Jonathan tells me stories of his dangerous escapades and I listen enraptured as many of them involve Damien.

“Why do you do it? Is it the thrill or what?” I ask.

“Of course, it’s the thrill of it.  Imagine what it feels like to fly. Imagine floating on a cushion of air. That is what you experience when you base jump or skydive. It is truly remarkable and downright unbelievable.”

“I just don’t get why you guys would defy death at every opportunity you got!”

“Some of the activities we did were dangerous, but we’re not stupid. We took our safety seriously, especially Damien. To the world, it looked as if we had a death wish but in reality, it was all just the thrill of achievement. No one can understand it, unless you don’t do it for yourself. Gabe for sure never understood. He was just a happy spectator to us.”

“You’re right because I definitively don’t understand it.” I scoff.

We drift into silence and my gaze roams around the dark interiors of the club. Black velvet sofas and seats line the corners, silver mirrors are placed at strategic points making the place look bigger than it seems. The dance floor is packed with several people dancing. The whole place is crowded with patrons, but this private section where we are seated is comfortably away from the melee and gives me room to breathe.

I turn to Jonathan and he’s observing me over the rim of his glass.

“So, how was it in Scotland with Damien and you?” he ventures out.

My heart does a deep dive thinking about my time in Scotland with Damien. But I paste a smile on my face as I reply, “Oh! It was fine. We discussed work among other things.”

“And now that you’re working together?”

“Like I said, it’s all fine,” I reply in a flat tone.

He rubs the side of his glass, his eyes on me. “Is that it?”

“I’m not here to talk about Damien. I’ve heard you really know how to party and have a good time, so get on to that, will you?”

He chuckles. “Alright woman, if that’s what you want then I won’t disappoint.”

He signals the waiter who places tequila shots in front of us.

My brows shoot up. “Shots?”

“You’re the one who wants to be blown off her feet. I’m just obliging.”

“Somehow, my definition and yours of having a good time seem entirely different. But with the shitty two days I’ve had...what the hell, let’s do it.” I clink my glass to his and we down our first shot. It burns right down and then leaves a delicious and heady sensation behind.

“One more?” I ask him.

His eyes widen.

“You sure? Would you rather talk about why you’ve had shitty days?” he asks in a concerned voice.