Page 40 of The Contractor's Rose
Elodie nodded, her eyes fixed on the ceiling like it held all the answers she didn’t want to hear. “She says I deservemore than she can give right now, but then gets upset when I talk about dating other people. It’s been five years, Rosie. Five.”
“I know,” I said quietly, my voice catching in the stillness between us.
The silence that followed felt heavy. Her mouth twisted into a half-smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I thought long distance would be temporary after college. I thought it would turn into something more.”
My heart hurt for my best friend. I’d seen her hold on for so long, waiting, compromising, excusing. “Have you told her how you’re feeling?”
She waved a hand in the air, brushing off the question like it was smoke. “We’ve had the same conversation a hundred times. I’m starting to feel like a placeholder. Someone she keeps just in case.”
“You’re not a placeholder, El.”
Her lips pressed together, the watery shine in her eyes barely contained. “Maybe not. But I’m tired of begging someone to want to be in the same room as me.”
I crossed the room and sat beside her on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath our weight. I rested my hand over hers. “You’re more than worth the effort.”
She gave me a small, grateful smile, then sniffed and grabbed the green satin dress again. “Alright. Enough emotions. Look at this dress. You’re going to look unstoppable in this.”
I quickly changed, the fabric shimmering as I pulled it up my body—deep green, satin, and cut low enough to make even me blink. It hugged my curves like I’d been poured into the dress. It gave me confidence and screamedin control.
“Oh my God,” she said. “If you were into women, I’d climb you like a tree.”
I laughed, tossing my hair over one shoulder while watching her opt for the tiny black leather skirt she’d held up earlier. She added a halter top that tied in the back with two tiny strips of fabric.
“Gavin would drop dead if he saw me in this,” I said while turning back to the mirror.
“You’re not wrong.”
She turned toward the mirror, squinting at my reflection, studying every angle. “You can see your underwear lines, though. You’ll have to go commando.”
I groaned. “What is with people wanting me to not wear underwear lately?”
She burst into laughter. “Girl, I don’t know who’s trying to corrupt you, but they’ve got good taste.”
Thirty minutes later, we were crammed into an Uber, city lights streaking across the windows as Elodie applied perfume from a tiny rollerball onto her collarbones. The scent—something floral and bold—blended with the faint vanilla of my body spray. She crossed her legs, showing off miles of skin, while I sat beside her trying not to have a nervous breakdown over the fact that I was also, technically, wearing a dress too short to be safe.
When we stepped into Axis, the air changed. It was immediately clear that this wasn’t just a bar. It was giving full-onclub.
The lighting was moody and every surface gleamed—mirrored panels behind the bar, gold railings framing the dance floor, glass light fixtures hanging like upside-down chandeliers. The music pulsed with a bass so deep it thrummed through my chest, vibrating beneath my skin. Thecrowd moved like a living thing—bodies pressed close, laughter and shouts blending into the beat of the music.
A heat built at the base of my spine, from both nerves and the electricity in the room.
“This is … a lot,” I said, raising my voice to be heard.
Elodie just grinned like a shark and grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the bar.
The bartender was a tall woman with short blonde hair, her tattoo sleeve a story of roses and daggers. She poured shots with the smooth confidence of someone who ruled her domain with a wink and a grin. She was laughing with two guys across the bar when Elodie leaned in, flashing that slow, sultry smile that could bring anyone to their knees.
The bartender clocked her in less than two seconds.
“What’s your drink of choice?” she asked, voice velvet-wrapped steel, eyes sparkling.
Elodie propped her chin on her hand, eyes hooded and playful. “Whatever you’re best at making.”
“Oh, honey,” the bartender purred, leaning in. “That’s a dangerous offer.”
Elodie just smirked. “I like danger.”
I rolled my eyes with a grin and turned away, leaning my elbows on the cool marble of the bar, trying to look casual while scanning the crowd. The dance floor was packed, the rhythm pulling bodies into each other, hips swaying, heads thrown back in laughter. Everything smelled like sweat and cologne and cocktails.
