I don’t love the club scene. Not anymore.

I used to love it. I mean, who wouldn’t. Lots of alcohol. Beautiful women in crazy tight dresses. Drugs - if you know where to look.

And when you’re a young, twenty-something guy in a band and just got your first taste of stardom, not to mention your first major payday, there’s nothing better than a club full of vices and people fawning over you, telling you that you deserve to indulge.

After pretty much every show on our early tours, you’d find me in a club. I wasn’t as loud as my bandmates, but I definitely partied as hard. Drank just as much. And took home just as many women. Maybe more.

Had to prove something to myself I guess.

After the accident, though, drinking and partying lost a lot of its appeal. I haven’t set foot in a club in over a year. Haven’t had more than one drink in that amount of time either.

Haven’t been with a woman in…

Well, if you have to think about it, it’s been too long.

But, it’s not every day that my baby sister turns twenty-one. And she wants to do what twenty-one year olds do. Drink. A lot. In a fancy place. Which means I’m braving a night at the Caspiar Club.

* * *

“Ian!” my sister shrieks. She bounds towards me and throws her arms around my neck like she hasn’t just seen me this afternoon.

I give her a big hug, lift her up and spin her around.

We’ve always been close. She’s copied everything I’ve ever done. Like getting into anime. And moving to L.A. And getting into the music business. Plus, she’s the only family I have left.

She ushers me over to the rest of the group and pushes me down on the couch. She takes a seat between me and Jack as he wraps his arm around her. I recognize my bandmates, obviously, and a few of Nikki’s friends.

“Where is she?” I ask Nikki, figuring that I’d spot Cora immediately. Somewhere in the crowded room, sipping a pink drink, surrounded by glamorous friends.

“She’ll be back,” Nikki replies.

I put my hand up to call over a cocktail waitress.

Seconds later, a beautiful woman in a short black dress arrives.

Oh my God. It’s her.

Cora Dwyer. And she’s my waitress.

No fucking way.

She immediately turns away from me and stalks off towards the door marked Staff Only. I take off behind her, lightning at my heels.

“Cora!” I call after her. “Cora!”

She hastens her pace.

I quicken mine.

She reaches the door and is about to fling it open. I reach out, blocking her. She turns around to face me, embarrassed.

“Oh, sorry,” she stammers, “Didn’t see you there.”

“Really?” I say, raising an eyebrow. Worst lie ever.

She looks at the floor.

I swallow the lump in my throat as I look her up and down. The room suddenly feels ten degrees warmer. Not to mention, my jeans a size too tight.

“Cora? Is that you?”

She nods.

I wait for her to respond.

Wait…

I feel like a fucking idiot. Does she know who I am? I mean, it’s been awhile. Am I really arrogant enough to assume everybody knows who I am? Am I that guy?

“It’s me. Ian Brooks. We went to high school together.”

“Yeah,” she says, “I know who you are.” She’s still tense. “Everyone knows who you are.”

I laugh. “I guess so. Times have changed, haven’t they?”

She nods, looking up at me. She’s nervous and wraps her arms around herself. It’s strange. The Cora I remember had this eternal confidence. I’ve never seen her nervous.

But, sweet Jesus, she’s still so fucking beautiful.

A lock of her long, thick hair fights its way from her messy up-do and I can’t help but imagine undoing that ponytail and watching her black mane spill out and cascade around her back and shoulders. Then I’d tangle my fingers in it and…

I shake myself back to reality.

“What have you been up to?” I ask.

I can only imagine. Cora was the “it” girl in high school. Captain of the cheerleading squad. Graduated top ten in our class. Star of the school musicals three years in a row. I played drums in the pit orchestra while she played Laurie in Oklahoma senior year and felt that horrible pang of jealousy when Colin Asher got to kiss her on stage every night.

Everyone expected great things from Cora. I’m sure she’s about to tell me she’s working her way through med school or about to take off tomorrow and do humanitarian work abroad.

“Well,” she says, defensive sarcasm taking over, “I’m twenty-eight, single, and a cocktail waitress. So dreams really do come true. Excuse me.”

What the hell was that about?

She tries to push past me, but stumbles in her high heels.

Her fingertips graze my arm as she steadies herself.

Her dark chocolate eyes lock with mine.

Fuck, she has the same effect on me that she did ten years ago. The blood flows straight to my cock.

Down, boy. Now is not the time.

“What’s wrong with being a cocktail waitress? Job’s a job, right?” I shrug.

“Easy for you to say. You’re living your dream.”

“Well then,” I start, “What are you doing with your non-work life? Other than feeling sorry for yourself, I mean.” I mean it more light-heartedly than it sounded.

She smirks and I can’t help but stare at her mouth, wanting to sink my teeth into that pouty bottom lip. Wondering how that tastes.

“I’m an actress,” she says timidly, “Well, I’m trying to be an actress. Kind of a cliche, right?”

“No,” I say. “It’s perfect.”