Nights Out Book Novels & Stories

That Night Copyright © K.I. Lynn This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This work is copyrighted. All rights are reserved. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the author.

“I know. It isn’t uncommon for the gods of a foreign land to haunt the dreams of a stranger.” “Oh?” August stepped out of his tent and stood, naked as the day he was born in far off Germania, and took in the new day. “How rude of them to visit.” “Then again, we have entered their free land of tribes with swords and shields, not flowers and compost, sir.” “I knew we forgot the daisies and manure.” August stretched and yawned. “Rufus, fetch me some water.” The youth held up a basin and a pitcher from behind the tent, then set them on a tiny table he’d erected by the dwelling.

You came out here to do something. She stood the purple backpack up and unzipped it. Inside was a ball of clothing rolled together—a plaid flannel shirt, corduroy pants, a plain white T-shirt, a pair of denim shorts. Underneath that were three squashed Twinkies, a bag of plain potato chips, and a library book. Lauren pulled out the book—a travel guide to California—and glanced inside the front cover. “Joliet Public Library,” Lauren said. “So at least one of them was from Joliet. I think that’s enough, really. Just wrap up the bags and let’s get out of here.” He looked at his watch. “I really do have to leave soon.”

When the sun the up? Oh, well. I throw my phone carefully on the blue pillow on the bed. I haven’t read in a bit, so I take one of my favorite books. Though I have read it numerous times, it’s an epic book. I run my finger on the letters on the cover page of the book. The letters reads: THE OUTSIDERS. I sigh satisfyingly and begin my book. In a minute, I’m already lost in the world of ‘Ponyboy Curtis’, the book’s narrator.

I don’t usually stay after games. Win or lose, I have a system, I cool down, pack up, leave. No lingering, no getting caught in the noise after everything’s already been decided. The field is clean, predictable. Off the field, things get… messy. But tonight… I linger. Not enough for anyone to call it out. Just enough that I notice things I normally wouldn’t. Like how the parking lot lights flicker once before settling. Like how the air feels heavier than it should for early fall, pressing faintly against my skin like something unseen is leaning too close.

I call out the word as the image pushes me over the edge, and I come. When I step out of the bathroom, I glance over at her house. The hot neighbor is sitting on her balcony drinking a glass of wine and reading the newspaper, a pair of glasses perched on the end of her nose and her long legs stretched out in front of her. Who the hell our age reads the newspaper anymore? God, she is such a little nerd. A sexy little nerd just waiting to be defiled. Noah thinks that staying in this neighborhood is going to make me behave?

Thirty-one nights down. The real storm was only beginning.

When I looked back up, she was slowly sipping her drink with a small smile on her face. “How long are you in Vegas for?” I asked. “Just until my boss is ready to go, the only reason I’ve been allowed out is because he felt like I’ve been doing a lot recently and he didn’t want to be the reason for me breaking down or crashing out, so here I am!” She exclaimed while getting another order of scotch. “Well I can’t say I regretted coming out tonight, and I can see you like the scotch,” I teased. The night progressed with us talking and laughing - can’t remember when last I felt carefree like this, without the weight of the world hanging on my shoulders. I must say, it’s nice feeling.

My curse. Neon Nights is twenty minutes away by ride. I dress for the floor: black lace thong, matching bra that pushes everything up and out, fishnet stockings, sky-high stilettos that make my calves ache by the second song. Glitter body oil cheap but shiny. Red lipstick. Smokey eyes. The uniform of a girl who sells fantasy for cash.

leaned slightly closer. “For instance, right now you’re deciding whether to run back to your hotel room and cry, or do something reckless to make yourself feel alive again.” My breath caught. “Which one are you hoping I pick?” “I think you know.” The air between us felt charged. Electric. This wasn’t me. I didn’t do this—pick up strangers in bars, let chemistry override common sense. I was the responsible one. The good sister. The girlfriend who never even looked at other men. And look where that got me. “I don’t even know your last name,” I said. “Does that matter tonight?” No. Tonight, it didn’t. “I’m going to regret this,” I whispered. “Probably.” His hand found my kn