4 - The Club

Sloane POV

—

The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains far later than I was used to, burning into my eyes and dragging my from a deep, dream-filled sleep. I groaned, rolling onto my side and squinting at the alarm clock. Oh God. Late.

Lila was already up, tossing clothes across the floor and humming a tune I didn’t recognize. “You alive?” Lila called, glancing toward my bed.

I groaned again, shoving the blankets off and swinging my legs to the floor. My head throbbed lightly from the late-night anticipation, and a small, guilty part of me admitted I’d napped poorly after pacing around my room, thinking about the club and the party tonight. Especially the fact that I won’t be able to see the face of the man I picks to have fun with.

“Barely,” I muttered. “Why is morning sunlight so aggressive?” I stumbled to the bathroom, my reflection a mix of sleep and faint panic. My hair stuck out in every direction. Normally, I’d pull it into a messy bun and call it a day. But today… Today was different.

I stared at the curling iron with a mix of suspicion and excitement. The last time I had used one had been years ago, probably before my first semester of high school. My fingers trembled slightly as I picked it up, twisting a strand around the barrel. The heat hissed faintly, and I jumped back a little before steadying myself.

The curl fell perfectly, bouncing slightly at the ends. I blinked at myself in the mirror. I barely recognized my own reflection. This wasn’t the messy, practical girl who usually scurried from class to class, notebook in hand. This was someone… different. Someone who might just turn heads tonight.

Lila poked her head into the bathroom again, phone in hand. “Oh. Wow. Look at you. The real Sloane Mercer emerges.”

I rolled my eyes, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Don’t start.” I flipped another strand around the curling iron, watching the subtle transformation take shape. “It’s just hair. And a little eyeliner. That’s all. No big deal.”

Lila snorted. “Right. No big deal. Except, you know, you look like a completely different person who actually cares about how she presents herself. It’s shocking.”

I laughed softly, letting the tension in my shoulders ease as I finished curling my hair. I brushed through the curls lightly, letting them fall in soft waves around my face. It was liberating in a strange way. Messy buns were practical, yes, but this… this felt fun. Rebellious, even.

By the time we had both finished getting ready, Lila in some glittering dress that reflected the fluorescent lights in the room, me in a sleek and short bodycon that clung just enough to make me feel powerful, they were buzzing with anticipation. Shoes, clutch, final touches of makeup, a quick spray of perfume, and the night awaited.

As they stepped out of the dorm, the cool evening air hit them, carrying the distant thrum of music from the city streets. I gripped Lila’s arm, heart quickening. Tonight wasn’t just a party. It was freedom. It was indulgence. It was an experiment in pleasure and rebellion. And despite my lingering tension, a flicker of thrill sparked in my chest.

The cab ride to the club was a blur of laughter, last-minute nerves, and giggles over their outfits. I could feel my pulse in my throat, anticipation coiling through my body like electricity. I tried to ignore the knot of tension I still carried from my week with Dalton, but it refused to release. It wasn’t fear, exactly... more like… unresolved heat, something sharp that refused to be ignored.

As the cab pulled up outside the club, the pounding bass vibrated through the metal doors, a siren call that sent my heart racing. I took a deep breath, smoothing down my dress and running a hand through the curls I still couldn’t quite believe I had the patience to create. Tonight, I reminded myself, I would let go. Tonight, I would indulge myself fully, lose myself in music, lights, and laughter.

Lila shot me a mischievous grin as they stepped inside, the warm, dimly lit club immediately enveloping them. “Ready to dance, stress be damned?” she asked, as she lifted her mask to her face and tightened the strap

I nodded, letting myself be swept up by the energy around me. The night had just begun.

—

The first sip of my cocktail was like a spark. Sweet, strong, and slightly dangerous, it slid down my throat and loosened the tension that had been coiled in my shoulders all week. Lila was already laughing at the bartender, flirting in that effortlessly confident way she always had, and I couldn’t help but smile at my friend’s energy.

They claimed a spot near the bar, tossing back another round of drinks before the thumping bass from the club’s speakers made my chest vibrate. The lights were dimmed, colored beams slicing through the haze, and for the first time in days, I felt the weight of school, of Dalton, of every lingering worry, begin to melt.

“Come on,” Lila said, grabbing my hand. “You’re not going to sit here all night. Let’s hit the dance floor.”

I laughed, feeling a nervous thrill as they wove their way between bodies swaying to the rhythm. The heat of the crowd, the pulse of the music, it all made my skin tingle. I let myself move freely, hips and arms responding instinctively, my earlier tension giving way to a heady mix of exhilaration and intoxication.

A few guys approached, asking me to dance, and I indulged them, twirling and laughing, feeling my confidence grow with each sway of my hips. Yet, none of them sparked the fire that seemed to hum beneath my skin. None of them made me pulse quicken or my stomach twist in the way I secretly craved.

My gaze kept drifting, almost irresistibly, to a taller man near the bar. He was leaning against the counter, whiskey in hand, silhouette sharp even in the dim light. Something about him... his posture, the slow deliberate way he sipped his drink, the sharp line of his jaw, pulled my attention with magnetic force. There was a heat in my chest, a stirring of anticipation I hadn’t felt in a long time.

I found myself making excuses to drift closer, pretending to sip my drink while subtly observing him. I noticed the way he scanned the room, the slight cock of his head, and the faint furrow between his brows when someone brushed past. There was something different about him. Dangerous, commanding… intoxicating.

Finally, I gathered my nerve, weaving through the dance floor toward him. The bass thumped in my chest as I approached, each step measured yet instinctively fluid. When I reached the bar, I signaled the bartender and ordered another drink, a cocktail that screamed daring, unexpected, something that felt like it belonged in a story I hadn’t written yet.

He turned slightly as I sat next to him, just enough for me to catch the flash of piercing eyes that seemed to cut straight through me. He lifted his glass, taking another slow sip of whiskey on ice, and I couldn’t help but notice the deliberate, almost predatory way he studied me.

I rolled my eyes, smirking despite the heat that bloomed in my stomach. “Whiskey on ice,” I said lightly, voice teasing. “How basic.”

He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Basic, perhaps,” he said slowly, “but there’s something… reliable about it. It tells you exactly what to expect.”

I leaned a little closer, letting the music pulse through me in sync with my heartbeat. “Reliable, huh? That’s one word for it. I prefer something with a little bite, a little edge. Keeps things interesting.”

“Edge,” he repeated, tilting his head, “you like to challenge expectations?”

I smirked, letting my gaze linger on him. “Always. Keeps life… exciting. Don’t you think?”

A corner of his mouth lifted, faintly amused. “And yet… you seem familiar. Something about you feels… known.” His voice was smooth, dark, and it sent shivers along my spine.

My lips curved into a teasing smile, leaning slightly closer. “Familiar, huh? Maybe you’ve imagined me before,” I said, letting the innuendo hang just enough to spark curiosity. “Or maybe you’re just lucky enough to meet someone who knows exactly how to entertain myself at a club.”

He studied me for a moment, then chuckled low and deliberate. “Perhaps,” he said, voice like silk over steel. “I should warn you, though… this club has rooms upstairs. Private ones, for… letting off steam.” His gaze sharpened, and the flicker of something wild and dangerous ignited in his eyes. “I just so happen to have access to one of those rooms.”

My pulse raced. “Rooms?” I asked, raising a brow, my voice teasing yet curious.

“Yes,” he replied, leaning just enough to make the scent of his cologne brush against me. “But I’m not a gentle man. I need to… blow off steam in a particular way. Fun, intense, and unforgettable. If you’re willing to take the risk.”

Heat pooled low in my stomach, anticipation and a thrill of defiance curling through me like wildfire. I tilted my head, smirking, letting the tension coil between them. There was something in his presence, something magnetic and dangerous, that made me want… more.

My grip tightened slightly on the glass, my pulse thrumming in time with the music, and a thrill ran down my spine. Tonight was going to be unforgettable.