The sensation of multiple pairs of eyes prickled the back of my neck.

I stiffened and turned. It was a cloyingly hot day in New Orleans; the sun’s rays were relentless. But the sensation of eyes on my skin was cold; a chill that crawled across my flesh. I was standing at the entrance of the Saint Louis Cemetery, trailing behind a group of tourists who followed our guide past the cemetery gates.

I scanned my surroundings, trying to find whoever was staring at me, but the various passersby paid me no attention.

“Liana?” my friend Sera asked, approaching me with a concerned frown.

“Sorry,” I said, “just . . . thought I saw someone I recognized.”

I didn’t know why I lied, but it hadn’t been the first time I’d felt eyes on me since arriving in New Orleans. I wasn’t sure if I was being paranoid or if someone really was following me.

Sera raised her eyebrows.

“Who would we know here?”

I grinned. She was right. Most people in our small town in Pennsylvania had never ventured outside the town, much less the state.

“Come on,” Sera continued, stepping forward to link her arm with mine, leading me into the cemetery. “Let’s get this over with.”

I chuckled and gave her a playful shove. Sera had wanted to do none of the historical activities I’d wanted to on our vacation to New Orleans; her focus was on the city’s nightlife.

Though we were total opposites, Sera was my best friend, and I was glad she was here with me.

I’d wanted to take a vacation after my longtime boyfriend, Brian, had dumped me a few weeks before. The breakup had come as a total shock; we’d dated all throughout college and I'd assumed we’d get married. It turned out he’d been cheating on me with a classmate of his the final six months leading up to our graduation.

To be honest, I’d been more surprised than hurt. The passion between Brian and I had been lagging for . . . well, for years. I'd assumed we’d just slipped into that comfortable space that most couples do after being together for so long. I’d tried to look on the bright side of our breakup—I’d been aching to get out of our small college town to take a vacation before returning to work at the local museum as an assistant curator. As a history buff, New Orleans had the right amount of history and culture to draw my attention. I’d always wanted to visit, but Brian was never interested.

As soon as I left the coffee shop where Brian had dumped me, I’d called Sera, in tears, and it was at her urging that a week later we were on a plane for a two-week long vacation to New Orleans. We’d only been here for a few days, but I’d already fallen in love with the city. There was an energy that zinged through the streets; the historical sites were just a cherry on top. Part of me was already dreading the return home.

Despite my enjoyment of the city, I had to admit that I’d noticed strange things ever since I arrived. There was that persistent sensation of being watched. A feeling of electricity that rippled beneath my skin. A heightened awareness of the sights and sounds around me. Not to mention the dreams, dreams filled with hazy images of several men whose faces I couldn’t make out. To be fair, I’d had those dreams before arriving in New Orleans, but recently they’d grown . . . steamier. A flush spread across my face at the memory of the one I’d had just last night. Four pairs of hands on my body, lips on my skin . . .

I shook my head, forcing myself to focus as Sera and I joined our tour group. Maybe it was all the stimuli. I hadn’t taken an actual vacation since my sophomore year.

I listened as our guide, a portly and jovial middle-aged man, told us about the French origins of the cemetery. At my side, Sera was a good sport, trying to look interested, but I could tell she was bored. History had fascinated me since I was a child; I’d majored in American history, with the goal of either teaching or working in a museum. Brian had called me the most adorable nerd he’d ever met.

I suspected my love of history came from my parents. They'd died in a plane crash when I was young, and my grandmother had raised me. My grandmother, who insisted that I call her by her name, Alice, had died a year ago. She’d always acted odd every time I asked for information about my parents. But one thing she did tell me was that they were history buffs.

Our guided tour of the cemetery soon drew to a close, and Sera looked relieved.

“Thanks for enduring that with me,” I said teasingly, as we left to head back to our hotel on Bourbon Street. I’d wanted to stay in the quieter Garden District, but Sera insisted on staying in the center of the city’s nightlife.

“Oh, you’re welcome,” she said, with a wink. “But you'll make it up to me.”

“How?” I asked, suspicious.

“We’re going to Flame tonight.”

I groaned. We had already gone to several bars in New Orleans, though they had mostly been historical ones in the French Quarter. I knew Sera was hankering to go to a more modern day club or bar.

“I’ve gone to museums, cemeteries, guided tours . . .” Sera pointed out.

“You’re right, you’re right,” I said, smiling. “I’m guessing Flame is a hip new club.”

“Absolutely,” she replied. “And it’s where we’re going to find you a new man.”

“No,” I said, “this trip is not about me finding a rebound. I told you before we left.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, pretending to pout. “A great woman once said, ‘The best way to get over someone is under a new person.’

“I’m over Brian,” I insisted. “I was mostly shocked that he dumped me. It’s for the best. Brian and I didn’t have this passionate love story.”

It was true. I had gotten over the breakup surprisingly quick, and no longer felt any bitterness. I had wondered if I should be more broken up over the whole thing. It had been a four-year relationship. And I’d found out that he moved into his new girlfriend’s apartment shortly after moving out of ours. Yet I was fine with the whole thing.

“I believe you,” Sera said, when we arrived back at our hotel. “I’m just saying it can’t hurt to meet someone.”

“And I’m saying I’ll go with you to this club, but not to meet someone,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“You’re no fun.”

We had dinner at the hotel, and I was tempted to tell Sera about the sensation of eyes on me at the cemetery, and my feeling of being watched since we’d arrived in New Orleans. But I decided against it. She seemed excited about the night’s plans, and I didn’t want to bum her out.

“I got us onto the VIP list to get into Flame,” she said, twirling strands of pasta around her fork. “No lines for us.”

I smiled politely, trying to feign excitement. Nightclubs weren’t my thing. Brian and I would occasionally go to a bar, but we often just ate out at local restaurants or watched movies at home. But I decided to keep an open mind. Maybe I’d have fun tonight.

Back in our room, Sera got dressed in a gorgeous jade minidress that highlighted her dirty blonde hair and vivid green eyes. Sera was beautiful; many of Brian’s friends had asked her out. Though she dated often, she was content to be single.

I looked down at my simple black dress, feeling plain next to Sera. I had wavy brown hair that I often had to tame by tying it into a ponytail, deep brown eyes that Alice told me were the spitting image of my mother’s, a wide mouth, and pale skin that refused to tan.

“Nope,” Sera said, looking critically at my dress.

“What?”

“You’re not going to a funeral! We are going out for a fun night on the town; you need to dress accordingly,” Sera said. She walked over to her suitcase, skimming the contents. She grinned, picking up a teal blue halter dress. “This.”

“No way,” I protested. It was a showstopper dress; something I’d never wear in public.

“Yes, way,” she said. “You are going to wear this dress and we're going to put photos all over your social media feed, showing how hot you look and how fabulous you feel.”

“For the millionth time, I’m over Brian. And—wait? Social media? I don’t have any social media accounts,” I said, giving her a suspicious frown.

Sera flushed, looking guilty.

“Well, now you do.”

“Sera!”

“I just thought you’d want to put yourself out there. Online date or something. I thought having a few profiles up couldn’t help.”

I glared at her, more nervous than I let on. When she was alive, Alice had forbidden me from using social media; she was suspicious of it, wondering why you'd let a bunch of strangers into your life. I wasn’t crazy about it either; I was too shy to put my life up on display, so I hadn’t put up a fight. Alice had been relieved when I agreed, giving me a long embrace. There seemed to be another reason for her reluctance at me creating online profiles, and it had been on the back of my mind to ask her about it one day. But I'd never had the chance.

“I’ll take them down, OK?” Sera said. “Sorry. Really.”

“It’s OK,” I said, forcing a smile. She looked genuinely guilty. “But yes, you will take them down.”

“And I won’t push the dress on you. But… this might be more your style,” she said, holding up a deep purple dress with an off-the-shoulder top. It was flashier than what I usually wore, but way more understated than the blue dress. And why not? It couldn’t hurt to step out of my shell. I nodded my agreement, taking the dress.

We took a rideshare service to Flame, a nightclub just on the outskirts of the city. I could tell that it was a new and hip club; there was a line that wrapped around the building.

Taking my hand, Sera walked up to the bouncer. His eyes lit up at the sight of her and he leaned in to peck her on the cheek, stepping aside to let us in.

“Do you know him?” I asked, as we entered.

“I flirted with him while you were browsing at the art museum,” Sera said, with a casual shrug.

I shook my head, impressed. Sera was good.

Inside the club, the party was already in full swing. Gyrating bodies packed the dance floor, which was illuminated by red pulsating lights. The theme was ‘fire’; with red, yellow and orange lighting that somehow appeared classy instead of tacky.

We made a beeline for the bar where Sera ordered us both the house special; a drink called the Flaming Danger. I eyed it nervously as the bartender set the drinks in front of us; flames danced inside the glass.

“To new beginnings,” Sera said, holding up her glass. I picked up my glass, clinking it with hers.

“To new beginnings.”

The drink scalded the back of my throat, and it took a few seconds for me to get used to the taste. I grinned, already feeling a light buzz. Sera took my hand and led me to the dance floor.

A booming hip hop song blared from the speakers, and I relaxed. Sera began swaying her hips to the music. I followed suit, moving along to the music, focused on being present in the moment, in the here and now.

Soon, a handsome curly haired man approached Sera to dance. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him, but she shook her head.

“I’m dancing with my friend,” she shouted over the music.

“It’s OK,” I shouted, “I’ll be fine.”

Sera hesitated a moment before taking the guy’s hand and turning to dance with him.

I stopped dancing and froze. Because I felt it again. That sensation of multiple eyes on my skin.

I whirled. Across the dance floor, a man was staring at me. Not one man, but four. Four tall and stunningly gorgeous men. And they were all focused on me.