Page 110 of Gravehouse

I let Khloe shove a dress on me as headlights cut through the dark. Khloe yaps nonstop about a man she met in Paris who cried after sex. I go through the motions. The humming, the nodding, the laughing. Khloe doesn’t care if I’m not fully paying attention, she generally just likes to talk. Period.

We finally pull up to a curb outside a building with no signs, just a blank door and an orange light that beams down onto the road.

“Tourists never find it.” Khloe shrugs, already getting out. “Which means the drinks are cheaper and nobody’s filming.”

I’m out before she finishes the sentence.

Inside, the ceiling is low and the music loud enough to swallow conversation. Someone smokes a cigarette near the back, despite it being illegal everywhere. I order two shots of something green without reading the label and slide one to Khloe, who throws it back before I’ve even lifted mine.

Three drinks in, the edges of the room begin to soften.

Four drinks in, Khloe’s head is thrown back laughing at her own story.

I find the dance floor because I need to burn this alcohol off before we have to go back. If I don’t, I’ll either shoot someone else, or end up on Asher’s dick.

The music is loud, a messy throb that eats up the space inside my head. Hands find my waist, but I already knew they were coming. I felt his eyes on me five minutes before he finally built the courage. He’s not bad looking. Dark eyes, broad through the shoulders.

My eyes close as the crowd press in around us, music filling every corner of my skull where Asher’s voice lives. I move because movement stops thinking, and Ineedto stop thinking.

The man’s hands tighten on my hips.

I step away, peeling his fingers off me one at a time. He does that dramatic pleading thing men do when they think it’ll help them get what they want, and I roll my eyes, making my way back to the bar.

Pathetic. Truly.

Khloe slides a fresh drink toward me.

“You okay?” she asks, yelling over 50 Cent.

I glare at her likehell no,and we both burst out laughing because why the fuck did I let a stranger dance with me?

Her laughter dies as she pulls me in close, wrapping her long arms around my neck. “He’s an idiot, you know.”

I take a long sip.

She leans back in. “For what it’s worth, he’s always been very good at what he does.”

My grip tightens around the glass.

Is that so? Well same.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FOUR

IVY

“Had fun?”

I pause in the entrance, door hanging open and keys in hand, then kick it shut behind me.

“Mhmm.” I drag my gaze across every plane of his chest without an ounce of shame. “Loads.”

Why does he have to look fuck-able? All the time.

Also, why did I come home this drunk.

Khloe hiccups, swaying sideways. “Ivy danced with a guy...”