After a brutal conversation with her mother about her breakup with Marc, Abena needed to escape. The guilt heaped on her head made her want to hide under the covers and not come out for a very long time. Instead, she took Crystal up on her offer to go to a pop-up club with her and her friends.

The minute she opened the door and paid the entrance fee, bumping Calypso music bounded down the stairs and into Abena’s eardrums. She was meeting Crystal at Food Vibes, a Caribbean restaurant which closed at ten but reopened at eleven o’clock to accommodate an influx of twenty- and thirty-something partygoers.

She climbed the stairs, tugging down the hem of her little gold dress. Admittedly, she felt a bit out of place in the strapless mini. She seldom exposed so much skin, but tonight, the call of rebellion and freedom was too enticing to resist. The last time she went out dancing at a nightclub had been during her college days. She remembered those days fondly, meeting other young people with a similar background, anxious to be grown-up and get out from under the rule of their parents.

In her case, her aunt and uncle were not too strict. She was expected to make good grades and stay out of trouble. But the freedom she experienced for the first time was intoxicating. She could go out late at night with friends, dance the night away at a club, and then leave for an early morning jaunt to the nearest open spot for breakfast. During those four years, she packed in as much excitement and rebellion as she possibly could, because afterward came the reality of life and responsibilities.

The place was packed, with a multicultural group of Caribbean people from French-speaking, English-speaking, and Spanish-speaking islands. Interspersed among the group were Americans and Africans, because who could resist the sexy sounds of calypso and soca music? The songs made you move your hips and shake your body—exactly what she intended to do tonight.

She sidled up to the bar. Squeezing between two patrons seated on bar stools, she waved over the bartender, a light-skinned Rastafarian with long hair and a scraggly beard.

“What can I get for you tonight, daughter?” he asked, with a strong accent.

Her first instinct was to order a glass of white wine, something safe and familiar. But why do safe and familiar tonight? She was a free woman and out on a Friday night, wearing a dress that screamed daring and adventurous.

“Ginger highball,” she replied.

The bartender raised an eyebrow. “Coming right up, pretty lady.” He went off to make her drink.

As Abena waited, her shoulders moved to the sound of the music. She cast a cursory glance around the room, watching the men and women shaking their asses to the sultry, rhythmic beats. A few minutes later, the bartender presented a tall glass with amber liquid and a lemon wedge.

Abena took a sip. “Mmm. Good.” The perfect balance of whiskey and ginger ale.

The man to her left slipped off the stool to go dancing with the young woman he had been talking to, and Abena hopped onto the free stool. Thirty minutes later, her glass was almost empty and she was chatting with the man to her right—Mohammed, from Nigeria, and a lawyer. Someone her mother would definitely approve of, she thought ruefully.

His medium-brown skin glowed under the lights from the bar, and his eyes held a sparkle, as if everything there amused him.

Abena leaned close, speaking loud to be heard over the music. “Did you choose to become a lawyer on your own, or was law something your parents wanted?”

“What do you think?” he countered with a sideways grin.

She laughed her acknowledgment. Of course his parents had wanted him to become a lawyer. Becoming a doctor or lawyer gave African parents bragging rights.

He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not so bad. I make a good living and my parents are proud. I’m pretty sure I can have my pick of almost any woman back home, at least to hear them tell it.”

They shared another laugh, while he contemplated her with interest in his eyes. She sensed the moment he went from being friendly to checking her out. Instead of facing the bar, he turned and faced her fully. His eyes swept her entire outfit, lingering on her crossed legs before drifting up to her eyes. “So what are you doing here by yourself, Abena?” he asked.

“Actually, I’m not supposed to be here by myself. I’m meeting a friend, but she’s running late.” Abena checked her phone to make sure she had not missed any calls or texts from Crystal. “Oh well. I’m going to still have fun, doing exactly what my mother would disapprove of.”

“Ah yes, the rebellious young woman. Tonight is my lucky night, then.” His eyes twinkled with a teasing light.

“Oh really?”

“Oh really.” He tapped the rim of her glass. “Can I get you a refill?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Abena nodded. “I would love another drink.”

Mohammed called over the bartender and ordered two more drinks, one for him and one for her.

While he and the bartender talked, a prickling sensation crawled up the back of Abena’s neck. If she didn’t know any better, she would think she was being watched. Running fingers over the affected area, she twisted on the barstool, glancing over her shoulder to see who was giving her the uneasy feeling. But in the dim, packed club, she didn’t see anyone paying her any attention. People were too busy flirtatiously chatting in dark corners or grinding on the dance floor.

Chalking up her unease to an overactive imagination, she returned her attention to Mohammed and focused on enjoying his company.

---

Over an hour later, Abena had finished her second drink and shared several dances with Mohammed before a text finally came through from Crystal, letting her know she would not be able to make it tonight. The text was extremely apologetic but didn’t provide an explanation for why she stood up Abena. Frustrated, Abena sighed and shook her head.

“Something wrong?” Mohammed asked.

“My friend canceled on me.”

“I guess I have you all to myself. The ancestors are watching over me tonight.” He winked, a wolfish grin crossing his features. “How about another drink and more dancing? Maybe I can loosen you up a bit.”

She had been a little stiff. She didn’t particularly like strange men grinding on her, but maybe he was right. She should loosen up. “Good idea.”

“Ginger highball, right?”

She nodded and he left her alone, returning minutes later and handing her the drink. They stood against the wall, Mohammed’s hand lingering around her waist as they watched the dancers.

“You’re not drinking,” he pointed out.

“Neither are you,” she said, glancing down at his empty hand.

“I’m the designated driver,” he explained.

She couldn’t use the same excuse, but she did feel a buzz starting and didn’t think it was a good idea to drink anymore. She regretted telling him to order her another beverage.

Mohammed leaned close. “Want to go somewhere quiet, so we can talk?”

Abena didn’t know if it was because she was buzzing or because he was so friendly, but his suggestion sounded like a great idea. “Where did you have in mind?”

“Let me go over here and talk to my friends real quick. Then we can leave here and find some place where we can have a conversation without having to yell.”

Abena giggled. Yeah, she was definitely buzzing. “Sounds good.”

Mohammed held up two fingers. “Give me two minutes and I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

He disappeared into the crowd. While she waited, a wave of dizziness hit her head. She reached blindly for something solid to hold onto, but rather than the wall or a piece of furniture, her hand connected with a firm, warm object.

And there was Santiago, wearing an aqua-colored jacket and pants, with a white shirt open at the collar, exposing his tanned throat and the golden glint of his necklace.

She pulled back, almost losing her balance, but he caught her arm below the elbow.

“You’ve had enough to drink.”

“Says who?” Abena slurred defiantly. Where did he come from? Had he been here all along? Was his presence the reason she had felt like she was being watched?

“Says me.”

“Leave me alone. I’m trying to have a little fun. Looking for a good time, that’s all.”

“Maybe what you’re looking for isn’t here.”

“You don’t know what I’m looking for.”

“I have a pretty good idea, and I suspect you’re going to do something very foolish.”

His chastising irked her. “I can take care of myself. I’m having fun with someone who is very friendly. We’re going somewhere private to talk.”

He studied her face. “You don’t need to drink anymore.” He lifted the ginger highball easily from her hand.

“Hey! I’m not drunk.” Tipsy, yes. But not drunk.

“Not yet,” he said in a grim tone. His long fingers tightened below her elbow.

“Let go of me.”

Mohammed walked up, frowning. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I know her, and I’m taking her home.”

Mohammed stepped closer. “I think the lady can decide.”

Although Abena hated to admit it, Santiago was right. She seldom drank more than a glass or two of wine, but two glasses of this strong drink over the course of the past couple of hours made her a bit lightheaded. Although, she couldn’t say for sure she was any safer with Santiago than with Mohammed.

When she didn’t speak right away, Mohammed said, “We were going somewhere to talk. I thought…”

Abena’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I should go. I enjoyed your company.”

Mohammed appeared startled at first, then he shook his head and muttered a Hausa curse. She didn’t speak the language fluently, but she knew the curse words. The Nigerian walked away with a bitter frown on his face.

“Now you’ve made me seem like a tease. Thanks a lot.”

“You’re welcome,” Santiago said dryly. He set the drink on a nearby table and, keeping a hand on her arm, guided them both out of the club, down the stairs, and into the night air.

Abena breathed deeply in appreciation. She didn’t realize just how stuffy inside had been until now. Santiago, on the other hand, glared at her, the set of his jaw hard and unyielding.

“What’s the matter with you?” Abena asked.

“What were you doing in there?”

“Dancing.”

“You did more than dancing.”

Dancers couldn’t help but gyrate their hips to calypso music. Whining was what Caribbean people called the rhythmic rotation of one’s waist and hips to the pulsing music. Fast or slow, the movement inspired sensual thoughts.

“You’re the dance police now?”

“You were planning to leave with him. Do you have any idea what he wanted from you?”

“Of course I do. I’m not naïve.” Not completely, anyway. “I wanted to have a little fun, that’s all. Aren’t I allowed to have fun like everyone else?” The liquor and the music combined to make her feel carefree and reckless. Santiago was killing her vibe.

“You can have fun, but you also need to be safe.” He cursed in Spanish and whipped out his phone. “Address.”

She glared at him.

Santiago locked eyes with her. “Address,” he repeated.

Sighing, Abena gave him the address to her downtown condominium, and he called a driver. Within minutes, a car pulled up, and they were in the backseat and on their way.