Jannah
"Happy birthday, bitch!" I shout at the top of my lungs, nearly losing my voice-not just from excitement, but because I'm halfway to high in the middle of a jam-packed club. Lights flicker across the ceiling like electric rain, and bass pulses so hard it feels like it's syncing with my heartbeat with each vibration. Kaitlyn, all grin and smiles , flashes a heart with her fingers and blows me a kiss through the haze.
"To lots of money and many more years!" she cheers, blowing out the candles on a sparkler-lit mini cake, surrounded by clapping hands and glittery phone cameras. Connor's arms wrap tighter around her waist, and when he leans in to kiss her, the make-out session that follows goes on just a little too long for comfort.
"Go get a room, you two!" I yell, giving them both a dramatic thumbs down. Kaitlyn giggles like a teenager caught sneaking out, her face flushed pink, as her head rests on Connor's broad shoulder.
"I think what she means is, she needs a boyfriend," Connor smirks, his deep voice barely audible over the heavy beat. His eyes twinkle with amusement, and that smug little grin makes me roll my eyes.
"Puh-lease," I wave him off and take a slow sip of my gin and tonic, letting it's burn distract me. He's not entirely wrong. I've been single forever, and watching them act like the couple I always end up liking on TikTok-the one I pretend I'm not jealous of-does sting a little. But whatever. They're cute, I'll give them that.
At first, Kaitlyn wasn't sure about Connor. I wasn't either. Honestly, the tattoos, the shaved head, and the linebacker build had me thinking more thug, less love. But I've come around. He worships her, and I can't hate on that.
"She's right. I can set you up with my brother's friend. Late thirties, super hot, divorced once but harmless," Kaitlyn's cousin Anastasia adds with a wink.
"No thank you, I'm not looking for a grandpa," I snort, and everyone laughs. But the annoying voice in my head whispers back: You're not looking for a grandpa... you're looking for another Ethan-with a splash of Aaron.
God. I take another drink and shut that thought down immediately. This night is supposed to be about fun. No weird boss drama. No emotional whiplash.
"Come on, girls! Let's show these people how it's done!" Kaitlyn hollers, clearly three drinks past tipsy. She grabs both my hands before I can even think of an excuse. My heel nearly rolls, and I stumble forward with a half-laugh, half-sob.
"No, no, no! Go dance with Connor!" I protest, digging in my heels as she yanks me toward the dance floor.
"Nope! It's me, you, and Anna." Her grin is lopsided and mischievous, her glossy red dress hugging every curve. One side of her wavy hair falls into her face, and for some reason, she reminds me of Peter Rabbit's seductive wife-if she ever existed. I glance at Connor, hoping he'll intervene, but he shrugs, all cheeky.
"Sorry, Jan. Whatever the birthday girl
wants..."
Great.
"Don't be a sourpuss! Let's shake our asses!" Anastasia adds, already shimmying as she disappears into the crowd.
We make our way toward the dance floor. It's hot, packed, and vibrating with sound. Neon lights sweep across the room in chaotic intervals, painting everything in flashes of pink, blue, and electric green. The scent of liquor, perfume, and body heat is heady and wild. People bump into each other, grinding, shouting, laughing-just feeling everything. And it's contagious.
As we hit the center of the club, I can't even hear myself think. The music surrounds us like water-thick, heavy bass that drowns out all logic. I blink through the haze as a slow, seductive beat takes over the speakers.
"Take this," Anastasia shouts over the noise, handing me a drink the color of strawberry soda. "It'll help you loosen up!"
I hesitate-briefly. But then I down it like a shot and roll my shoulders back.
A new song begins to play, it's Luv by Tory Lanez. One of my favorites. My hips start moving before I can even stop them. I let the music melt into my bloodstream, let it carry me. My hands drift through my hair, slowly, fingers sifting through curls as I drop lower, grinding my hips in smooth, lazy circles. The beat owns me now.
The tension in my shoulders eases. The burdens I've carried for months peel off layer by layer with every sway of my waist. My eyes flutter closed, and for the first time in forever, I feel alive.
Then Work by Rihanna starts to play. The girls scream. My body reacts like it's second nature-arching my back, writing slow figure-eights with my hips. I lean forward just enough to let the tight hem of my dress rise a little higher on my thighs. Kaitlyn and Anastasia are dancing like two possessed sprites beside me, but I've found my zone.
I drop lower, twerking slowly, letting the rhythm guide every roll. I grind back against Anastasia, laughing as she squeals, and feel the electric tension ripple around me. I can sense the eyes. Dozens of them. Watching. Wanting. Hungry.
My fingers trail down the sides of my thighs and I bite my bottom lip, arching into the beat. For a second, I'm not Jannah the software engineer, or Jannah with the weird supernatural mess in her life. I'm that girl-unbothered, glowing, and in her damn element.
My hair falls into my eyes, sticky with sweat and motion. I brush it back lazily-and that's when I see him.
Light brown eyes. Dark, piercing. Watching me like a hawk in slow motion. My heart stutters.
"Aa-Aaron. Mr. Steele." My voice is a whisper only I can hear. I tug down the hem of my dress instinctively, heart thudding as the dance floor spins just a little faster.