tongue out at her best friend.
I twist away from them. Looking over the edge, the dance floor is rife with moving bodies. I watch the different colors bleed as everyone grinds on each other. Groups of girls bounce up and down, their heels slamming into the floor as their curves sway to the music. Men on the outskirts eye them while throwing back shots and chugging beers, but bouncers watch them in turn. It’s a recipe for controlled debauchery. Sin and pleasure seeps into the air, every moving body drunk off the taste. It’s a riot to watch.
My veins warm up as my body loosens. The shots are working their way through my system, and my foot starts to tap to the bass pounding through the venue. I’m about to turn back around when two girls catch my eye. I don’t know how I pick them out from up here, but my eyes zero in on them.
They’re holding each other’s hands as they weave through the throng of bodies to the bar. The girl with the purple dress and mocha skin pushes her way through the waiting customers to the front of the bar, waving her fingers to one of the bartenders. A guy walks over, depositing two shots in front of her and then motions up to the VIP section, handing her two wristbands. I watch as she looks up, almost exactly at me, and smiles. She flicks her white braids over her shoulders and shimmies back out of the crowd to the brunette, handing her the shot. The brunette turns around to her friend, accepting the liquor with confidence. She throws her head back, and when I see her face, the club falls away.