Hannah

HANNAH

"WE'RE GOING TO ENIGMA TONIGHT."

Sofia twists the cap off the bottle of tequila, before grabbing two shot glasses from our cupboard. With chipped paint and aged wood, our tiny apartment’s kitchen has seen better days, none of which we were here for.

"Ha." I pale at my roommate. "You are, like always. But I'm not."

Enigma is a new club in New York, with lines that usually wrap around the building. This is my roommate's third attempt at convincing me to go, and she makes a tempting case—It's Sunday, masquerade night.

Salting the rims, she tops both off with a lime wedge. She pours the liquor to the brim, before sliding one my way. The glass sings across the countertop, landing perfectly in my hand.

No shock there, coming from an ex-bartender.

"Yes, we are," she says simply, bobbling her head. Gold hoops swaying on her earlobes, her dark brown hair and olive skin are flawless.

"Why?" I challenge. "I'm perfectly comfortable in our apartment."

"Oh, I know you are." She raises her eyebrows, lips pursing. "You've cooped yourself up in it for three whole days, wearing those pjs like a second skin."

"I have not." I gasp, glancing down at my red-and-white polka dot set. They offer me not an ounce of sex appeal and only help me wallow in my newfound self-pity.

"I know what Sterling did was terrible, but it's time to replace eating half a tub of ice cream a night with sweaty dancing and hot men."

I stew on it, appraising the clear shot between my fingers. I do rather like tequila. And I should dance my sorrows away... "It just makes the breakup ten times worse when it costed me my job too."

He was my boss, and I was his personal assistant.

Rookie mistake, Hannah. Don't mix business and pleasure.

She gives me a pitiful look. "I know, Han. But you know that jackass never deserved you."

I try to banish the memory of how I found him, but fail anyway. He sits on the edge of his desk, the city skyline his background as a woman bats her eyelashes at him. On her knees. Unbuckling his belt.

"You're right," I croak out, my throat feeling raw from the tears I don't let surface.

Lifting my shot, Sofia does the same before we clink glasses. I mimic her movements, licking the salted rim, throwing it back in one go and mercilessly sucking on the lime edge. The burn travels down my throat, pooling at the base of my stomach.

Sofia motions to the speaker by our coffeemaker. "It's your night. You play DJ. What do you want?"

An involuntary giggle bursts from me, and I quickly bat it down, meeting her wide grin.

Get it together, lightweight.

"You already know."

"I do." She winks at me as “Yeah!” by Usher plays about five notches past our apartment's agreed-upon limit.

After another shot for me and two for Sofia, we grab the speaker and race to her room, our laughs echoing inside the narrow hallway.

Tiny like mine, her room has a modern flare, with black-and-gold wallpaper she placed herself. I remember watching her slap on the gesso, one foot balancing atop a ladder and the other on a dresser. It was when we first moved in after college, right around the time she started her job as an engineer at Innovex Microchips—

Oh, no.

"Shit!" The music nearly drowns out my voice. "I forgot about my interview in the morning."

"Is that tomorrow? Well, we're already drunk..." She slides her closet door open and starts sifting through dresses. "What time is it at?"

"Eleven."

She retrieves a hanger, dangling a short red dress out in front of her. Fuzziness slinks around its hemline, sparkling against the light of a nearby desk lamp. "That's not early at all. Don't worry, we won't be out late."

Lies. Lies. Lies.

"Okay." I smile, snatching the dress she offers me.

"Plus, I already got us a table booked."

Nervous jitters flutter inside me, thinking of the club. It's often so

packed, they rope off tables to offer at a steep price. Sofia once told me they're five thousand dollars. Minimum.

"Shocking," I tease, shooting her a glance. "Which handsome divorcée paid this time? John, Patrick—oh, maybe Marco?"

Her mouth hangs low, morphing into a wide smile. "Hey! I can't help it that the silver foxes can't get enough of me."

I remove my comfortable pajamas and slip into the dress, appraising myself in front of a thin mirror as I run my hands across the smooth fabric. It's so tight, my thong's outline is slightly visible.

"Wow. You're definitely wearing that. Try this on." She offers me a red mask. Intricate patterns of rhinestones shine along its perimeter, feathers sprawling upwards above its nose.

I lie the piece against my skin, tying a knot with the ribbon behind my head. Pushing my honey-brown hair past my shoulders, a pit of nerves swirl in my stomach before they're quickly tamed by the alcohol.

I look at Sofia, my peripheral vision partly limited through the eyeholes. "You're right. Tonight is going to be my night."

OUR TAXI FLIES DOWN 5th street.

We're a few blocks from the club, and rain pelts the car as the windshield wipers zoom from side to side. I sit in the middle of the backseat, squished between Sofia and Jenna, who we picked up on the way.

We met Jenna a few months back, after we moved out of our dorm room into our apartment. She works at our favorite pizzeria, Matteo's, as a waitress.

"—and he doesn't even realize how understaffed we are." Jenna squints through a tiny makeup mirror as we hit a considerable bump.

"Mmm," Sofia sounds to my right, texting someone named Daddy 2. I roll my eyes.

 The girl is so shameless... I love it.

"Like today—he expects me to handle ten tables. Ten." She pumps her mascara in and out of the tube violently, huffing an exaggerated breath. "And then he gets mad that customers are complaining about the food coming out too slow. I swear, I'm so close to quitting."

Sofia pinches the bridge of her nose. "Please, please. You're killing my buzz. Did you even pregame?"

She scoffs. "Like I had time to. I barely got my dress and mask on by the time you picked me up."

We stop before an intersection, a streetlight casting the car with a red glow, giving me a better look at them. Jenna wears all black with a plunging neckline, contrasting her bleach-blond hair, and her mask sits on her lap, attached to a stick. Sofia's dress is of a similar cut but shimmers a bright pink, her mask wrapping around her head like mine.

They look hot as fuck. There's no other way to put it. Honestly, we all do. It helps that I'm wearing red, because it appears I'm the only one not wearing sky-high heels.

"My god, what are those?" I point down to Sofia’s feet. Her shoes sparkle silver and have to be at least six inches tall.

"These are my fuck-me heels."

We all laugh in unison, right as the driver announces our arrival. He pulls up to the curb in front of the club, and I lean across Sofia's lap to peer out the window.

Holy... It's slammed.

People in masquerade attire spiral along the building wall in a colorful splash of fabric, feathers and suited men. The line offers no inch to breathe as they shuffle their way towards a red rope accompanied by a scary- looking bouncer. The last thing I see before I lean back is the electric blue light glaring through its double doors and the fog settling on the ground.

"I should've had another shot," I mumble.

Sofia whips her head to me, her door swinging open. "You'll be fine. You look hot. Stop acting like Bambi and come on."

After thanking the driver, I immediately hear the music thumping from inside the building. We walk up to the bouncer, shielded from the rain underneath a cover.

Looking over, a girl in an orange getup crosses her arms, raising her eyebrows. I bite my lower lip when I catch Jenna winking at her with a grin.

 I lean into her. "Don't we need to wait in line?"

Jenna just smiles at me.

A small man dressed in all black approaches through the haze. He appears to be some sort of host, judging by the clipboard in his hand. "Hi, ladies." His voice is hardly audible over the nearby chatter and clattering of thick rain. "Are you on the list?"

"Yes. We're with Marco." Sofia twists a strand of hair between her fingers, confidence radiating off her in ripples.

The man runs his finger down the page, stopping midway. "Ah, yes. Marco. He hasn't arrived yet, but I can show you to your table." He nods to the bouncer, who then stamps the backs of each of our hands. I inspect my skin, lifting a brow when I find nothing there.

He unhooks the red rope. "Right this way, ladies."

We follow the host man into the smoke, the music getting louder as we cross a narrow hallway. When we ascend a flight of stairs, I stop dead in my tracks.

The club is a massive open space, with a circular bar positioned in the center. Lasers fly across the room, and people in masks writhe to the beat of the music, jam-packed in front of a DJ on stage. Within the crowd, two iron cages suspend in the air by chains with scantily dressed women inside, dancing in unison to each other.

A tug on my arm breaks me from my trance. "Keep up," Sofia says, before I follow her, my eyes still scouring. Her laugh barks in my ear. "I had the same look when I first came here."

The man takes us to an alcove blocked off by another red rope. Inside, there’s a leather couch that curves its way around a table. Similar alcoves seem to be scattered around the space. After he unclips the rope, we each sit, Sofia hoisting herself on the back of the couch, her stiletto nearly puncturing the leather.

He clips the rope shut and neatly gathers his hands behind his back. "Shots will be brought to you upon request. If you'd like a mixed drink, please head to the bar. The rest of your party should arrive soon. Have fun." He turns, disappearing in the direction we came.

"Wow," I say, in a state of awe. "This place is... a lot to take in."

Sofia plays with her hair. "Just wait. Marco usually comes with a big group, and I can guarantee there'll be a hottie wanting to dance with you. You'll forget about you-know-who in no time."

 I laugh. "I'm just trying to enjoy myself tonight. Nothing crazy."

"Mhmm," Jenna hums to my left. "Sure, girl. Whatever you say." She waves to a redheaded server carrying a tray stacked with bottles. "Three tequila shots, please."

"—And some waters!" I add.

She nods, continuing on her way.

Sofia grabs my shoulder. "Smart idea. Don't want to be hung over for your job interview tomorrow."

"Exactly. I'm going to take it slow and pace myself."

EMPTY SHOT GLASSES litter our table.

I feel alive. Revived.

Music pounds through my body, each pulse sending a much-needed shot of electricity through my veins.

I don't know why I moped around over Sterling for three days. It's much more fun being sad here.

I can't remember when I took my shoes off or when I started dancing on the leather couch, but it feels so right. Sofia is on the other side, matching my movements, and Jenna is nowhere to be found.

"You should've taken me here months ago!"

"I tried!" She laughs, full of energy.

Swinging my head back and forth, I grab hold of my mask, the feathers

tickling the pads of my fingers, and push it higher on my face to keep it from slipping.

Raising my gaze, I notice a group unclipping our rope. The strobes illuminate them, and their bodies seem to blur together. I gauge there must be at least six of them, the women in bright cocktail dresses and men in form-fitting suits.

One man pats his blond friend on the shoulder, motioning his head towards me, prompting him my way. It's hard to tell what he really looks like in the concealed mask he wears, only the tip of his strong jaw poking underneath. Shock pulses through me as he looks me up and down, but I don't stop dancing, the alcohol making me bold as I smile at him.

 He comes near, at the foot of the couch I'm standing on, and holds his hand out to me. When I accept it, he pulls me down to the floor. With his chest standing at the height of my head, his eyes crane down to meet mine. His stare is hard, and the darkness from the alcove makes it difficult to decipher the color of his eyes.

I open my mouth to ask him a question, but he springs his finger to my lips. He presses it firmly, dragging down until my bottom lip pops back out. Goosebumps line my arms from the intimate touch, before he sits down below me, lounging on the couch.

As I'm standing between his parted knees, I peer over my shoulder and see the rest of the group taking shots and dancing. Sofia has her hands delving deep in the hair of an aged gentleman, who I presume to be Marco. She's in a similar predicament, with him sitting and her body cascading into him.

My mysterious man leans back with his arms sprawling along the back of the couch. The song changes to a slower beat, playing something oddly sensual. He tilts his head at me, seeming to expect something.

I roll my hips to the beat, staring right through him. His lips part, eyes raking over my body, causing heat to pool in my center and a flood of arousal to burn between my legs.

Wordlessly, he twirls his finger at me. I obey, turning around to continue my serenading dance. Leaning forward, his hands grip my hips hard, pulling me down to his lap. I turn into him, my legs falling over his thigh and mouth inches from his gold mask.

Grabbing the corner of my jaw, he angles it to the side, exposing my neck. A pressure on the small of my back forces me into him, before his lips press against the column of my throat.

I gasp, grabbing hold of his shoulders. He hums darkly at that, his hold tightening as he feasts on my neck. He trails his tongue higher, to the sensitive spot behind my ear. A moan escapes my lips, and I tilt my head back to give him better access.

When I lower myself to grind my clit on his leg, he groans. "Mmm, babe. I much prefer you this way for me."

I freeze. That voice...

Sterling.