The club’s surprisingly full tonight. I’ve never seen it without a crowd, though tonight it’s especially packed. And I hate it.

Though, for what it is, Club Red is my favorite spot in town. There are plenty of places I won’t even touch. Owen could care less. If it’s got music, booze, and women, it’s enough to meet his standards.

“Here’s to another success,” Owen says in cheers.

“Absolutely.” I clink his glass and throw back my double-shot of Johnnie Walker, savoring the pleasant burn.

I lean against the bar and survey the club while Owen uses two fingers to signal the bartender. She’s a cutie that seems to be working every time we come. She’s also held the throne of Owen’s number one obsession for at least the last year. And she knows it.

“It’s been awhile.” She slides over another round from behind the counter.

Owen raises his glass as a thank you. “We’ve been busy the last few weeks.”

“Does that mean you’re out to celebrate?”

“Just locked down another round of investments,” he lies.

She returns a seductive smile. “Sounds like a reason to celebrate to me. Enjoy.” She winks at me before turning around.

I tap my glass against Owen’s.

“God dammit, why the hell does she like you so much?” he murmurs.

I throwback my shot and shrug. “I don’t know, maybe it’s all the investments I’ve locked down.”

“Fuck you.” He downs his shot and slams the empty glass on the bar. “I’m gonna go buy her a drink,” he says, using his pinkie to point. “What do ya think?”

His target is a tall blonde standing in a group of four. She’s taller than her friends, but Owen’s a tall dude himself. An easy 6’5”.

“Have at it,” I say with the taste of whiskey still warm on my tongue. He pushes into the crowd and right away a gust of exhaustion slaps me across the face. I didn’t realize how tired I still am after last week’s job. It’s not the robbery itself that’s exhausting, it’s the hours of planning and coordinating. Before and after.

It’s nice to come out and celebrate a successful job, but at this point, the success itself is enough. It’s been about a year now. And it was never about the thrill to begin with.

Owen glances my way and I shoot him a look that isn’t hard to interpret. His eyes snap away, pretending not to notice me.

And that’s when I see her.

She’s sitting at the other end of the bar with some bulky meathead looming at her side. He’s blabbering away, but not to her. Or if he is, she’s not listening. Her gaze is up and wandering aimlessly around the club.

I watch her shift from person to person, her bright eyes catching the club lights in quick shimmers. She looks like she’s genuinely examining each member in the crowd, completely disengaged from the conversation in front of her.

Not the type I’ve ever seen in a place like this.

I’m filled with a sudden urge to meddle with their little group. She looks uncomfortable. That stout fuck isn’t going to eat her, but she looks worried that he might. In fact, everything about her seems beautifully out of place.

It’s starting to surprise me that she hasn’t felt my stare when her eyes suddenly find mine. She looks away almost instantly. But I don’t.

At this point there’s nothing capable of pulling my gaze away. I watch her sip anxiously from her glass. Her eyes dart between the oaf to her right and the women sitting beside her. Even the way she tries desperately to hide her nerves is attractive.

No—she definitely doesn’t belong in here. And I know she can feel me staring.

Come on, I murmur. And then, as if on command, our eyes meet again. The rest of the club blurs. It’s only the two of us. And without even thinking, I wink at her.

Her lips bend into a smile that sends fire through my veins. But when I nod for her to come over, she looks away.

I curse under my breath.

She’s talking to her friend again. Now the meathead next to her is saying something too. Hell, if he persuades her to stay I swear I’ll go over and shove those hulk arms down his throat.

But she stands up.

She picks up her glass and chugs what’s remaining. I almost laugh but swallow it when she begins in my direction. Her wavy brown hair sways as she walks and she tucks a loose strand behind her ear. Even the way she navigates the crowd is elegant. Not pushy, not reserved, but graceful.

As she nears I steal an open bar stool and set it to my side. She takes a seat and thanks me in a voice that’s exactly as pleasant as I imagined.

“Of course.” I grin and thumb at the bar. “What are you drinking?”

“That’s the same thing the other guy asked.”

“Oh yeah?” I discard the first thought that comes to me in favor of something a little more polite. “Looks like he might be a little out of his league.”

She narrows her eyes and smirks. “Is that so?”

“Definitely. Looks like he does better with carbs than women.”

She giggles at that. “And what about her?” she asks, pointing back at her friend. “Is she out of his league too?”

“I’ll let them work it out.”

She laughs. “That was my strategy too.”

“Well, I’m glad you escaped then. Can I get us a round?” I ask.

For a moment she only smiles back at me. Her skin has a caramel softness. “Let’s start with names, shall we?”

“Yes, we shall.” I set my empty glass down and extend my hand extra formally. “I’m Noah.”

“Sophia.” She returns a firm shake. “Thanks for saving me from that.” She gestures at her friend again.

“Yeah, it was tough. You looked like you were really enjoying yourself.”

Her laugh is more lively this time. “Well, do you still want to buy me a drink?”

“Even more now, actually. But you’ve got to tell me what you’re drinking?”

She twists her empty glass in her hands. “I believe it was called a Club Red Marg?” Her tone has a touch of humor that also flickers in her eyes. They look even more vibrant up close, a light blue with dark bursts near the centers.

“You have beautiful eyes,” I murmur, which surprises her just as much as myself.

“Thank you.” She smiles. It’s a timid smile, but it’s fucking adorable.

“Sorry, it slipped.”

“I’m sure.”

I take the opportunity to signal one of the bartenders as she passes by. Not the same girl as before but she’s still quick with our drinks, returning with a margarita for Sophia and a Manhattan for myself.

“Have you tried one of these before?” Sophia asks, raising her glass to take a sip.

“God no.”

She ends her sip to keep in a laugh.

“I just don’t like the taste of burnt gasoline. That’s all.”

The laugh escapes. “Well these are gasoline flavored with a hint of strawberry. You should try it.”

“Not a chance.” I take a swig from my Manhattan. “But I’ll make you a deal?”

She raises her eyebrows.

“If you hang around for another drink, I’ll let you pick. Both of ours.”

“Is that an official offer?” she asks.

I hesitate to answer and she begins to smirk. “Fine. It’s an official offer but you’re in no position to accept it, so why don’t you worry about finishing that poison in your hand first.”

“I don’t know, there’s always the risk that I start to feel less thirsty after a few more sips,” she says. Another smirk.

Not only can she take a joke—she can fire back. And I love it.

I give her a shrug while I take a drink. She’s clever, but she’s up against the king of dry sarcasm. And she’s going to lose. “Here’s the thing though, either I buy you another drink or I walk away without ingesting that neon red toxic,” I say. “Either way, I win.”

She takes a sip and peers at me. “So you’re indifferent about it, then?”

“Oh, no. I have a preference.”

She grins and taps her glass against mine in another cheers. We both tilt them back.

“Then I accept the offer,” she says, setting down an empty glass.

“All right, do your worst.” I signal Owen’s favorite bartender. Part of me is still hoping she’ll have a little mercy, but I’m wrong. Sophia orders two Club Red Margs.