Chapter 3
The x-club is hot and sweaty, even before I start dancing. The music throbs through me, and the low, flashing lights make my pulse speed. I scan the room for my K, trying to look casual. A few men turn to look at me, their bright eyes tracing the shape of my body in this tight sapphire-blue dress, but none of them are Verit. I quash my disappointment and grab a drink, joining the knot of bodies on the dance floor.
I’m half a drink in when I see him. I feel his presence first, a tickle on the back of my neck making me turn around. And there he is, standing in the shadowed entrance, a single, pulsating purple light illuminating his face along to the beat of the music. I contemplate playing it cool, but then he’s already walking towards me, eyes locked on mine, and my feet move to meet him halfway without prompting.
“It’s you,” I say, dumbly. He’s so close to me, I could touch him. The lights flicker over us, and I don’t feel like I’m in my body anymore. I feel like I’m a world away from here, just me and my K. “Verit.”
“It’s me,” he says, and then he’s pressed against me. The music moves my body for me. This place is an aphrodisiac, the swarm of bodies making my adrenaline spike. His hands are on me, and I want him, I want him bad. I grind my ass against him, and I hear him suck in his breath.
“You’re looking for trouble,” he murmurs, breath hot in my ear. His fingers spread wide over my hips, pulling me impossibly close.
“I am,” I say, fighting to keep my voice even. I’m burning up, the heat of his body pressing against me overwhelming. Still, I push harder. “And if I don’t find any, I’ll have to make some.”
His lips are on my neck, his tongue tracing the curve of my throat. I moan his name, but the sound is swallowed by the chaotic thrum of the club. Everyone here is touching, a blur of fast hands and hot skin. I turn, meeting Verit’s mouth, my hands in his hair, running down his back, grabbing at the hem of his shirt. I’ve never felt greedier, but Verit pulls away.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, when he takes his hands off me and steps back. I’m embarrassed by the immediate rejection, face hot under the lights.
“Nothing,” he says, reaching out and brushing an unruly strand of hair out of my face. “Just… not like this.”
With a hand on the small of my back, he steers me through the crowd and out of the club. Outside, the air is bitingly cold, and the sudden silence is deafening. Too late, I realize I left my coat inside, and I tell Verit that.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, pulling me close to his side. His intention is likely to share his body heat, but the proximity to the beautiful K immediately causes my own body to overheat in excitement. “I’ll buy you another.”
He takes us to a restaurant a couple blocks away, an expensive French place I recognize from one of Noelle’s blogs. It’s late, and the restaurant looks very closed, but Verit knocks on the door anyway. A man appears behind the tinted glass doors, and grins when he sees my companion.
“Mr. Verit,” he says in a booming voice as he lets us in. I’ve never heard of anyone calling a Krinar “Mr.” before. It sounds odd, and I grin at it.
“Marc,” Verit replies in the same jovial tone, slapping the man’s hand into a distinctly human way. “Mind if we come in for a few drinks?”
“Of course,” Marc says, leading us into the restaurant. “We’re just cleaning up, don’t mind us.”
I follow Verit to the deserted bar, smiling at the girl wiping down tables. I perch on a bar stool, feeling slightly out of place in the elegant restaurant, despite the absence of patrons. I’m dressed for a club, not for high class. I tug at my short skirt nervously as Verit gracefully moves behind the bar, pouring two glasses of Macallan. When I left my apartment just hours ago, I felt in control, I felt badass. I thought I could play a K and walk away unscathed. Now, as he clinks his tumbler against mine with a calculated smile, I feel dangerously close to losing myself completely.
“Come here often?” I ask teasingly, forcing a facade of confidence. Just because I know I’ve lost the upper hand—if I even had it to start with—doesn’t mean he has to know. He chuckles at that, but doesn’t respond. Instead he just stares me down, leaning over the bar until he’s close enough to touch. A chill runs down my spine, and I keep talking to mask my nerves. “But seriously, what are we doing here? Why did we leave the x-club? I thought we were having fun.”
Still, the enigmatic K remains silent, holding my gaze. I cave and look down at my drink, but he reaches out and lifts my chin with a finger, forcing me to meet his eyes again.
“You’re not a shot of cheap tequila. You’re not a quick fuck in a crowded club. You’re expensive whiskey, meant to be sipped slowly,” here he swirls his drink, ice clinking softly, and I find it hard to catch my breath. It’s already the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever heard, and then he adds, “I’m going to take my time with you, Ari.”
I feel like my panties might combust on the spot, but then Marc materializes with a plate of crostini. I recognize the variety from one of Noelle’s articles, and know it’s an expensive platter.
“On the house, of course,” he says with a smile, unaware that he just ruined a perfect moment.
“Thanks, man,” Verit says, and Marc disappears back into the kitchen.
“How do you know him, anyway?” I ask, taking a crunchy bite. “They don’t let just anybody into fancy restaurants in the middle of the night and feed them snacks.”
“They let me in,” Verit says pointedly. “But I’m not here to talk about that. Tell me about you.”
I roll my eyes dramatically. “Ugh, I hate when people say that. It’s so vague! Ask me something specific. Like, how long have you been in New York? Or in your case, on Earth?”
“Fair point,” Verit says with a sideways smile. “And, I’ve been on Earth since a couple months after our first arrival, but I’ve only recently begun spending time in New York. How about you?”
“Well, I arrived on Earth twenty-six years ago,” I say cheekily, and I am rewarded with a chuckle. I can feel myself regaining my confidence. “I went to college here in the city and have lived here ever since.”
Verit pops a crostini into his mouth. “Okay, next specific question. What do you do for a living, Ariana?”
“I’m a trainer at a gym downtown. Kickboxing, women’s self defense, that kind of stuff.” I reach across the bar and pour myself another drink from the most expensive looking bottle. Hey, why not make the most of a rare opportunity? “Oh, and I go by Ari. How did you know my name? I don’t think I’ve mentioned it.”
“If I want to know something, I know it,” he says, pushing his glass towards me. I pour him a drink with tremulous fingers. “But we can pretend. Where did you go to college?”
We play twenty questions, until twenty questions turns to fifty questions, and fifty questions turns into a conversation. Finally, long after we’ve overstayed our welcome, we exit Marc’s and wander the streets. It’s pretty late, especially for a weeknight, but the city still hums. Eventually, our seemingly aimless walk leads to my apartment.
“Want to come up for a drink?” I ask. I lean into the cliche nature of the question, tilting my head coquettishly and raising an eyebrow.
Verit glances up at the building, then back at me. He reaches out and takes my hand gently. “I think we’ve both had enough to drink tonight.”
“Really? Because I have some really expensive whiskey upstairs,” I say, pulling him close. I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him deeply, letting my teeth catch his lip as I pull away. “The kind that’s meant to be sipped slowly.”
Verit smiles, the streetlights catching the glint of sharp teeth. “You make a compelling argument, Ari.”
I grin back, and lead him up the stairs.