"Mr. Donovan," the valet said. "It's very good to see you tonight."
Chase snorted and turned to me. "Is there anybody who doesn't know me in this damn town?"
I hit the latch on my door, and the valet ran to my side and held the door open for me as I exited. Chase tossed the keys to the poor guy, who looked to be only a couple of years younger than we were.
"No joy rides," Chase said.
"Of course not, sir," the valet replied.
Chase held out his elbow for me and guided me to the front entrance, past the dozen or so people waiting to get in. The bouncer smiled and nodded as he unclipped the rope, letting us cut past the entire line. I accidentally made contact with a college-aged woman who flashed me a look so jealous and hateful I flinched and turned away.
A second bouncer opened the door for us to enter. I turned to Chase and whispered in his ear.
"Don't they know we're both underage? What if we get caught?"
"I wouldn't worry about that," Chase smirked.
The club was very dark except for incessant lights that strobed and flashed, illuminating the dance floor. The decor seemed to be very modern in a Euro-trash way. To my surprise, however, the place was practically deserted, despite the line of people waiting to get in.
A few women were milling around and dancing half-heartedly. They stopped as we walked past, all of them ogling Chase and giving me the stink eye. It made me chuckle a bit. I knew Chase was good-looking, but I had never thought of him as a head-turner. He did look nice tonight, though. He was wearing a dark and expensive-looking blazer over a dress shirt that he had not bothered to button all the way up. His designer jeans were carefully stone-washed, frayed and torn to give them that tattered look that was all the rage. I wouldn't have been surprised if he paid more than a thousand dollars to get jeans like those.
Oh, well. At least they made his bony little butt look good.
Another bouncer, a burly black guy with a shaved head, ushered us to a roped-off VIP section where we sat on plush leather chairs. A waitress wearing next to nothing set down an icy bottle of vodka, smiling at Chase as she poured our drinks.
"You're Chase Donovan, aren't you?" she asked a bit too flirtatiously for comfort. "I recognize you from the fashion spread in Austin Monthly."
"You're very observant," Chase cooed.
"When I want to be," she replied. "Can I get you and your"-she cut a side glance in my direction-"your companion anything else right now?"
"I could think of some things," Chase said with a devilish grin.
The waitress grinned right back at him. What the hell was going on? My boyfriend was flirting with some bimbo waitress in front of my very eyes. I elbowed him hard in the shoulder.
"Ouch! What the hell was that for?"
I turned to the waitress and flashed her a look that dripped with fuck-you-bitch.
"We're fine for now," I said.
"That really hurt," Chase sulked after the waitress had left our reserved lounge. He rubbed his shoulder and nursed his drink, refusing to look at me.
///
"You were flirting with that waitress," I said. "‘I can think of some things?' What the hell was that supposed to mean?"
"You're so paranoid about every little thing," Chase grumbled. "I was just trying to butter her up to get better service, not make you all jealous. Way to kill the buzz."
I felt like screaming, or hitting him again. Instead, I downed my drink.
"Do you want me to leave?" I said. "I can easily catch a cab if I'm ruining your night."
"Come on," Chase said. "Don't be like that. Let's go dance."
Before I knew it Chase had grabbed my hand and was pulling me onto the dance floor. A few more people had shown up, but the club was still pretty dead. As Chase began to dance I followed along, although I felt awkward and conspicuous as one of the only couples dancing to the pulsating club music.
Chase kept looking at the other ladies, which was annoying, but I gave in to the music and let it carry me through several songs. The same waitress from before came and put a drink in Chase's hand, giving him that same flirty smile that made me so angry. Sure, I was jealous. I had every right to be.
I turned around and bent over a little. Arching my back, I let my butt grind into Chase as he swiveled his hips. His crotch pressing against me and I could feel a small bump in the front of his jeans. With his drink in one hand, he put his other on my hip, pulling my body into his as he pretended to fuck me from behind.
People were watching us. One scantily clad college girl covered her mouth and whispered something to her friend, never taking her eyes off of me and Chase. Her friend doubled over with laughter as Chase started ramming me with exaggerated ferocity. I glanced back at Chase. He was looking at the college girls and laughing.
Laughing at me.
I tore away from him and stormed across the dance floor, back to our reserved VIP lounge. I threw myself down, sinking into the plush leather sofa, and turned up the bottle of vodka. My face was burning with embarrassment and I wanted to drown all my problems, let the booze burn them away.
Chase was an asshole. I already knew that. But I had stuck with him anyway, for a lot of reasons that were hard for me to explain to myself. I mean, he was good-looking and rich, and I didn't have much else to do that summer before I went off to college.
Then I thought of Patton. My stepdad who had gone off to war, then come home only for me to find out he was leaving again-and not expecting to come back. My boyfriend was a jerk and my stepdad was abandoning me for a second time.
Tugboat had seemed awfully worried about this mission of theirs, and I knew from my stepdad's stories that Tugboat was no coward.
This was bad. Really bad. I took another pull from the vodka bottle. The icy burn raced down my throat, and I nearly choked, swallowing it down before I coughed it back up. As soon as my tummy felt like it wasn't on fire anymore, I took another swig. Then another.
VI.
I couldn't find Chase anywhere. In my blurry drunken state, it seemed like the club had suddenly become wildly crowded. I stumbled past throngs of dancing, sweaty bodies, being jostled by the writhing crowd of mostly college-aged men and women who were obviously enjoying themselves a lot more than I was.
"Chase?" I called. "Chase?"
He was gone. Well, I had threatened to call a cab earlier. That's just what I would have to do. I felt for my purse and realized it was gone, too. I raced back to our VIP lounge, my vision swimming dizzily from the alcohol.
No purse. Fuck. I felt into the cushion and, by some miracle, I felt my phone-the same phone that Chase had given me earlier in the summer. I scrolled through the numbers, looking for someone to call and pick me up. I messaged three supposed friends, but the time crawled by and no one answered. By now, it was well after midnight.
Then I saw the number I should have called from the instant I realized I was in trouble. For some reason-pride, maybe-I had refused to even consider him.
Patton. Dad.
He would not hesitate to come get me. But he also wouldn't hesitate to leave me behind, possibly forever, choosing his country over his own daughter.
The dance music was throbbing so loudly, it made my ears ring. I felt so alone, so helpless. My phone was running on the last little bit of battery. It would be dead any minute. I wanted to scream in frustration. Instead, I messaged him.
Daddy please come get me. I'm at Pulse on 6th Street
I'm sorry
Literally seconds after I hit the send button, my phone died. There was no way to know whether my stepdad had received my message. He was probably asleep. If so, he wouldn't even get my message until the morning.
///
"Excuse me. Miss?"
The bouncer's voice shook me back to reality.
"We need you to vacate the lounge."
"But Chase, my boyfriend … "
"Now."
The bartender made a sweeping right-this-way motion with his hand, and I had no choice but to comply. As soon as I had exited the VIP area he snapped the rope back in place, blocking it from other club patrons.
"But I can't find my boyfriend," I protested.
"Mr. Donovan is around here somewhere," the doorman said. He cast a knowing glance toward a door that I hadn't noticed against the back wall. The doorman looked at the door, then gave me a conspiratorial look. "I hope you find him."