Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 114492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
“And what would that be?”
“Dance, of course.”
Her face lights up. “Oh, I love to dance.”
“Well, of course, you do. You’re the Party Girl With a Hyphen, for fuck’s sake.”
She grins.
“It’s time for you to earn that nickname of yours, babe.” I touch the cleft in her chin one more time and then put out my hand. “Let’s go, baby. Time to paint Sin City red.”
Fifteen
Kat
Josh slams the taxi door shut and we bound toward “the hottest dance club in Vegas,” hand in hand. A line of immaculately dressed people waiting to get into the club wraps around the side of the building and down the block, but, apparently, lines don’t apply to Josh Faraday—because he grabs my hand and pulls me past the throngs of people and straight to the front doors.
“Hey, Barry,” Josh says to a very, very large black man standing at the front door of the club.
The man beams a huge smile at Josh. “Joshua Faraday,” he says, bumping fists with Josh. “I didn’t know you were coming out tonight.”
“Yeah, it was super last minute. Is Reed in town, by any chance?”
“Yeah, he just flew in this afternoon. Have you texted him?”
“A few minutes ago, but he hasn’t responded yet. Will you let him know I’m here? We’ll hang out by the downstairs bar for a bit so he can find us.” Josh motions to me. “Oh, sorry. Barry, this is my lovely date for the evening, Kat.”
“Hello there, Kat,” Barry says in his deep voice. He puts out his hand and I take it.
“Nice to meet you, Barry,” I say.
“Careful, Barry. Don’t look her in the eyes. She’ll hypnotize you with that fucking gorgeous face and try to trick you into telling her your darkest secrets.”
I look at Josh, flabbergasted, but Josh and Barry are laughing easily together.
“I dunno, Josh. Seems like there are much worse things that could happen to a guy than getting royally fucked over by this one here.”
“Amen, brother,” Josh says.
“Uh . . .” I say, at a loss for words. I think Barry just complimented me, but I’m not sure if “thank you” is an appropriate reply.
Before I can figure out what to say, Barry opens the velvet rope and motions for us to pass into the club. “Have fun, kids. Go easy on him, Kat. He’s a good guy.” He chuckles. “I’ll tell Reed you’re here.”
The minute Josh and I enter the club, I slip into some sort of hedonism-induced coma. I’ve been to my share of nightclubs, but I’ve never seen a temple to pure excess quite like this. Almost-nude women “bathe” throughout the club in clear Plexiglas bathtubs filled with flower petals; lithe, rippling acrobats in skin-tight bodysuits hang from the ceiling on trapeze swings, twisting and gyrating like the performers Josh and I saw earlier tonight with Jonas and Sarah at Cirque Du Soleil; seizure-inducing lights and lasers are bouncing around every square inch of the place; and screens scattered throughout the club flash shocking pornographic images in rapid-fire succession, so fast my brain isn’t sure what my eyes just witnessed. It’s sheer spectacle. Obscenity. Titillation to the extreme. And I love it.
Josh pulls me to a long, sparkling bar and flags down the bartender.
“Martini?” he shouts into my ear above the thumping music.
“Shots!” I yell. “So we can get onto the dance floor right away.”
“Good idea!” Josh shouts back and turns toward the bar.
Oh man, I’m ready to dance. Even standing here at the bar, my body’s already begun involuntarily herking and jerking to the bass-heavy beat.
A phenomenally good-looking guy in a suit sidles up to Josh and taps him on the shoulder. Josh turns toward the unidentified tap and, when he sees the guy, his entire face lights up. The two men hug with what looks like extreme affection and as they break apart the guy kisses Josh on his cheek with a giant, enthusiastic swak.
Josh motions to me, talking into the guy’s ear, and Mr. Handsome smiles and waves at me, though I can’t hear a thing above the thumping music.
Josh leans into my ear. “Reed’s part-owner of this club.”
“Nice to meet you Reed,” I say, but it’s clear he can’t hear me. He just smiles and waves again. Wow. He’s a really, really good-looking man. I lick my lips. I guess hotties travel in packs. The Brotherhood of the Traveling Hottie McHottie-pants, I think, making myself laugh.
The bartender places the shots in front of us on the bar, and Josh distributes them among the three of us.
Josh leans into Reed’s ear and says something and they both burst out laughing. Reed nods and slaps Josh’s back.
Damn, I wish I had superhuman hearing right now. But all I can hear is the blaring music. Appropriately, the song playing right now is “I Can’t Feel My Face” by The Weekend, a song about a guy who, of course, can’t feel his face, presumably because he’s drunk or high. On what, though, it’s not clear. Booze? Lust? Whichever it is (or both), I’m right there with him. Fo shizzle-pops.