The Duke and the DJ (The Rebel Royals 3)

Bodies littered the chairs and the floor. A few partygoers leaned over the railing paying respect to the sea god with an offering of last night’s meal. There were even a few still on their feet, bopping about with earbuds plugged in.

Even at the height of his partying days, Zhi hadn't done it like this. Clubbing had never been his bag. He preferred exclusive clubs with expensive vintages and velvet topped off sections where he and his friends could hear each other’s witty remarks. The crowd sat upright. The music was refined. Before turning in for the night, the people had the decency to throw up in their own toilet.

If this was Parker's world, could he see himself in it? He could barely keep his eyes open past two last night. Meanwhile, he’d easily spied her still at the center of the dance floor moving as though she had the energy for another five hours.

The only way he could fathom pursuing her was if they truly had something in common. So far, their music tastes were vastly different. Their sense of style was at polar opposites. They’d barely shared a few sentences let alone a whole conversation.

Maybe this was a mistake. It had to be a mistake. The genesis of the idea had been uttered by his father.

What had Zhi been thinking? He hadn’t been thinking. He’d just been desperate for a solution, and this was the lowest hanging fruit.

As soon as the boat docked, he’d have to face reality. He wasn’t quite sure what that reality would look like? But he’d stare it down until he had a handle on it or more likely, a wrench.

"You're alive."

Zhi turned to the droll voice. Omar sat perfectly upright at the bar with the stoic posture of his ancestors. He knew the man had likely drunk a few glasses of something, but since his youth, Omar had always been able to hold his drink with no adverse effects. He was also a night owl; he could spring into action on little to no sleep.

“Have you been up all night?" Zhi asked.

Omar shrugged, tipping back an amber liquid. The crystals at the bottom of the mug gave away the fact that the drink was likely tea.

"Most of it,” Omar answered. “Been reading scripts and looking over audition tapes for a new show.”

"You were able to work with all that racket going on?" Zhi slumped into the seat next to his friend and ordered a black coffee for himself.

"This is your generation." Omar chuckled.

“You’re just a few years older than me.” Zhi looked at the last ones standing. He couldn’t help but notice that the lot of them looked younger than his years. "These people were raised in the wild."

"Snob,” Omar snorted.

And maybe he was right. Zhi did like the finer things in life. But he also was partial to modesty when it came to the women he actually wanted to date. A number of girls were walking around in lacy bras that were clearly no

t waterproofed to be considered as bikini tops. Sure it was a ship’s deck, but that was still no cause to walk around barefoot out of doors. Yeah, perhaps he was a snob.

"I like refinement.” He had to raise his voice over the pulsing electronic beat that sounded from somewhere in the distance. “I also like real instruments."

"You sound like my mother."

Zhi turned to look over his shoulder. Parker approached. Her riotous colored hair was a divided rainbow in two pigtails. She wore a halter top that was higher than her belly button. He suspected with a stretch of the arms the cropped top would rise immodestly high. The jeans she wore looked as though they were painted on. And her feet … were bare against the floors.

"My mother hates EDM,” she said as she sidled up to the bar.

Zhi struggled with his expression. Should he smile in commiseration? Or should he offer condolences? EDM? Was that a good thing, a bad thing, an actual thing?

“Is that some type of disease?" he asked finally.

Parker’s eyebrows rose. It looked like she now struggled with which way to land her expression. The side of her lip tugged in preparation to laugh. But the corner of her eyes narrowed as though preparing to dole out compassion.

“Yeah," said a voice from behind Parker. “My mom wasn't a fan of electronic dance music either."

Last night’s DJ enunciated each word from the acronym. Her gaze was on Parker, a grin on her face as she did so. But she slid Zhi a glance, clearly letting him know that she knew that he didn’t know what he was talking about.

The moment she slid him her gaze, he latched onto it. The memory of crashing into her, of holding her body in his arms, of tasting the salty sweetness of her skin muddled his mind. He gave himself a shake, freeing him from her glance, and turned back to Parker. He’d finally found a kernel of a thing they shared in common.

"I have to confess," said Zhi, "I like live music and instrumentals better."

"Yup," said Parker. "Just like my mom.”