“Hot damn!” Brady stalks over to us, planting a kiss on our cheeks as he grabs us both by the hands. “Do a little spin for me. Show me whatcha got.”
We laugh but twirl as he asked.
“What do you think, Brady? Do we pass?”
“With flyin’ fuckin’ colors.” He grins. “Come on, shots in the kitchen before we head out.”
“I thought our Uber was here?”
“Had to get your fine asses down here somehow,” he admits as he smacks both our butts.
Mason spins as we enter, instantly frowning.
“What the hell?” he snaps. “I swear you want me to go to jail.”
“Chill.” I laugh, shaking my head. “There will be no handcuffs tonight.”
“I mean,” Cam begins, batting her lashes overdramatically. “Unless you want there to be—”
“Okay.” He throws his hands up. “Whatever. Wear a dress that would fit our first-grade neighbor all you want, but I’m gonna need a double for this shit.”
“I got you, my man.” Brady’s grin grows. He sneaks a glance in my direction, mischief written all over him.
He reaches over, running his hand up and down my arm slowly, stopping to rest it on my hip. He uses his other hand to pour my shot, then brings it up to my lips.
“Open up, Ari baby,” he says in a low gravelly tone.
I lock eyes with him, playing his little game, and do as I’m told.
His eyes never leave mine, a laugh on the tip of his tongue as he pours the hot liquid down my throat. Once I’ve swallowed, he reaches up to swipe his thumb across my bottom lip to get the single drop that didn’t make it into my mouth.
“You’re a dick.” Mason groans playfully, and we can’t hold it in, both of us laughing.
“Okay, fucker, enough with the show.” Chase frowns, nodding toward the bottle. “Now pour us a shot so we can get out of here.”
Cam slyly slips a hand behind her back, and I meet her with mine for a secret high five, both of us facing forward, grins pulling at our lips.
Brady claps his hands together. “All right, y’all, to our first night out as legal drinking adults!” He grabs his shot and lifts it in the air. “Well, according to the badass fake IDs I got us anyway!”
“Woo!” Cam shouts.
We click our glasses together in cheers and down our liquor.
“Let’s roll, bitches!” Cam throws over her shoulder on her way to the door.
The four of us follow.
Brady spends the entire ten-minute drive going over the dos and don’ts of what to say and how to act when we pull out our fake IDs, but it turns out his worry is a waste.
The bouncer at the door lets us pass after Cameron smiled at him. She may have also asked him to check the zipper on the back of her dress, but hey, he’s happy to help.
The guys, however, did have to show their IDs, but the Tom Hardy look-alike didn’t blink twice at them, so they must seem legit. That, or he really doesn’t care.
The moment we’re past the threshold, Cam squeals, gripping my arm. “This place is awesome!” she shouts, already moving her body to the music.
The club is a giant circle with an open floor plan. Circular booths with white tables and chairs line the right and left side, with the bar stretching across the back wall. The lighting is dark with a blue tint, but not in a black light kind of way. More of an enchanted, frosty feel. The floor shines a metallic silver, adding to the illusion.
Cameron leads us to a booth near the bar and we sit to have a few drinks.
An hour and three Midori Sours later, my body’s humming and I’m ready to hit the dance floor. To be fair, us girls were ready as soon as we walked in, but the boys wanted to ‘scope out the scene’ first—overprotective brutes.
Contemplating my next move, I look around me. I’m blocked in the booth, Chase on my left, the others on my right, so there’s only one logical direction to go. Logical, but potentially problematic. The liquor in me doesn’t seem to care though, as my ass is lifting off the seat.
I move quickly before I can be stopped and before I chicken out, sliding my body across Chase’s, his every muscle locking up on contact. There isn’t much space between the tables and the seat tops, so the only way to get through the gap is to press my ass into his lap a little, so I do.
Instantly, his hands fly to my hips, and he swiftly pushes me by, carefully setting me on my feet beside the table, his eyes flying to Mason, just before he speaks.
“Could have asked him to move, Ari.” My brother’s glare burns into my cheek.