“Well, here’s the funny part,” I start, giggling slightly. The guy glances up and falters a bit when he catches a glimpse of my face. I crank up the ditzy blonde act, twirling a stray strand of hair around my pointer finger. “See, there was this guy I met earlier at a restaurant, Lecker—I don’t know if you’ve heard of it?” I toss out the name of the ritzy eatery Ellie told me she was meeting her family at hoping to add some credence to my story.

First rule of lying: add random details. It seems to work, because the bouncer nods, his stoic expression softening a bit.

“Anyhoo, he came up to me and was flirting. Then, he asks me to meet him here later. But he’d already asked for my name, and my friend Tiffany here”—I yank Natalie forward—“read some article about how you should never give a strange guy your actual name when you’re traveling because then he could track you down later. I mean, you should hear some of the stories my sorority sisters have told us about the creeps out there. So, I didn’t tell this guy my real name, but then he tells me he’ll put my name on the list here. And I couldn’t come clean then, right?”

The bouncer eyes me apprehensively. I have no idea if he believes me. If this place is really as popular as Natalie claims, I’m guessing he’s heard it all.

“What name did you tell this guy?” he asks. Well, maybe not all.

“I forget,” I respond, smiling sheepishly instead of triumphantly. “I panicked and just made one up. Lisa Linderhagen, maybe? Is that on the list?”

There’s a quiet snort behind me, and I hope the bouncer didn’t hear it. If one of these idiots ruins the compelling tale I just fabricated, I will never let them forget it. He studies me for a minute, not even bothering to glance down at his list.

“All right, you ladies can come through,” he finally says, unclipping the ceremonial-looking rope barrier. There are loud protests from those in line, but I don’t wait around to listen to them or give the bouncer a chance to change his mind. I saunter through the doorway into what, I have to admit, is a pretty cool atmosphere. If Kluvberg players do hang out here, they’ve got decent taste. It’s not flashy or extravagant, but minimalistic and sleek.

“That. Was. Brilliant!” Natalie announces, bouncing in beside me.

“Seriously,” London agrees. “I feel like I should be looking around for the poor guy who fell for the ‘I’m Lisa Linderhagen’ line.”

I scoff. “I’m going to grab a drink from the bar.”

“I’ll get a booth,” London announces.

“Let’s hit the dance floor.” Natalie pulls the rest of our group along with her.