Praise (Salacious Players Club #1)(84)
“Like I said…it doesn’t matter anymore.” With that, I leave Beau in the parking lot, shoving the past behind me where it belongs, so I can’t see what might have been anymore.
When things slow down at the rink around seven, Shelley cuts me loose. But it seems every time I drive home, I get a restless buzzing in my bones. I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin. The walls of the pool house start to close in on me in a matter of minutes. I’ve never hated being home as much as I do now.
But I literally have nowhere else to go. Sophie is at a sleepover. Mom is on nights, and I’m all alone. This is pathetic.
Grabbing a bottle of wine from the kitchen, I take up the living room couch to myself and flip the TV onto the trashiest show I can find. Then, I proceed to drink half the bottle and scroll through my phone, paying no attention to the show that’s playing.
The scrolling gets boring after a while, but at least the wine is keeping the restlessness away. I mindlessly flip through Insta-stories, noticing how everyone I know seems to be having a much better time than me tonight.
Then I click on a story that makes me pause. It’s Eden taking a selfie in a dimly lit room with bright pink light cascading across the black brick wall behind her. I’d know that wall anywhere. She doesn’t tag her location in the story…I mean, it wouldn’t be much of an exclusive club if everyone knew where it was, but she’s giving away just enough of her location as if she’s trying to show off to a small crowd of people. People like me, who know about Salacious.
Members of Salacious…like me.
Yeah, too bad there’s no way I’m going there tonight.
Nope. That’s insane. I don’t even belong there. I only went because I was with Emerson. What would I even do if I went alone? People will be busy all screwing each other, and I couldn’t…
Before I even know what’s happening, I’m in a sleek black dress with a plunging neckline and a hem above my knees. The Uber app is pulled up on my phone, and I’m waiting outside, trembling in my stilettos because the wine buzz is wearing off and I realize now just how insane this is.
The old Charlie would have never done this. I’m not sure the current Charlie would either. But Charlotte—she definitely would. So as the car approaches from the end of the street, I remind myself that I’m Charlotte for tonight. Nothing needs to happen. I’m just going to hang out, maybe do a little watching in the hallway again.
Maybe bump into him…no.
He won’t even be there. He doesn’t like to go to the club at night unless there’s an event happening. So if he is there, then maybe he’s there to find someone or kill some time. That invasive thought settles unpleasantly in my mind, but I try to brush it away as I climb into the car.
When the driver pulls up to the front of the club, I wave goodbye and march my nervous ass up to the door. Surprisingly, I feel a little calmer as I walk through the front door to the small, dark lobby. The young blonde girl behind the counter takes one look at me and smiles. I wish I could remember her name, since she obviously remembers me.
“Good evening, Ms. Underwood,” she chimes with a radiant white smile.
“Good evening,” I reply politely. It feels weird to be back, and I’m caught between feeling comfortable, as if I still work here, and feeling like an imposter.
Be Charlotte. I remind myself.
The girl waves me in, and I smile up at the bouncer who opens the dark curtain and heavy soundproof door for me. “Have fun,” he mutters quietly.
Before stepping out into the main room, I press my shoulders back as far as I can, and I lift my chin. It feels like feigning confidence, but honestly…what’s the different between real confidence and fake confidence? Probably nothing. So with my clutch nestled under my arm, I strut into the room and notice that it’s so much busier than I’ve seen it. Even on opening night and auction night, there weren’t this many people here.
After taking a quick scan of the room and only noticing a few vaguely familiar faces, I make my way to the bar. The bartender tonight is Geo, the nicest supermodel hot person I’ve ever met—almost too nice to be a bartender. His eyes light up as he spots me, and I smile in return, suddenly feeling a little more comfortable. People recognize me. I belong here.
Sort of.
“I wish I had my camera,” Geo says by way of greeting. “I would have recorded the way you just walked into this room. Like you owned the fucking place.”
I laugh, trying to hide my blush. “I did not.”
“Yes, you did,” a familiar, warm voice joins in a soft arm loops through mine. Turning my head, a wave of relief washes over me when I recognize Eden pressed against my side. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispers softly in my ear.
“I need a drink,” I reply, because it’s the only thing right now that makes any sense to me.
“Get this woman a beverage,” Eden says to Geo, who shakes his head with a smile.
“What would you like, my queen?” He’s patronizing me, but it’s amazing how quickly I feel comfortable here. With Eden on my arm and the nice bartender sort of flirting with me, although I know that he and I do not play on the same team, all of my nervous trembles are gone.
Oh, and that giant blond construction worker, who sometimes likes to make my life hell, is grinning at me from across the bar. When he sends me a wink, I shake my head in his direction. It’s a good thing there’s a two-drink limit because I would not trust myself around him if I was any degree of tipsy.