5. I'm Still Jail-Bait at this Point, but Luc Doesn't Know that

Flickering lights, pounding music – and the most awkward session of grinding you’ve ever seen, courtesy of a crop top and mini-skirt wearing Heather Morris and the anxiety riddled dork she’s dating who freezes up every time he feels the press of those breasts or thinks the bouncer might be looking at him.

“God, you need a drink!” Heather laughs right up against my ear.

“Couldn’t agree more,” a voice sounds at my back, sending goosebumps up my spine, even before I turn to meet those cutting green eyes alight with wicked mischief. “Glad to see we’ve got ourselves another pair of regulars.” He folds a drink right into my hand. He brought one for Heather too, but holds it out to her almost like an afterthought. He’s clearly playing mind games, just another step to gain her interest and get her chasing him. I should maybe wrap my arm around her or something, make it clear to him…

I take a timid sip of the drink he bought for me instead. No gag-inducing burn of straight tequila like I expected. It’s a subtle, smooth mix of liquor and ice that tastes like top shelf spices.

“Oh my God, that is the shit!” Heather raves, having finished the whole tumbler. “You offering another? On the house?” She bats her most impressive eyelashes at Luc, and he gives a cryptic smile.

This is where he sends me off to fetch another round so he can steal some alone time with her; I can sense it coming.

“How about we head up to the VIP booth and Alex will bring it on up?”

I blink, processing just what that snap of fingers and easy command of authority could mean…

“You the owner’s kid or something?” Heather laughs, leaned way too close against him, though maybe it’s just the press of the crowd. After all, I am shoulder to shoulder with him too, with Heather’s hand on my hip, and Luc’s breath hot upon my cheek every time he opens up that mouth of his.

“The owner’s kid,” Luc repeats back mockingly, seeming a little irked by the idea. “You do know this is my club, right?” He looks right at me as he says it, and I know, shocking as it is, that he’s telling the truth.

Heather just rolls her eyes. “Liar. They’re not even going to let us into the VIP booth, are they?”

“Your girlfriend’s pretty cynical, now isn’t she?” Luc speaks into my ear, leaning casually on my shoulder. I blush bright red, and his smile grows all the broader.

He takes both our hands and leads us off across the dance floor, and the crowd parts for him like he’s the King of England – the bouncers steering away anyone that tries to block us.

“Holy shit. You really are the owner?!” Heather drunkenly shouts, as we make our way up the stairs and into that VIP booth. The waiters are right there with a second round of Luc’s selected cocktail. I’m still toying with the first cup, hoping Heather doesn’t go too hard shooting back another one. Who knows what they might have put in it? I’m being paranoid, but… Mom says young women always need to be worried about that kind of thing, and proper young men need to look out for them, especially in a place like this.

Luc doesn’t strike me as a creep, but I also wouldn’t go so far as to call him ‘proper’. He’s more… wicked. Compellingly, disarmingly wicked.

“My club and my right to lay claim to anyone who catches my eye,” Luc drawls, and I shoot him a look, shifting my weight to get in between him and Heather.

“Look, you can’t just… I mean, thanks for the drinks, but she is not going to…” God I sound like an idiot, and staring straight in Luc’s eyes I feel more than a little intimidated, especially because he is not intimidated by me whatsoever. He’s smiling like I’ve just gifted him a shiny new present. I turn to tell Heather we should go, and Luc catches my arm.

“I wasn’t trying to steal away your date,” he laughs. “I invited the both of you here, now didn’t I?” He pushes a hand through Heather’s hair, turning boldly to face her dreamy eyed gawking. “You ever had a three way?”

I feel my stomach flip, and even Heather starts to blush, stammering, then sighing most alarmingly, “I… no, but… you want to? I wanted… prom night, but… Julian?” She doesn’t look away from Luc, but she does clutch a hand to my sleeve. Maybe there really was something in these drinks, because she seems completely out of it. Even I feel weirdly flushed and flustered. Luc’s hand is teasing through my hair just as casually as he stroked Heather’s cheek.

I jerk back my head, and Luc smiles all the broader. “I think we’ve spooked him,” he confides to Heather and she giggles, fingers picking at his shirtfront.

“You really are so…”

“She is seventeen!” I blurt out, and Luc blinks, turning his eyes back on me. “We are both…” My words die out, tumbling entranced into those eyes again. I’m just intimidated, I tell myself. I am drunk and on edge, and… I want to paint him a portrait.

Yeah, I really have lost it. “How old are…?” He is the owner of a nightclub. He has to be at least twenty one, which makes that offer for a three way a seriously criminal one.

“A good deal older than seventeen,” he dryly admits. “Yet I seem to have picked up a pair of high schoolers. How embarrassing.” He doesn’t seem that embarrassed, but his hands drop from Heather.

She gives a little whimper, reaching after him subconsciously. "Wait, I'm not--"

“We’d best get you home before the cops catch wind of this," he cuts her off coldly. "Call them a cab,” he orders the man behind us, and just like that, we’re out of the club.

Sitting on the curb in the cold wind of midnight waiting for the taxi to pull up, I shoot a timid glance to Heather. “You alright?”

“I'm not fucking 17. My birthday's in January, duh. Turned 18 right before you moved here."

"Oh. I guess I was just..."

"Trying to save me from doing something stupid?" She pauses, looking down. "I can’t believe I almost agreed to a three way with a total stranger. A hot, rich…” She rakes a hand through her hair, forcing herself to meet my eyes. “You never would have done it, right?”

“No!” Shit, wrong thing to say. Now she’s looking even more self-conscious. “I mean…” I can’t say it. I can’t keep thinking of that look in his eyes and that hand on my back. “No,” I vehemently repeat. “Let’s just… Let’s get you home. Sorry I… I fucked up again.”

“I’m clearly the fucked-up one,” Heather mutters, crossing her arms.

“You were drunk...”

“One drink. I wasn’t drunk. He was just… Let’s just drop it, alright? We’re leaving, and we’re not coming back,” she grumbles, clearly unhappy with the idea. “18 doesn't matter when the rules are 21. No fake ID’s going to get us back in there now.”

The taxi pulls up and Heather yanks open the door. I rise to follow, but can’t help but shoot one last look back at Luc’s club and the camera over the door.

I know it’s silly, but I feel like he’s watching me, even now.

I dreamed that I walked right back up to these doors with no fake ID and no disguise, and the bodyguard waved me right through. Luc was waiting inside, naked, with Heather on his lap. He lets her slide right to the floor and put his hand on my ass, fingering my zipper--

I’m glad I woke up before my mind could vividly fill in what he’d do to me next. Did nothing to deflate the hard-on though, and I know with certainty this time that it is not there because of Heather.