I couldn’t believe I’d turned away from Howl—no, Darien. I believe his sister called him that.

His sister…

Yeah, I could believe it. They were both drop-dead gorgeous. Ridiculously so…

I scanned the room, heart hammering. I knew I couldn’t leave just yet, but I needed somewhere, anywhere, to go. Somewhere that could put a bit of distance between me and him.

My face burned, my throat felt too tight, and I wasn’t breathing properly. Probably looked like I was on the verge of a panic attack. Maybe I was.

Then I spotted the ice buckets lined with drinks. Perfect. An excuse. It’d save me from standing against a wall like some awkward freak who wasn’t brave enough to talk to the hot lead singer of a band.

I walked steadily, eyes forward, refusing to look back in case he was watching my pathetic attempt at a casual retreat.

The music was a chill, gothy rock band - something I vaguely recognised from the ‘80s. As I passed by clusters of guests—some laughing, others deep in conversation, a few ignoring all normal rules about public displays - I kept my gaze level, trying very hard not to get too intrigued.

Finally, I reached the table and began rummaging through the various buckets. Beers. Sugary, lurid-coloured alcopops. Nothing but alcohol, which is something I didn’t need right now. No soda - until I reached the end, near some stacked crates where glasses and small bottles of spirits were laid out. Ah, the mixer station.

I snagged a sparkling lemonade and opened it with the available bottle opener and held the cold bottle to my cheek sighing from the cool relief.

The chill against my flushed skin should’ve grounded me -
But it didn’t.

Instead, it made me think of that damn vision again.
His hand caressing my cheek.
His lips, so close.
That soft, rough pull of his body against mine.

Girl, knock this off or you're going to cause this soda to burst from your own heat.

I have a boyfriend.
Carter.

Oh crap. Carter.

The guilt hit me like a wave. If I was having feelings - even animalistic ones - for another man, this was a very, very bad sign.

I placed the bottle down a little too hard and gripped the table’s edge, trying to steady my breathing.

I wasn’t a cheater.
I would never be that girl.

And maybe that’s why I was so mortified - and angry - with myself.

I have a boyfriend.
I have a boyfriend.
I have a boyfriend.

I forced Carter’s face into my thoughts. His boy-next-door blonde hair, those light blue eyes, the little smirk he got when geeking out over something nerdy.

Okay… that helped. A little.

Then -
A presence.

I felt it behind me before I saw him.

Turning, I was met with shoulder-length dark waves and those violet eyes, watching me like I was the most amusing thing he'd seen all night.

A small smile tugged at his lips, and I bit the inside of mine.

No.

Darien followed me here.

I have a boyfriend.
I have a boyfriend.
I have a boyfriend.

My mind screamed it on loop.

“You know, being in my line of work, I manage to get various reactions from people when I approach. It would be a shame if you were the first to avoid me.”

He raised his brows and inclined his head ever so slightly when he said you, sending a shiver down my spine and causing my mouth to pop open like a brainless fish.

He stepped closer. I instinctively backed up, bumping against the table. The glasses rattled, chiming softly like they'd witnessed a hundred other moments like this.

No way. Surely I wasn’t that special?

Still, his words clung to me like static. He meets new people all the time. He flirts for a living. He oozes sexuality like it’s cologne, and for some brilliant reason, my brain decided to remind me that I was probably just another notch on his rock-and-roll, egotistical belt.

A line like that? Probably recycled on anyone with a heartbeat.

Right there and then, I decided I wasn’t going to let a vision mess with my head.

I wasn’t going to give in to stupid impulses.

And I was definitely not going to become some fangirl with goo-goo eyes over a tall, tanned, dark-haired peacock.

I have a boyfriend!

And I wasn’t the kind of girl who cheated.

I pushed off the table and squared my shoulders. Then, with a smirk I didn’t entirely feel, I met his gaze.

“I have a boyfriend.”

I said it oh-so-confidently, like I was wearing it as a shield. To be fair, I could’ve opened with anything else, but blurting that out made me feel I had a least set the expectations and boundaries.

Darien blinked—then smirked. He found it amusing. Not the reaction I was expecting.

He placed a hand on his chin like he was pondering something, then began to slowly circle me, studying me like I was some piece of art he couldn’t quite figure out.

I didn’t take my eyes off him.

“Hmmmmm.” His gaze trailed over me as he circled, all lazy calculation and wolfish grin.

Like a predatory wolf, my mind added.

“What are you doing?” I snapped, my patience wearing thin as I pivoted to follow him.

“I’m trying to figure out your type,” he said, tone infuriatingly calm.

“My type,” I repeated, incredulous, one brow arched.

“Well, you see,” he continued smoothly, “the usual punters of Club Dusk come here for many reasons. Excitement. Passion. A night of freedom. Whatever their heart desires.”

My eyebrows knitted. True enough, but what exactly was he getting at? When I didn’t answer he continued.

“People in relationships,” he went on, “either come together for… wicked experimentation—each to their own, of course - or they come alone, to fulfil certain… sacrilegious desires their partners cannot give them.”

He stopped directly in front of me, far too close. His eyes flashed with mischief, like he’d just laid a trap.

“I don’t see you with anyone, apart from your friends, so my guess is the second type.”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes, arms crossing before I even realised it.

Damn him - he’d hit a nerve. No way was I giving him the satisfaction.

“You’re way off,” I said, voice firm. “I came here for a night of fun with my friends and to listen to some good music. I didn’t come here to be swept off my feet by some sleazy singer who thinks he knows people.”

His brows lifted in surprise, but that grin of his remained maddeningly in place. It irritated me so much I stepped forward - forcing him to take a step back this time.

“Not everyone is interested in dark deeds in the shadows, you know,” I added, gesturing to the small crowd behind me.

He laughed, low and amused. 

“Quite the vixen once you are cornered, aren’t you?”

I groaned at the nickname. I’d had plenty of nicknames in my life. While this one was new, it wasn’t exactly original.

Sure, I’d been called Foxy, Fox, Red, Lil’ Red, Ginger, Carrot Top…

I mean, what next—an unoriginal nickname for my freckles?

Darien only grinned wider. He stepped away from me, turned to the table, and poured himself a drink with casual ease. I watched as he took a sip, eyes half-lidded and calculating as he savoured it before swallowing.

Then he looked back at me, perched himself on the edge of the table, and grinned like a cat with cream. He also handed me back my sparkling lemonade.