Romans & histoires A Collection Of Poems

I stared at it without touching it. "If you're still thinking the same thing after you leave this bar..." Damian continued, "...come." "No pressure," Damon added calmly. "If you don't show up, this conversation never happened." He said and Draven smirked. "And if you do..." He left the sentence unfinished as heat rushed into my cheeks. My fingers slowly closed around the card. The embossed silver letters reflected against the table as I stared at the card. The Ryder Penthouse. A downtown address everyone in the city recognized. I looked back up. "So that's it?"

The club is all pressure and heat. There is no space to breathe, no space to think. Bodies move like one living thing, grinding and swaying in the dark, the bass so loud it turns my bones into vibration. Someone’s shoulder hits mine, a hand brushes my waist, and I don’t even look back. That’s how it is in here, everyone packed too close, everyone pretending they’re alone inside the crowd. I move with it anyway. I always do. My hips swerve to the rhythm without permission, my drink long gone… somewhere between the lights and the noise.