So now I’m here, sitting in the VIP section of Level, one of the hottest clubs in New York, wearing a dress that makes me feel like I’m not just regular naked, but naked and on display. Jane and Delilah are MIA. I went to the ladies’ room and when I got back, they were both gone.

And to top it off, I’m not wearing panties. Because my sister is a jerk.

“You can’t wear underwear with a dress like that,” she said to me, shaking her head at me like I’m a lost little lamb.

I stared at her for a full three seconds before I realized she wasn’t kidding. “You’re serious?”

“Why do you keep asking me that?” she said, giving me a puzzled look. She really has no idea how ridiculous this whole situation has become.

“Lilah—” I make a bid for mercy, calling her by the pet name I gave her when we were little.

She holds up a hand and shakes her head. “Panties. Off.”

I look at Jane, hoping for help. There was none to be had. “She’s right, Silver.” Jane gives me a shrug. “Take ‘em off.”

I need better friends.

And sisters.

Tugging self-consciously on the hem of my dress, I pretend not to notice a loud party a few tables over. Skinny blondes who talk about their thigh gap and what designer their walking for in Fashion Week, surrounding a couple of guys who look like male models. One of them keeps looking at me while the blonde on his lap is all wiggle and giggle, doing her level best to get his attention. I’d almost feel bad for her if she hadn’t made a crack about my weight when I walked by.

“The gentlemen at the bar would like to buy you a drink.” I look up and to the right to find an apologetic—looking waitress standing over me. Behind her, a bunch of suits crowded around the VIP bar, doing shots while alternating between leering at me and shooting each other smirks.

“Tell them no, but thank you,” I say, already knowing how it would go. I accept and their leader would see my acceptance as an invitation. He’d come over here and try to pick me up while I sip my free drink, thinking I have some sort of obligation to him because of it.

She gives me a flat smile, before returning to the bar. Now they’re all looking at me at once, trying to figure out their next plan of attack.

Doing my best to ignore them, I pull out my phone and text Jane.

Me: Where are you?

It takes a few minutes for her to text back.

Jane: on the dance floor. Get your ass down here.

I almost laugh out loud. Anything more strenuous than walking in a straight line in this ridiculous dress would be a huge mistake.

Me: No thanks. Can I go home now?

Less than a minute later another text comes through.

Delilah: NO!

Below her directive is the picture of me sitting on my couch, surrounded by pizza rolls, or as I like to think of them—blackmail material.

“Hey.”

I look up from my phone to find one of the suits hovering over me, his gaze latched on to my breasts, which thanks to Delilah’s torture device, are on full display.

I should’ve jumped out the window.

“Yes?”

My response seems to snap him out of whatever trance my breasts put him in and he finally looks at my face.

“My friends and I saw you sitting here alone and were wondering if you’d like some company.” He licks his lips, his eyes trailing over me, making me feel like someone just dumped a bucket of spiders over my head.

“No thanks,” I say, looking back at my phone in hopes that he’ll just go away.

No such luck.

“I mean—why not?” he says, pushing the issue. “You look like the kind of girl who likes to have a good time, which is exactly what we’re looking for, so…” More leering and gawking. “Why can’t we all have a good time together?”

“Because I said no,” I say. I’ll be damned if I’m going to explain myself to this douchebag.

He stares at me, eyes narrowing slightly. He’s good-looking enough to be cocky about it and from the look he’s giving me, he doesn’t hear the word no nearly enough. “Who the hell do you—”

“Sorry, I’m late,” a voice says to my left, a moment before the seat beside me dips and I feel an arm slide across my shoulders to pull me close. I open my mouth to tell whoever just decided to put hands on me to back off and end up looking into the deepest, most beautiful pair of dark blue eyes I’ve ever seen in my life.

So deep and beautiful that back off comes out sounding like, “It’s okay.”

“Forgive me?” The arm around my shoulders tighten, pulling me even closer and I melt a little when I feel him press his lips against the pulse hammering at my throat. “My name’s Tobias,” he whispers in my ear. “And you look like you need a rescue.” He pulls back enough to look me in the eye. It’s the male model from across the lounge. The one who kept looking at me. Sable brown hair. Straight white teeth. Firm, masculine jaw. Full, sensuous mouth. And if what I’m feeling through the suit is any indication, a body hard enough to tie my tongue in knots.

Before I can say anything, Tobias shifts his attention to the guy still standing in front of us, mouth hanging slightly open. “Have Mike pour me two fingers of the Dalmore 64, straight, and…” he looks at me, his hand landing casually on my thigh, somewhere between my knee and my ridiculously short hemline. “What are you drinking tonight, love—and don’t say tequila,” he says, his thumb drawing slow, lazy circles against my knee. “You know how crazy it makes you.”

“Club soda,” I say. Despite the fact that my lungs feel like they’re being squeezed through a keyhole, the words come out loud and clear. “We wouldn’t want to get too crazy.”

Tobias laughs at my joke before turning back to the guy. He’s still standing there. Still staring. “You heard the lady,” he says dismissively. “Oh, and tack on a nice tip for yourself.”

“I don’t work here,” the guy finally sputters, his face bright red.

“Oh,” Tobias says, cocking his head. “I saw you over here when I walked in, talking to my girlfriend—I just assumed you were a server.” He turns away from me slightly, the hand on my leg sliding away as he faces the guy head on, his jaw going tight. Eyes hard and unreadable. “So, if you’re not a server, that means you’re just some asshole, harassing her and staring at her tits.”

“I just—” the guys stammers—now a strange shade of pink—caught between indignation and terror. “I saw she was alone and I…”

“Well, she’s not alone anymore.” Tobias sits back in his seat with a predatory grin. “So why don’t you and your buddies fuck off.”