Gigi
"Hurry up," Sydney hisses, dragging me by the hand through the night club, under the strobing lights. "We're late. Seriously, I can't be late."
"On time for what? Late for what? God, you're turning into a grump." I step farther back, heat seeping into my neck. "Is it because you'll finally have to choose between all the boys you've been hanging with all this time? Poor baby."
"Whoa. Really?" She stares at me, her cheeks reddening.
"Hey, you should go easy."
Sort—of—dating three dudes at the same time can be stressful, I guess, especially if you're all good buddies.
I honestly don't understand the dynamics of her little group. Her three friends seem nice, sure, and they're handsome as hell and friends with each other. I get that choosing one will destroy the group—but hey, you can't marry all three, now, can you?
She has to make a choice. But surely not tonight?
"Look, I gotta go," she whispers, turns around, and before I can even blink, she vanishes into the crowd.
"Syd! Sydney!" I start after her, pissed and annoyed and kind of scared. She's never walked out on me like this before, not in a night club where I've never been before. Plus, she's my ride back home.
Looks like I'll be calling a cab, instead.
And I'll find her, sit her down and have her explain to me what has gotten into her tonight.
But where is she?
Hurrying through the drunken crowd, the music blaring in my ears, I tug ineffectively on the hem of my short dress as I search for her familiar head of red curls.
Anyway, If Syd decided to disappear, then I'll just hop into a cab and go home to my bed.
Or maybe stay and dance a little first.
My little pep talk makes me feel a bit better. Taking a deep breath, I move toward the back of the club. Who needs Sydney to have fun? I can party on my own. Plenty of guys around I can talk to. Never been shy, that's for sure.
Syd's been turning into such a party—pooper lately, anyway. Not that she vanished like this before, or we'd have had words already, but she hasn't been her chipper self.
Turning, I lean against the bar and nod at the bartender. "A rum and coke, please."
Dressed in my little black dress, my hair swept back, red lipstick and so much mascara on my lashes I can hardly lift them, I look older than I actually am, and I'm counting on it.
Still, the guy hesitates. He's dressed in black pants and a T—shirt, his muscular arms inked. "ID?"
"Left it at home," I say quickly, and flash him a smile. "Come on, I'm old enough. Can't you tell?"
