Sweet Nothing(34)
“Believe me, I get it,” Gwen says. “But it’s a cultural experience. Kind of like a right of passage. You know, popping your club cherry.”
Waverly’s cheeks go pink, but this time, she ignores Gwen. “You probably have time for a nap if you want. Dinner’s at nine, and we’ll head out by ten.”
“You should ask your new boyfriend if he wants to come.” Gwen wrinkles her nose at me.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I protest. Although the idea of having Luke there does make the idea more appealing. “But maybe. You guys wouldn’t mind?”
“Just as long as he makes it clear I’m not with him,” Waverly sniffs. “I don’t want him cramping my style.”
“I’ll tell him to control himself.” I roll my eyes at Gwen.
“I saw that,” Waverly says.
“Dress code?” I ask.
Waverly nibbles her lip thoughtfully. “Short dress, high heels.”
“Let me translate,” Gwen offers. “South Beach Slutty.”
A few hours and two much needed shots of espresso later, the three of us are huddled together just inside the doors of a club situated a few blocks from the beach. According to Waverly, the club is hot enough to be relevant but not so hot we can’t get in. I’ve already forgotten the name of the place—Aqua, or Salt, or Wave, or something water-related. Which is appropriate, considering the décor. The floor is almost all glass, and beneath it, tropical fish swim in neon aqua water.
“Isn’t this place great?” Waverly’s perfect scarlet lips part in amazement as she surveys the clusters of white leather banquettes and clear Lucite side tables, where bottles of overpriced vodka chill in ice buckets. Groups of tall, tanned, mannequins sip cocktails from champagne glasses, looking bored. Low house music pumps from the sound system. The ceiling above us is also glass; the bottom of the pool on the roof above. I watch the silhouettes of girls swim overhead.
“Yeah, sure. Cool theme.” I tug at the hem of my cream silk one-shoulder dress. It must be Aria’s dress, actually, since she’s always been a few inches taller than me and the dress falls just above my knee. On her, it would have hit mid-thigh. My sky-high platinum snakeskin pumps, diamond-encrusted skull ring, and patent leather clutch complete the ensemble, and my hair falls in a shiny, auburn curtain over my shoulders. “I’m just glad there aren’t so many people here that we can’t hear each other talk.”
“It’s early still,” Waverly offers apologetically. Her dress is shorter than mine—a deep plum number with cap sleeves, a non-existent back, and a feathered hem. “It’ll fill up.”
“Is Luke coming?” Gwen asks.
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “I texted him the address.” I’d checked my phone for the seventeenth time before we got out of the cab. Nothing. “He doesn’t really strike me as the club type, anyway.”
“We’ll have fun either way. Drinks?” Gwen leads us across the aquarium floor, impressively steady on tall black platform heels. Somehow, she manages to make high-waisted black silk trousers look sexy. I blame the skintight leather bustier. Vegan, she’d specified when she’d emerged from her closet.
The bar is patrolled by two guys and a girl, all of whom could be models and none of whom are wearing much clothing. Gwen bends over the bar, calls to one of the male bartenders, and passes us each a chilled martini glass filled with turquoise liquid to the midpoint, then with a light green liquid to the top. The drink reminds me of the bay. Which reminds me of Luke. Which makes me check my phone again. Still nothing.
“What’s this?” I ask Gwen, inspecting the martini glass.
“Dunno. I just told the guy to surprise us.”
“Only one way to find out.” Waverly raises her glass, and Gwen and I lift ours, too. “Cheers.”
The drink is sweet and sour all at once. It’s even better than the martini I had at the Allford reception at Dr. Goodwin’s house. That night was a week ago today, and already I feel like I’ve lived a lifetime in Miami. I can’t believe that seven days ago, I was about to meet Luke. Seven days ago, I wasn’t sure I could start a whole new life. But now, I feel more confident than ever that Miami is where I’m meant to be. And with Luke. You’re supposed to be with Luke, says a tiny voice in my head. I ignore it. I can’t allow myself to think that way.
“Here we go.” Gwen finds an open banquette and we settle in with our drinks, trying not to spill. I take a long sip, until the top layer has vanished and I’m tasting the cool blue. It tastes like raspberries.