Tonight at The Blue Room, the ceiling glows with hundreds of glass bulbs. Midnight fabric drapes overhead, veiled as a night sky. True to its name, everything in the massive club is decked in a shade of blue. The dance floor blinks in teal and the upstairs furniture has navy velveteen chaises and buttoned chairs.
My black shorts stick to my sweaty thighs, and my silver halter dips low in the back but sucks to my clammy skin—the result of cramming two bodies in a bathroom stall. Blue toilet seats? Check. I thought I’d be floating on a high after having sex, but he barely satiated my desires. Plus, the heat makes me feel gross.
I spot Lo at the bar, his jaw tightening as he watches the bartender dart from one end to the other, the counter full of young patrons waiting to be served. Lo looks more peeved than usual, and I notice a blonde in a bandaged red dress sitting on a stool to his left, her long bare legs brushing up against his thigh. He acts oblivious to her advances, keeping his hardened gaze on the liquor bottles that tower behind the bartender.
“Come on, Lo,” I encourage under my breath.
Then a guy sidles up and grabs my waist, dancing behind me. I ignore him, but he tries to move my hips while he rubs his pelvis against me.
The blonde beside Lo bites her lip and runs a hand through her hair flirtatiously. She leans in and says something to him, and I wish I was close enough to hear.
Lo’s eyebrows bunch together, and I already see where the conversation is headed. He replies back and the girl’s face twists in contempt. With venom in her eyes, she retorts something and departs with her blueberry martini in pinched fingers.
I curse and disentangle my dance partner from my backside. Quickly, I rush to the bar and replace the blonde. “What was that?” I ask.
“Go away. I’m busy and bodies are still here that you can fuck.” He takes a large swig of beer, washing down his statement.
I inhale strongly, trying to let his comment brush off my shoulders. Trying to ignore his sudden moodiness. Some days, he can be sexy. Others, he can crush you with a glare. I narrow my eyes at the deep royal bottle in his hand that says Berry Beer. “What the hell are you drinking?” It’s been months since Lo has ingested anything weaker than port wine.
“All their liquor is fucking blue,” he complains. “I’m not drinking blue whiskey. Or blueberry vodka.”
At least I found the source of his agitation. The bartender approaches and I shake my head at him since I still plan on being the sober driver. He takes an order from a couple of other girls by my side instead.
I lean an elbow on the counter, facing Lo. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“I’d offer you a sip, but I don’t know where your mouth has been.”
I glower. “I don’t want your Berry Beer anyway.”
“Good.”
He chugs the bottle and motions for another at a lady bartender. She pops the cap and slides it over.
I take a quick peek back at the electric blue dance floor, and my eyes meet with…
Oh no. I spin back and plant my gaze on the racks of liquor and then bury my head in my hands. Maybe he didn’t see me. Maybe we didn’t make eye contact. Maybe it’s all in my mind!
“Hey, can I buy you a drink?” He touches my shoulder. He’s touching my shoulder. I glimpse from my palm to steal a glance at Lo. He looks detached from the situation, half his leg sliding off the stool, as though ready to go and give me space that he thinks I need.
“I didn’t get your name,” the guy adds. A redheaded girl beside me stands to leave, and I want to scream out for her to come back. Keep your butt in that seat! As she disappears, the guy scoots onto the stool, his body language open for me.
My luck has officially been thrown in the toilet bowl.
I lift my head, avoiding his bushy blond eyebrows and the stubble around his chin. Yep, he’s the guy I led to the bathroom. He’s the one who locked the stall, pulled down my panties, grunted and heard me moan. At least he looks twenty-something, but I can’t discern his exact age. I don’t ask. In fact, I don’t ask anything. My confidence has sputtered out with my climax, and all I feel is the heat of shame blooming across my ears.
I manage to mumble an answer. “My name is Rose.” Albeit a lie.
Lo lets out a short laugh at this, and the guy puts an arm on the bar, leaning forward into my personal space to see my friend. “You two know each other?”
“You could say that,” Lo says, finishing off another beer. He motions to the lady bartender again.
“You’re not her ex or anything, are you?” the guy wonders, easing back just a little. Oh yes, please go away.