Ambrose has been in love with his best friend, Lana Hart, for years.
But she tied the knot with the love of her life three years ago, leaving Ambrose broken-hearted and disillusioned about love.
Enter Davina, the most difficult girl Ambrose has ever...
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Flashback.
Brooklyn had unique energy wherever you go. Colton always spoke badly about this area as if the people would poison him. I never went on this side of town because of him. My dealer wanted to meet somewhere more secluded since the paparazzi had been up my ass. Can a girl just smoke a joint without being judged?
Apparently not.
Orange and Yellow lights flashed from every corner and smoke spilled from several machines placed next to a DJ booth at the far end. Opposite the DJ booth was a long bar. Along the walls were tables where people were enjoying their drinks. In the middle was a crowded dance floor, bodies grinding and gyrating against each other to the thumping rhythm of EDM music.
My nose filled with the smells of alcohol, pot, cigarette smoke, sweat, and oddly sex. Normally, I would be all for finding a hot guy to screw around for the night, but after the encounter with Colton earlier, I just wanted to be high as a kite.
Anything to muzzle the pain.
Silhouettes danced behind the red drapes, showing signs of people getting fucked up and having sex. Moments like this, I wished I could be as carefree as them. I mentally groaned as I glanced down at my phone to see no response from my dealer.
"Want another drink?" The bartender asked, shaking around a container.
"Three shots of Vodka."
"Right away," he responded.
My disguise consisted of a baseball cap and sunglasses; probably wasn't the best choice, but it got the job done. The bald bartender poured three shots and pushed them towards me. The liquid burned my throat, yet it felt amazingly satisfying.
Being drunk switched off the worst parts of your brain and allowed the fool to run your life, to run your mouth.
My patience was running thin. This idiot really had me waiting for him? Acting as if I didn't have an entire catalog full of dealers. I just wanted the strong shit tonight, but I guess I'm going to have to settle for something else.
After dropping a fifty-dollar bill on the countertop, I pushed my way through the crowd to the back exit. I plopped down on the floor and pulled out a cigarette from the half-empty pack of Marlboro Menthol Lights. I fished around for a lighter in my purse, luckily always keeping an emergency one.
I pressed the end to my lips as my shaking hands struggled to lighten it. Why was this suddenly harder than tying a shoe? Glass smashing against the floor caught my attention away from the failing lighter to a six-foot man.
Stumbling, he headed in my direction, using the wall for support since his legs were like jelly. My hand reached for the pepper spray in my pocket just in case this was psycho. The alcohol made its way through my system and my vision was becoming hazy. I couldn't get a good look at the guy.
