The Match

“Maybe you’re not thanking me, but your lady bits are.” She says the last part with a wink.

Stacey pulls into the parking lot at The Sixth Floor, the newest nightclub in downtown Philadelphia. We heard about the club from a group of college kids in our apartment building. Everything in this place is supposed to be top notch, from the liquor to the décor. The outside could have fooled me, though.

I stare up at the old factory that looks like nothing special. It’s hard to tell we’re at a club.

I turn to Stacey, confused. “Do you have the right address?”

“Yeah. There are tons of cars here, and the GPS says this is the spot. This has to be it.”

“It looks kinda sketchy.”

She shrugs and opens her door. “Don’t overthink it. Tonight is about having fun before we become surgical residents who sleep in their scrubs and work ninety-hour weeks.”

I let out an exaggerated groan. “Don’t remind me.”

Leery of our surroundings, I glance around the dark lot on our way to the door. A white Suburban with tinted windows rocks from the people fucking inside, and I laugh to myself. Two attractive men, both with blond hair and in their late twenties, are waiting at the door next to a bouncer dressed head to toe in black.

The taller of the two turns around, and a sigh of relief escapes his lips when he sees us. “Oh, good. You’re here.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Huh?”

He steps forward to throw his arm across my shoulder and pulls me into his thick chest, the smell of earthy cologne filling my nostrils. I attempt to wiggle free from his grasp, but he holds me tight.

“Play along for two seconds, and I’ll buy your drinks for the rest of the night,” he whispers.

I could care less about him paying for me.

Before I can respond with a polite no, thank you, the bouncer says, “Are they with you?”

Stacey whispers something to the blond-haired man next to her and then says, “Yes, they’re with us.”

Why is she playing along with whatever the hell is happening here? We don’t know the men cocooning us in their warmth, as if we are their girlfriends.

Weird.

“IDs,” the bouncer says to us.

They must’ve already checked the guys even though it’s obvious they are of age. Stacey and I look young but legal. We hand over our licenses and the bouncer stamps our hands with a red circle. Then the men pay for us, leading us by the hand into the dark club, dragging us behind them as if we belong to them.

Once we’re out of the bouncer’s line of sight, I shake my hand free from the strange man and pull Stacey away from her fake date.

“Thanks, ladies,” the taller blond says to me. “I meant what I said. Let us buy your drinks tonight.”

I throw my hands onto my hips. “What was t

hat all about?”

He shrugs. “The bouncer is a dick. He wouldn’t let us in unless we had dates.”

This sounds like a line of bullshit.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Apparently, it’s the new rule for Saturday nights.” He holds out his hand, offering it to me to shake. “I’m Nate.”

I touch my fingers to his for a second. “Ava.”

“Thanks for helping us out, Ava.” He shoves his hand through his short hair and smiles.