It’s Friday, and through some miracle of scheduling magic, I’ve got the night off. The idea of an evening with no responsibilities, nowhere to go, and utter freedom feels like a gift from God. A little time to think, to process things. To put my feet back down on the ground and see where I actually stand.

And it’s not like I’m short of things I need to untangle. Fucking your boss when you were expecting him to fire you is something that you don’t just set aside easily. Fucking your boss when he’s an internationally-renowned celebrity chef is something that deserves a little reflection. Fucking your internationally-renowned celebrity chef boss, then having him take one of your recipes and put it on the menu of the hottest restaurant in L.A., without giving you any credit, is a hell of a lot to unpack.

And as if all of that wasn’t enough, there’s the sudden, unexpected potential for my dream of owning my own restaurant to come true once again. An upcoming investor meeting that I barely even remember agreeing to, let alone feel prepared for.

So on my day off I do the only thing that feels right with so much going on—I shut down. I sleep almost to midday, prepare a large batch of cheesy nachos and guacamole, then start binge watching the latest season of a TV show about supernatural detectives that’s just about dumb enough to follow without my full attention, and just visually interesting enough to keep me above the level of comatose.

Bliss.

Until Asha comes home, full of the crackling energy she always has after her classes.

“Willow?” she calls from the hallway, slipping off her shoes before emerging into the living room.

“Hey?” I mumble around a mouthful of salsa, suddenly seeing myself through her eyes, horizontal on the couch, laptop on the coffee table, nacho bowl on my stomach, guacamole dip between my breasts, a sea of crumbs that makes it clear I haven’t moved in hours. I hold the bowl out optimistically. “Guac?”

Asha’s face is fixed into a horrified gaze for a few seconds before she marches into the center of the room and says, “Oh no. Uh-uh. I do not like this.”

“What?” I say, wincing at the daylight she exposes by sweeping aside the curtains. “It’s my day off.”

“Exactly,” Asha says, looking at me for a second and then turning away as if she can’t bear more. “How long have you been lying there?”

I shrug and try not to let the cramps show as I sit upright.

“I dunno…couple of hours, maybe?”

“Mm-hm. And what episode of that show are you on?”

I shrug meekly.

“The seventh?”

Asha rolls her eyes with a new wave of disappointment.

“How long have you been out here in L.A.? A few months? It seems like you spend all your time either at work, or holed up in here hiding from real life. This city has so much to offer, and you never go out and soak it up.”

“I’m…still getting comfortable. It’s a lot to take in.”

Asha pouts at me doubtfully.

“Los Angeles is not a place to get comfortable, it’s a place to get adventurous! Is it any wonder you fucked your boss? He’s the only guy you’ve met here.”

“I’m just digesting. Recharging, you know?”

“‘Recharging’? It looks a lot like moping to me. Look: You are too hot, too charismatic, and too fucking awesome to be sitting at home alone on a Friday night.” A slow smile breaks on Asha’s face. “Especially when there’s a hot new club opening tonight, and your roommate just happens to have an exclusive invitation with a plus one.”

“Oh no…” I groan, though I know the second I say it that there’s no refusal when Asha starts talking this way.

“Oh yes,” Asha says. “And I’m gonna find you a guy so hot he’ll make you forget you ever laid eyes on Cole Chambers.”

I let out a laugh as I get up to pull myself together—I doubt there’s anyone out there who could make me forget Cole.

By the time our Uber is pulling up outside the club, I can’t deny that Asha’s right. It feels cathartic dressing fabulously and getting out into an electrically-charged night. I’m in a satin pencil skirt Asha lent me, a loose fitting blouse unbuttoned almost to my navel, and a delicate gold chain with a crystal pendant that hangs right between my breasts. She’s in a pale pink dress that hugs her body tight enough to show off every toned muscle. A figure that could kick your ass as easily as it could stalk a catwalk.

The good feeling continues when we step out of the car in front of the building, an incredibly striking collection of curved walls and glass windows, more like a Gaudi-esque art gallery than something you’d expect to find in downtown L.A. The pink and blue neon lighting making it feel like some alien pleasure craft that crash landed on earth rather than some exclusive club for the city’s thrill seekers.

Asha locks arms with me and marches me past the line of beautiful people, all glossy hair and slouching postures.

“Hey,” I say, leaning toward Asha as much as I can while walking in heels, “I think that’s actually the line to get in.”

“Oh, honey,” Asha says, smiling at me as if I said something cute, “You ain’t gotta stand in line when you look as good as us.”

I try to ignore the jealous stares and look as confident as Asha. We reach the door where two colossal bouncers stand beside a pert blonde woman with a Madonna mic and a tablet in her hand.

“Excuse me—” she starts, before Asha interrupts her.

“Asha Greene.”

“Asha…Greene…” the woman repeats to herself as she scrolls down the list on her screen.

“You don’t need to check the list,” Asha says. “Connor would have mentioned me by name. We just spoke this afternoon.”

“Oh! Asha! Right,” the woman says, stepping aside as one of the colossi pulls up the rope. “But Mr. Anderson won’t be able to make it tonight.”

“I know,” Asha says, stepping through and pulling me by the hand behind her, “who do you think is taking his spot?”

As soon as we get inside I lean toward Asha and ask, “Who’s Connor?”

She lets out a flippant laugh before answering, “You’ve got a lot to learn.”

Before I can say another word she pushes through the doors to the main room, and I’m suddenly assaulted by a combination of lights and sound that thumps through my body and shakes all my senses. Beautiful, ecstatic men and women jump and move as if dueling with the strobe lights that flicker over them, turning reality into a slow motion picture slideshow while bass shakes the air around us, pumps the blood in our bodies, ghostlike melodies floating through the violent, tribal drums with heavenly allure.

Asha pulls me deeper into the jostling throng and I see her laugh, head thrown back in the flashing lights, as the music shifts and slows, dulls itself as if it’s underwater. A few songs later Asha puts a drink in my hand, but I’m already intoxicated, mind swirling, body alive with sensation. We agree on a protocol, to text if we need each other, otherwise we’ll meet up on the second floor bar in about an hour, and then the music emerges clearer now, quickening somehow, an unresolved melody pushing back and forth, urging me further each time. When it reaches its climax, the whole places erupts, a sea of upraised arms, a tidal wave of euphoria passing from body to body.

Memories of the raves and parties I went wild at during college flood back into my body, a physical reminder of the exhilaration I felt when I wasn’t concerned about work enough yet to turn down offers to go out. Except tonight I’m here, and I’ve already given up on tomorrow morning—so there’s nothing to do but let myself go, just like old times.

I lose track of time, lose track of Asha, lose track of who I even am as I let myself unfold on the dance floor alongside men and women who share my energy and euphoria with every move. A million miles from even remembering what had me so wound up today, every minute I spend in this place a step further from the tension and stress of my life.

Then I see him. Up on the second floor, leaning over the railing that looks over the main dance floor. Even in the dark, in the crowd, amid the sensory overload of the lights and sounds and movement, those eyes are unmistakable—and they’re staring back at me above an entertained smile. He notices me noticing him and raises his glass, but I don’t do anything in return, just spin back and continue dancing.

Except his eyes are still on me, and I can feel them. Keenly studying every sway of my hips, every arch of my back. If he thinks he’s just going to stand there and watch me all night long with that lusty gaze, I’ll give him something fierce to look at. I glance every once in a while in his direction through narrowed eyes, giving him a glimpse of my half smile before turning away again. Cole’s not the only one noticing me, and soon I find myself with a hot guy right in front of me, his eyes undressing me, his hands on my hips, mine on his shoulders, except it’s not him I really want, and it’s not his eyes that are making me move like this, because however hot he is, Cole is still the hottest guy in this club. I glance up at him every so often, over the guy’s shoulder, wondering if he’s getting jealous. Until eventually I look and he’s not there anymore.

Exhausted, my mouth dry, and wondering if Cole is still around, I make for the steps leading up to the second floor bar, where I hope to get something cold to drink. Somehow, as I move up the stairs, the sound of the music seems to lessen, fading from the soul-shaking boom it was on the dance floor to a background rhythm that I can actually hear the people on the second floor talking over.

I move toward the bar, gliding on the exultation of physical activity, when the sound of my name draws my attention to the side.

“Willow.” I look in the direction of the deep, commanding voice, and see Cole stalking toward me like he’s finally cornered his prey. “Looks like you worked up quite a sweat down there,” he says, eyes roving across my skin.

“I figured I deserved to let things go a little,” I say, nonchalantly. Two can play this game.

He leans closer. “You drinking tonight?”

“No. I’m too thirsty for alcohol.”

Cole lifts the bottle of water he’s holding in his hand.

“I figured,” he says, offering it.

I smile and take it, cracking open the sealed top and tipping my head back to gulp the coolness from the icy bottle, feeling his eyes upon me once again.

“Thanks,” I say, gasping a little from the water’s freshness. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Cole laughs easily.

“Same thing as you, I presume.”

I grin and shake my head. “Unless you were dragged here by your well-meaning roommate, I doubt it.”

“Well…something like that. I know Jax Wilder.”

He looks at me for a second until I realize he expects me to know who that is.

“He designed the place,” Cole adds, when he notices my blank expression. “Wow, you really are new in town, aren’t you?”

“People keep telling me that,” I say. “This is a nice place, though.”

“Yeah,” Cole says, looking around appreciatively. “The acoustics are excellent.”

I laugh.

“What’s funny?” Cole asks.

“Nothing,” I say, pushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear and feeling a new surge of heat through my body. This time it’s not the music, but the way he smiles at me. It’s so easy to remember why we did what we did on that desk when he smiles like that… “You like the acoustics, huh? Well, I haven’t seen you dance tonight.”

He steps a little closer, though I can hear him perfectly, and in a low voice, says, “All you gotta do is ask.”

“Oh yeah?” I say, stepping closer to him now.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low, but his mouth so close to my face I can hear the rumble in it. “How could I say no to you?”

I could blame a lot of things for what happens next. I could blame the darkness of the club, dark enough to feel like I can do whatever I want. I could blame the thump of the bass still moving through my blood, making my body come alive and bringing my urges to the surface. I could blame the sense of liberation I’m feeling, after dancing so many of my worries away. But when Cole is looking like that, his shirt tight enough to hint at the muscles beneath, his face as perfect and as mesmerizing as a gallery’s main event and his eyes blazing into mine, who could blame me?

I put my hands on his chest and push him back through the crowd, against a wall, where only the faintest of moving lights traces the perfect lines of his jaw. Then I lean into him, pressing my breasts against his hard torso, and push my hungry lips onto his, our tongues thrashing as we devour each other’s mouths. He pulls me closer, hands roving down the small of my back, searching for the gap under my blouse where he can put his rough hands against my skin.

“You look good enough to eat,” he growls, kissing a line down the soft skin of my neck until I can’t help but moan.

My fingers lacing into his hair, I pull his face up to mine again, urging us to fall deeper into each other, my body melting against his, our clothes an inconvenience now, an obstruction. His fingers rove lower, grabbing handfuls of my ass as his hardness grinds against my hip. I rub against him on purpose, eliciting a deep groan that gives me chills, widening my stance as his hand reaches up my skirt. His strong fingers glide up my inner thigh to stroke at the hot damp spot I can feel soaking through my panties. The sound of the music and the crowd fall far away, irrelevant against the sound of our hurried gasps and desperate groans in this dark, private corner. My body pulsates and throbs, aching for more of him, yearning to tear off his shirt and put skin against skin, to feel the deep pounding of that powerful cock once again.

I break away from his lips to look around us, then push him further aside into a corner so dark even the roaming strobe lights can’t find us, where I guide myself by the texture of his expensive clothes and sculpted body. My hands find his fly and zip it down while he growls into my neck. The moment I pull at the fabric his thick cock emerges, already engorged enough to fill my palms. Cole reacts to my touch by heaving that broad chest in a cut-off sigh, grabbing at my waist and pulling me to him impatiently, so that when I slide down he feels the curves of my body against the throbbing stiffness of his.

“Fuck,” he murmurs between the thump of the drums, his hand caressing the top of my head as I take his cock in both hands. I can’t believe I’m really doing this right now, right here in public, but more than that, I can’t believe how much I want to. As dark as if I were blindfolded, I guide myself by touch, thick shaft between my fingertips, then palms, then lips. Tongue mapping its hot, veiny skin, rolling up and down that incredible length, his palm now fisting in my hair as he drives himself further into the back of my hungry mouth.

“Oh that’s good,” he growls, his voice dropping lower with pleasure.

I let him take control, let him pull my mouth over the head, let him tug me back and forth by my hair as he fucks my mouth, his thrusts getting more urgent as I suck deeper and harder. I roll my tongue over the texture of his skin, squeeze it between my lips until I can feel the blood throbbing. His cock fills my mouth, head grasping for the back of my throat, choking me slightly, so that even the release of breath is suspended in my body. I cup his balls and squeeze them, just firm enough to push him further into his growling, pumping mania.

The music thumps and wails, filling my ears as I suck and lick and choke on Cole, devouring him hungrily, so ready to swallow him down that I don’t even care about catching my breath. I need this as much as he does.

When he comes I feel it as intimately as Cole, his desire and orgasm concentrated into a hot pulse that pushes across my tongue and into the back of my throat, a taste I suck down and lick clean as he slumps back against the wall and I rise up to face him. Then, as quickly as the urge took me, something snaps.

I pull back, and he looks concerned as I stand panting in front of him.

“Whoa, there. You okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” I say, feeling like I’ve slammed into reality—or like reality slammed into me. “I guess I just got carried away.”

“Guess I did too,” he laughs. “Do you want to—”

I feel a touch on my shoulder and jump, turning to find Asha smiling too-wide, her gaze flicking between me and Cole.

“Hey,” she says to me, before looking Cole up and down, and repeating in a voice much slower and more confrontational. “Hey.”

Cole acknowledges her with a nod. “Well-meaning roommate, I take it? I’m Cole. Pleasure to meet you.” He extends a hand and Asha takes it, her mama bear stance gone now, fluttering her lashes in the dark.

“Asha,” she purrs, “and the pleasure’s all mine.” She holds on a beat too long before letting go of his hand reluctantly. Then she glances at me. “Everything cool?”

“Yeah. We should get going,” I say, tossing a wave at Cole before locking arms with Asha and dragging her away.

Once we’ve disappeared into the crowd, Asha leans over to me and through her broad grin says, “You were in a hurry to get out of there, little miss naughty. Hooking up with the boss again? No judgment from me, but…”

“I don’t know what I was doing,” I say with a groan. “I mean I do know, and I wanted to do it, but now…I guess I don’t know if I really want to get involved with him if this is just gonna be some kind of bootycall situation. I thought I didn’t care, but…”

Asha nods in understanding. “You think you two’ve got something going on, though? Something that could be more than a one night stand?”

“I think…” my voice trails off as I try to get a grasp on things. Then I shake my head. “No. I think I made a mistake. One I won’t be making again.”