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The heat was still thick even after dark. Gravel shifted beneath Mom’s platforms as I crossed the parking lot beside Clayton.
I could hear the bass before we reached the doors. It was less music than vibration.
The bouncer was built like somebody had taken a refrigerator and taught it to cross its arms. He held out one hand without looking particularly interested in either of us.
Clayton handed over his ID.
The man glanced at it, glanced at him and handed it back.
Then it was my turn. He looked at my card. Looked at me. Looked at the card again.
My heart started beating faster.
I tried to look like Hannah Price, a twenty-two-year-old Pisces from Waco who definitely frequented establishments called Temptations on the weekends.
The bouncer shrugged and handed it back.
“Y’all together?” he asked.
“Unfortunately,” I said.
His mouth moved. Barely. Then he waved us through.
Apathy for the win.
The first thing I noticed inside was that the lighting had been designed to prevent anyone from making responsible decisions.
Everything was red, violet or almost dark. Neon crawled along one wall. Little lamps glowed on the tables. The bass went through my ribs.
The air smelled like perfume, beer, fryer grease, citrus cleaner and the accumulated ghost of approximately one million cigarettes.
The carpet had a pattern so violent I assumed it had been selected specifically to conceal stains.
I stopped just inside. “Wow.”
Clayton leaned down. “Good wow or bad wow?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“Give it a minute.”
Someone shouted his name.
We looked across the room.
Asa was at a long table with about a dozen guys I recognized from school, mostly football players, plus Rook, Ruckus and Micah.
Every person at the table was male.
I slowed. Then I looked around the room. Then back at the table. Then at Clayton.
He pretended not to notice.
“Clayton.”
“What?”
“You didn’t invite any other girls?”
