“Yes, let’s go for it!” Cali hops up first and is quick to lead the way.

The bartender, who she went home with last weekend, zooms right over, but she loses his attention when Amy squeezes her way to the front.

I don’t know what she orders us, but when something yellow with ice is passed over, I accept.

The girls get through two and are ready to dance, so I retire my half-full cocktail on the countertop and move to join them, but as I step away from the bar, my eyes are pulled to the entrance, right as a familiar sight slips through.

Beretta and Arsen lead the group, and visible over the curve of their shoulders, Ransom.

He never gave his name, but Scott provided three the night they showed up, so that must be his. I guess I was a little too distracted to realize it when he was standing right in front of me.

Their arrival, however, isn’t the familiar I’m talking about.

It’s the girl they enter with, the Sammie chick from the other night, and she’s all smiles, with hair that walks a fine line between I was screwed in the back seat and I didn’t know we’d be in a convertible with the top down. I don’t know what they drive, so who knows the truth. She very well could have been fucked on fancy leather for all I know.

What I most definitely do know is Miss Sammie... is wearing the very dress the boys at her back slipped off of me not ten hours ago.

She leans against the countertop, and when she looks over, she pretends she’s just realized I was standing here. “Oh, hey, Jameson.”

“Sammie. Nice dress.”

A chortled, swallowed laugh sounds behind her, but I don’t look to them.

Sammie runs her hands down the sides of the gray mini. She looks over her shoulder at who, I don’t know or care, and a superior smile covers her glossy lips. “It was a gift.”

That drink I set down, I pick right back up, lifting it in cheers. “It was on sale.”

As I turn away, I mouth ‘what the fuck’ to myself, but I don’t have to question myself or them for long, because the girls are now joined by the guys on the dance floor and Scott is looking mighty fine tonight in his button-up and Balmains. Sure, he’s as pretentious as they come, but at least he’s far too into himself to ever want more from me. And he’s pretty to look at.

He slips right up without invitation, wrapping his arms around the waist of my navy dress, and pulls me in.