Completely (New York 3)

Kal sat with Rosemary in the backseat of a spotless white Escalade driven by a Korean woman who in no way matched the profile picture the Lyft app had provided.

The closer they got to the club, the more convinced Kal became that Rosemary wasn’t going to like it.

He decided to focus on her inevitable disappointment to distract himself from wondering why the fuck his mother wanted to go to Wisconsin with Rosemary, and also why the fuck he’d agreed to drive them, and furthermore why the fuck his life was spinning completely out of his control and he wasn’t doing anything to stop it.

When distraction failed, he focused on Rosemary’s pants.

Her pants were killing him. They were black and shiny, he thought maybe leather, if it was possible to make shiny leather pants out of a thousand patchwork pieces stitched together with sparkly silver thread.

They were very, very tight, and they made her ass look very, very good.

She knew it, too, which made it difficult to keep his hands off her.

Kal cleared his throat. “What kind of dancing did you want to do?”

“I don’t mind,” she said. “I just want to dance.”

“Yeah, but, I mean, when you used to go to clubs, what kind of music did they play?”

“I don’t know, dance music.”

“Can you be more specific?”

Rosemary laughed. “No. Stop fretting at me. I’m sure wherever we’re going will be perfect.”

“It’s just this club I used to go to years ago. It might not be your thing.”

“Do they have alcohol?”

“Last time I checked.”

“Do they have loud music and a dance floor?”

“Yep.”

“Then that’s where I want to be.”

They cleared the last light. The Escalade pulled over to the curb. Kal thanked the driver, helped Rosemary out of the car, and then there was nothing to do but pay the cover charge and follow her inside.

The club was darker than he remembered, and cheesier, with pools of colored lights and blaring salsa music. It was busy but not crowded yet.

“Where to?” He thought he asked the question aloud. But he might not have, because Rosemary was slipping off her jacket, and her shirt was the kind of shirt that was not a shirt, completely backless, the front hanging from a jeweled clasp at the back of her neck, draping and clinging to her in all the right ways. It was made of sort of…wisps. Gray, clingy wisps with frayed edges, overlapping all over the front, ending right below her waistband.

He’d known something was up with that shirt from the way she held her jacket closed over it at dinner, but he’d had no idea. None.

Rosemary snapped her fingers in front of his face.

“What?”

“You want a drink?” Her mouth was perfectly smug. The cocky princess.

“Yeah. Alcohol. I want one large alcohol.”

“Find us somewhere to sit.” She shoved her jacket into his chest. “I’ll be right back.”

Kal located a corner table a decent distance from the speakers and watched Rosemary at the bar, where the bartender and a handful of unattached Latino men welcomed her with more generosity than he felt was strictly necessary.

Rosemary talked and laughed with the men, winding her hair into her hands and pulling it forward over her shoulder, treating Kal to a delicious view of bare back and ass and legs that went all the way up. A view he would have found considerably more delicious if Rosemary was smiling at him rather than at four guys who didn’t know he existed and would be happy to take his place.