Page 11 of Party Girl: How a Naughty Omega Finds Love
“Drinks, then dancing.” Lindsey drags me toward the bar.
I quickly grab my ID so the bartender won’t be grossed out when I hand it to her. Lindsey offered to pay for drinks, and she has a card. No sweaty boob cash tonight. We squeeze between two groups of people, leaning against the bar top.
“It’s so busy,” Lindsey says, smoothing her hair. “Do you see Mitchell?” She whispers the question.
Surveying the crowd, I make a good-faith attempt to find the delta with a receding hairline. Honestly, Lindsey could do better, but Mitchell is a bad boy. There are way too many people here to pick his face out of the crowd. If he’s on the dance floor, I’ll never be able to tell.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“What are you ladies having?” a voluptuous bartender with long braids asks.
“Two vodka bombs.” Lindsey checks with me and I nod.
Whatever will work.
“IDs?” She holds out her hand, and Lindsey and I hand over our identification. She checks them over and gives them back. “All right, babes. I’m Poppy. Two vodka bombs coming up.” She smirks. There’s something a little off about the look, but who am I to judge customer service faces? I’d probably sound fake if I had to work with people.
A song fades out and the crowd cheers as the next one fades in. Some women whoop from somewhere on the dance floor and the lights brighten and shift to green and blue, swerving over the room.
“How do you know about this place?” I ask Lindsey.
“It’s a new hotspot. This is the first rave they’ve thrown here. You’re literally making history tonight.” She squeals and thanks the bartender, handing over her credit card to start a tab. We both grab a shot glass filled with pink-tinted liquid. I sniff it. Vodka doesn’t have much of a smell, but I can tell there’s alcohol in the glass.
“Why is it pink?” Lindsey asks Poppy.
“That’s the bomb part.”
“So cute.” Lindsey clinks her glass with mine. “Bottoms up.”
I lift the drink to my lips and toss it back, gasping around the sharp burn chased by a fizzle on my tongue. What the hell was that?
Lindsey’s eyes go wide.
Poppy cackles. “Three.”
I inhale and the room expands, growing twice as large as it was a moment ago.
“Two.”
My heart pounds against my rib cage. The veins on my wrists pulse in time with the beat.
“One.”
Colors explode around me, shades I didn’t even know existed fill the room.
“Boom.”
“Oh, shit.” Lindsey’s voice is higher than normal. “What’s happening?”
I turn to look at Poppy, but the bar stretches until I can barely make her out.
“Vodka bombs, babes. You knew what those were, right?”
“Bombs?” I ask, laughing a little. “Who serves bombs at a bar?”
Poppy’s snort bounces from one ear to the other, sliding around in my head. “Fucking Ricky. You’ll be fine. It wears off after a few hours. Go dance.”
“Yes, yes.” Lindsey gasps. “Dancing.” Her nails dig into my skin, and she yanks me toward the swiveling floor.
