In Pursuit (11 page)

I select an outfit Sarah and I bought earlier in the summer: black leather shorts and white top. My brown shoes are replaced with high black sandals that have a skinny heel and a slim ankle strap.

After I refresh my hair and makeup, I slip out of my room and glance toward the living room. Harris sits in one of the armchairs, one leg casually crossing over the other. Peter is sprawled on the sofa, a cocktail in his hand. The girls are nowhere in sight, so I head over to Claire’s room and knock lightly on her door. When I get no response, I slowly enter.

“Hey, are you guys almost ready?” I call. The bathroom door is slightly ajar, so I peek my head inside. What I see inside shouldn’t shock me, but I can’t help gasping.

“I’m so sorry!” I spin around, and rush out of the bathroom.

The sight of Claire and Amanda bent over the bathroom counter, snorting lines of a white powder flashes before me, even though I no longer see them.

In the hallway, I close the door gently behind me, then take a few deep breaths to settle my frantic emotions. I don’t like drugs. Not just because my dad is a cop, and would kick my ass from here to Los Angeles and back if he knew that I lived with someone who uses, but mostly because the night my relationship with Jared went to shit, he was high on cocaine. I roll my shoulders back to muster some semblance of calm.

“Harris, can I get you anything to drink?” I ask politely when I enter the living room. I want something to keep me busy, rather than thinking about my roommate and her drug habit. This doesn’t bode well for a long lasting living arrangement, but that’s something I’ll have to ponder later.

“I’m good.”

He rubs his hands through his cropped blonde hair like he’s frustrated. The movement reminds me of one of my dad’s habits. He would brush a hand through his hair or across his forehead sometimes when he felt uncomfortable or agitated. When dad gave me the “you’re going to get a period” talk at ten, he must have pushed his hands through the dark brown locks so many times that he permanently destroyed his hairline, because it has only lost ground since then.

 I hurry into the kitchen to distract myself. I’m about to pour another glass of wine when Claire and Amanda burst out of the bedroom with frenetic energy. I plaster a cheerful smile on my face.

“Stay away from that wine. We’re taking a shot and then going out,” Claire says.

She rushes into the kitchen and yanks open the bottom shelf freezer. She triumphantly holds up a bottle of vodka and then removes four shot glasses from the cabinet. But there are five of us, so someone – my eyes wander to Harris and I catch him staring at me. He must be the one not drinking. In the limited time that I have spent mooning over Harris, I’ve never seen him have any alcohol. That seems out of character for a man coming from such a cultured background, and in an affluent position at a large law firm.

The five of us are standing around the kitchen: Harris, Peter and Amanda on one side of the countertop, Claire and I on the other.

“To friends,” Claire says, moving her glass the center.

We clink them together, and I throw back the shot quickly ignoring the burn as the liquid snakes down my throat. When I look back to the group Peter settles his arm around his wife, tucking her neatly against him.

“So, Jake Warden?” Claire asks with a smirk.

My gaze clashes with Harris’. There’s no emotion to analyze, his expression stoic.

“What? No, no thank you,” I stammer.

“Oh, come on, Eddie. He’s totally connected, son of the state controller.” Claire nudges me with her elbow.

I groan inwardly, but try not to show my disgust, it looks like they are friends with Jake and I don’t want insult anyone. “I’m done dating politician's kids,” I say lightly.

“This wouldn’t be your first?” Claire asks, sounding like she doesn’t believe that someone like
me
could date a politician’s son.

 “My last boyfriend’s dad is a congressman. It’s a lot of pressure, dating someone with those sort of familial obligations.” This time, I can’t hold back my external reaction as I grimace.

Jared would drag me to event after event, presenting me as his girlfriend, the daughter of decorated policeman Don Neff. Many times, I thought he was with me to help his chances at being a politician one day, not because he actually liked me. One particular evening, the night I ended things with him, we were at a fundraiser for the police. To my chagrin, Jared began introducing me as Don Neff’s daughter, instead of using my name.

“Eddie?”

“Sorry. What was that?”

“Which congressman?”

“Bill Gordon, from Virginia.”

“You’ve had your shots. Are we ready to go yet?” Harris interrupts and Claire makes a face at him.

“Yes, your highness. Let’s go.” Claire rolls her eyes at her brother, which he ignores.

Claire loops her arm through mine and we lead the group back to the elevator and downstairs to Harris’ waiting car. The girls sit together in the back, buzzing about as the shots make their way into our system.

“
A
re you going to dance tonight? You basically have to, so don’t say no,” Claire instructs.

I can’t help but wrinkle my nose at her. “We’re going to a club, of course I’m going to dance.”

Harris moves the car so smoothly through the city streets, it barely feels like we’ve been driving for long at all when we arrive at our destination, Luminous, a club in the River West neighborhood. The red brick building looks innocuous enough, as if it might have been a warehouse at some point with its muted exterior. The girls saunter forward ahead of the boys. We get inside without incident, bypassing a long line of drunk club goers.

The club is cavernous inside, with two levels and an open atrium. The dance floor is full of writhing bodies, grinding to the pulsating music. The air seems fresh, not the usual stale and stifling sensation that I am used to in clubs. Then I look up. Luminous apparently has a retractable roof, and moonlight is streaming down on the dancers, bringing the outside world inside.

Amanda tugs my hand and pulls me up two stairs to a cluster of booths. Balancing on the heels becomes challenging as I sway under the influence of alcohol.

A lean, dark-haired, dark-eyed man reclines in the middle of a circular a booth, a cocky grin slinks across his face when he sees us drawing closer.

This must be Jake,
I think glumly. I want Harris smiling at me in a booth, not him.

“Ladies!” Jake calls over the loudness surrounding us. Someone, probably Claire, pushes me into the booth and I almost fall into Jake’s lap on my wobbly legs.

“Woah, there.” He reaches out to steady me.

I swipe a hand through my hair, borrowing my dad’s nervous habit, and give him a small smile.

“You must be Eddie,” he nearly shouts at me to be heard above the thumping bass.

“Hi.”

“Jake Warden.”

“Nice to meet you,” I holler back.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

Claire and Amanda save me from responding to him as they tumble in behind me, both still shooting off energy like they are live wires. Claire leans across the booth’s small circular tables to begin pouring us vodka cocktails. I take mine without comment and begin to sip it anxiously.

Where is Harris?

A feeling of awareness slithers down my spine, and I realize someone is watching me.
It has to be him.
I keep my eyes forward while Jake, Amanda and Claire chatter around me.

My first drink is gone when Claire decides it’s time to dance. Long fingers clamp down on my exposed thigh, squeezing it gently.

“I’ll be watching,” Jake presses his lips to my ear and loudly whispers the comment.

Don’t bother.

Once again my hand is caught in Claire’s and she takes me out of the booth. I lift my other hand and flutter my fingers quickly, mouthing
bye
to Jake.

Still no visual contact with Harris, but I can feel his gaze following me as I am led into the throng of dancers. What an odd concept, knowing
that someone watches your movements without seeing that person. But it’s true, without a doubt, Harris’ eyes track me.

When we reach a suitable location in the midst of the dancers, I lift my arms above my head and begin to shake my hips to the beat of
Get Lucky
by Daft Punk. Soon, Amanda and Claire sway closer to me, their bodies brushing mine as we move to the music. I turn my back to my friends, rotating my hips in a slow, tight circle. The alcohol loosens my inhibitions, and my movements are sensual.

Watch me, Harris,
I think as I roll my hips, sliding my hands down the length of my torso.

Song after song goes by, I’m lost in the hypnotic rhythm. With my eyes closed, I’m moving my body in the thumping beat, with my arms above my head when I feel it. A gentle skitter of decidedly feminine hands stroke my right side. At first, I think it’s nothing more than an accident, but then slender fingertips brush the underside of my breast in a caress. My eyes snap open and I look frantically to my right.

Who was that?

The only person next to me is... my gyrations slow and I stare, stupefied, at Claire, who’s sporting a languid grin. But just as quickly as I wonder if she was hitting on me, she disappears into the throng of people. I blink rapidly and turn to look for Amanda. She’s MIA too.
I’m dreaming, this has to be a dream.

“I need to sit – my feet,” I say to myself.  Without a look back, I wind my way through the club back to our table. When I arrive back at the booth, Amanda waits for me, bouncing to the music. She smiles brightly as I drop myself into the seat next to her, but I can tell the cocaine still impacts her behavior, by the way her eyes dart frantically around the room. She hands me a cocktail and I begin to take healthy sips.

This night is insane.

I peer back in the direction I came from, wondering what happened to Jake Warden. But then the drink, Jake, Claire, Amanda, the entire club fade away. Leaning against the booth adjacent to the one I’m sitting in, is Harris. This time, he’s talking to a busty brunette, her manicured hand rests on his bicep. The low cut, red dress she’s wearing puts her assets on full display. Jealously rears its green head, ready to snap at the girl. At least Harris doesn’t appear to be flirting back, as his face has its normal serious expression.

A text message distracts me.

Sarah: What are you doing girl?

Eddie: U wouldn’t believe I’m at da club!!!

That’s definitely a symptom of intoxication – multiple exclamation points.

Sarah: U R right girlie. I don’t believe it, send evidence.

I fight with my phone to pull up the camera application. I nudge Amanda with my elbow. “Picture?” I mouth the word. Suddenly my tongue feels a little too heavy to move.

She rests her head on my shoulder. We both ham at the phone as I snap the photo. The device reveals a picture of two tipsy girls, smiling sloppily. I quickly send it to Sarah, when I feel the weight of the bench I’m sitting on.

“Who has caught your interest, and what do I need to do to take you away from them?” Jake’s breath is hot in my ear, making me instantly uncomfortable. I try to find rescue in Amanda, but she’s missing now, and Claire and Peter are on their way to take their place next to me. Jake winds his arm around me and yanks me against him.

“Excuse me, do you have boundaries?”

He laughs like I’m joking. “Not when it comes to a beautiful brunette in leather shorts.”

Now across from me, Claire raises her eyebrows. Peter is on her other side and he leans into her ear, whispering something that makes her giggle. Claire’s eyes linger on her best friend’s husband, a wickedly playful smile parting her plump lips.
Alert, alert!
My brain yaps. Meanwhile, Jake is saying something to me, his fingers biting into my shoulder slightly.

I tear my attention from the flirtation next door. “What?”

“Baby,” his face leers closer, and I notice that his pupils are dilated and they are having trouble focusing on me. “You want some E?”

I recoil backward. Drunk, yes. High on drugs? Never. No way.

“No!” I struggle out of his arm and look over to where I left Claire and Peter, but they are gone.
How did they disappear so quickly?
My heart starts pounding in my chest, and my breathing becomes more rapid. This isn’t fun anymore. None of this is good, and I need to get out of here immediately.

“Come on, don’t be a pussy.” The words settle and then he smirks when he realizes the innuendo he inadvertently made. “Though I would like to play with -”

He's reaching for me again, when a firm hand landing on his shoulder halts his movement.

“Edith?” It’s Harris, here to help.

“My feet hurt. I need to go home.” I blurt out the first thing I can think of as I scramble away from Jake. My hands are completely drenched with clammy sweat, and it’s not because of the crush of bodies at the club, no, I’m wigging out and I need to leave. I don’t like drugs and I don’t like guys on drugs.