Under the Table(26)

“What is this?” Zoey asked as she approached the velvet rope that separated them, careful not to appear like she was going to cut in line, not that it mattered. The line wasn’t moving, and the only activity was from people walking past them with the smug looks of VIPs. It looked like everyone standing outside was going to be waiting a long time. “I thought you had an in here?”

“There’s some big party going on,” Ruth told her defensively, her fingers tapping wildly on her phone.

“I tried calling for tickets when we got here, and they were all sold out,” Ruth’s friend Abbie chimed in. Her voice would best be described as half excuse, half complaint.

“Who is she texting with?” Zoey jerked a thumb in her sister’s direction.

“Blake. He’s part of the bachelor party going on in there, taking up all the space.”

“I only chose this place because he said it would be fun,” Ruth grumbled at her screen. “Sure, fun for him, he got in.”

Blake Burton was an attorney in the legal department where Ruth and the girls worked. Recently divorced and in his early thirties, he was determined to get back into the swing and had spent the last six months saying yes to any sort of group activity. It started with lunch, and soon he was invited every weekend to join in whatever they were doing. Sometimes he brought friends, but he was no dummy—why share the company of the four or more girls? He also came in handy when one of the ladies needed to brush off unwanted attention in a hurry—he was always happy to pose as someone’s boyfriend.

“This may be a blessing in disguise,” Zoey said with a returning optimism as she looked down the never-ending line of increasingly anxious partyers. This place might be a little much for Tristan on his first clubbing adventure. “Why don’t we take the party someplace a little more—”

“Zoey!” She heard her name being called. When she turned toward the direction of the sound, she found Tristan not only standing near the front door, but also waving them over.

Zoey and Tristan waited at the door while Ruth and her friends weaved their way through the mass of people on their side of the velvet rope.

“What did you just do here?” It was a question that didn’t need asking, but she wanted the verification. The mere fact that he was able to engage the stoic doormen in dialogue could only mean one thing.

He gave her a sly grin. “Money talks.”

“How much exactly did you slip these guys?”

“Now that’s just impolite,” he told her with a newly confident and adorable wink. Then he turned his attention to Ruth and her friends, who had caught up. “Good evening, ladies. I’m Tristan.”

Zoey watched with mounting irritation as Ruth and the girls openly looked Tristan up and down and greeted him with coy smiles.

Not only were they let into the club, but someone was waiting to lead them over to a single booth on the first floor, right near the bar but not below the DJ setup or too close to the dance floor. It was a prime location in a club that was rapidly becoming packed to the rafters.

“I call bullshit.” Ruth got up close to Zoey’s ear to be heard above the noise as she walked closely behind her after they checked their coats, except for Tristan, who didn’t want to break up his ensemble. “This dude is way too smooth.”

While Zoey would’ve liked nothing better than to scream back in Ruth’s face, she settled for a careless backward wave of her hand and a shake of her head as she kept one eye on Tristan’s back and the other on the people who were mingling and dancing. The whole bar was thumping with the LED lighting flashing to the music. She was no longer worried about Tristan having a panic attack as much as she was about all of them having epileptic seizures. Now she knew why her sister often never heard a word Zoey said to her the day after clubbing.

Waiting at the table was a server, with a bottle of Dom Pérignon chilling in a bucket next to the table. Zoey watched Tristan move in close to the ear of the server, who bobbed her head repeatedly as her smile grew wider. Then she popped the cork on the bottle and filled the glasses before leaving. Tristan placed a glass in each of the girls’ hands before raising his own in a wordless toast. Above the din, Zoey could hear them all shout “Cheers!” except for Abbie, who said “L’chaim!” and Erin, who shouted “Salud!”

Then Ruth ordered them all shots of Belvedere and, with the help of her friends, pulled Tristan to the dance floor, leaving Zoey behind to fume at the table alone.

She craned her neck to watch them all form a tight circle around Tristan, shaking their booties to the pulsing beat that reverberated against her eardrums. From the glimpses that she was able to catch of him, he looked like he was having the time of his life, completely in his element, not like someone who was trying something for the first time. Simmer was ratcheted up to seething. But she had no vested interest in him, Zoey reminded herself. And jealousy had never been her bag.

The server dropped off the shots and Zoey’s gaze traveled over the five tiny glasses lined up in front of her and she briefly deliberated whether drinking them all would make her feel better or worse.

To his credit, Tristan was still too reserved to cut loose the way she had seen him do in the privacy of his own home. But he was able to find the bass line with ease, and Zoey’s eyes became glued to him.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that pretty girls aren’t supposed to drink alone?”