When we arrive back at the table, Nick is standing behind me. I pick my wine glass up and finish the contents in one gulp.
“Guys, this is Nick…I mean Nicholas,” I correct myself. I don’t need my friends messing up his name even though I refuse to call him by it. They all introduce themselves to Nick. Stacy is the last and Nick asks, “Aren’t you the weather girl from Channel 5?”
There is silence at the table and Stacy is glaring at Nick. “Meteorologist,” she spits outs and I laugh. I can’t help it. I know Stacy hates being referred to as a weather girl. We all say it to her face, but only when we want to piss her off.
“Chief meteorologist to be exact,” she adds with an angry tone. I laugh again, thinking about how she slept with the executive producer of Channel 5 news to get that spot. It’s not like she wasn’t the most qualified, because she was. It’s the fact that she did it to ensure she would get it over anyone else. I love her dearly, but she will fuck anyone to get what she wants.
Nick doesn’t apologize. Clasping my hand into his, he announces, “I’m taking Shannon upstairs with me. Would you all like to join us?”
He is?
My friends’ eyes light up and simultaneously shout, “YES!”
None of us has ever been on the second level. Most clubbers from level one never have and never will. Level two is the private area of Club Blue. I assume it’s where CEOs and celebrities hang out; although, I’ve never seen a celebrity here.
Making our way out of the elevator and into the room, it seems bigger than down below. A tall railing circles the center. It’s open and you can look down onto level one. The tables are spaced out more, and there are booths and couches that line the wall. In the back, there is another dance floor. It’s a little smaller than the one on level one, probably because there aren’t as many people on this level.
“Follow me,” Nick says as he leads us to a private table off to the side. He hasn’t let go of my hand since we were on downstairs. When we reach the big table, there are three men already sitting there, but it’s big enough to accommodate everyone.
Nick lets everyone take a seat and gestures for me to follow him to the end of the table. The chairs are a lot nicer up here. They are big black stools, similar to the ones down below, but these chairs have cushioned backs that wrap around. I like them.
I take my seat and Nick stands next to me with his arm draped over the back of the chair behind my head. Without taking his eyes off me, he says, “The mean looking guy is Jase. The big one is Shane, and the old one is Matt."
“Fuck you, Lockhart,” they all three say in unison.
Nick looks up and across the table at what I assume are his friends. “I just call it like I see it,” he says with a smile.
Matt, the old guy as Nick called him, doesn’t look that old to me, maybe late thirties. He has dusty grey hair mixed with dark black, and a goatee to match. He’s wearing a business suit and is drinking what looks to be whiskey.
Shane has milk chocolate flawless skin and beautiful, perfect white teeth. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and blue jeans. He has a Shemar Moore look about him and I immediately take notice that Katelyn appears to be in awe. Yeah, he’s hot! She isn’t blind. My friend takes a seat right next to him. Looking at both of them, they look somewhat exotic. Katelyn has long, curly jet-black hair, green eyes, and perfect olive skin. They just look right sitting next to each other.
Jase is similar in build to Nick. I’m guessing they are about the same height and size. He has dirty-blond hair. It’s short on the sides and longer on top, and he has piercing sky-blue eyes. There are tattoos covering the sleeves of each arm, and lettering across the top of his right fingers. The room is dim and he’s standing at the other end of the long table, so I can’t make out the word. There is colorful ink poking out of the collar of his t-shirt. I probably should not be staring at him this long, but he reminds me of Jacoby Shaddix, the lead singer from my favorite band, and in my opinion, the hottest man in the world. Or at least, he was two days ago, before I laid eyes on Nick.
Nick guides my chin in his direction and I’m now looking at him. He hasn’t left his position next to me; his arm’s still draped over the back of my chair. “Pay attention to me, please.”
“So how did you know I was here?” I question him. It’s a bit odd how I told him I didn’t think we should see each other again, yet we end up at the same club.
“I didn’t, but you’re not exactly hard to pick out in a room full of blondes and brunettes,” he says while running a hand through my red hair. He turns my chair slightly so that my side is facing the others; my front is facing a black painted concrete wall and he’s on the other side of me. He starts to kiss me and places his hand on my knee, the one that isn’t resting behind my head.