We’re still a block away, and I can already hear the nightclub’s music. I take a deep breath, smelling the ocean. If it’s really bad tonight, I’ll ditch them and walk to the beach to sit and cry there.

“Okay, there they are. Smile.” Cher pinches me as she calls out to them.

“God,” I say with a groan as I walk behind her, hugging Danny first while Cher laughs at something Matteo said before he breaks away to kiss both my cheeks.

And nothing… not even the slightest flutter. What is wrong with me? Both these guys are young and hot, so even though I have nothing in common with them, I should at least feel some sort of energy when they touch me, right?

Jesus, maybe Cher’s right. I really am turning into a ninety-year-old woman. If I wasn’t getting myself off every night, I’d worry my sex drive was completely gone.

“Shall we party, my beauties?” Matteo motions for us to go first. There’s already a line to get in, but he slips the bouncer some money, and we’re in.

Purple and red lasers zoom across the club, smoke fills the air, and the loud beat of Drake makes my head pound.

“Drinks?” Danny yells as I turn away from his breath. He smells like an ashtray.

Perfect.

“Yes, we want drinks,” Cher screams over the music.

Ignoring them, I look around. As always, it’s packed. The red and black walls, along with tiny lights that look like candles in the large chandelier remind me of a haunted house, making me wonder why everyone deems this the club to be at.

“Let’s dance.” Cher grabs my hand, dragging me onto the dance floor right next to the speakers. It’s loud, and a large disco ball casts down hundreds of bursts of colored lights as it spins.

“I told you to talk, Raven.” She spins as I lift my hands to the beat.

“Like I can have a conversation in here,” I shout back, then turn away, letting the tequila and music take over.

I love to dance. One of my big regrets was quitting my jazz classes when I went to college, but as soon as I moved to New York, I guess I got intimidated, which is silly now that I look back on it.

Cher says something, but Nicki Minaj’s “Super Freaky Girl” is so loud, I can’t hear. That, and the crowd on the dance floor seems to have multiplied.

Danny and Matteo show up with the shots after dodging hands and bodies to reach us.

“Shoot them quick. We don’t want to get thrown out,” Danny yells as he hands me mine, while Matteo gives Cher hers.

“Salud.” We toss them back like its water and not the tequila that’s burning fire down my esophagus.