Corrupted Angel

Chapter 3 Episode 3

I haven’t even told my dad the news yet. In fact, I’ve hardly spoken to him lately. He’s been busydefending the innocent, and I’ve been busy looking for new ways to describe canine outfits. I alwaysworry that my dad judges me for not living up to my potential. I hate the thought of disappointing him.

Clara shoots to her feet and goes to the island, grabbing the bags she brought before setting themdown on the coffee table. “Let’s do something fun. You remember fun, right?”

“I just don’t know if I’m in the mood, Clara …” I eye the bags suspiciously. “Plus, don’t you think aclub will just be a den of temptation to you?”

She waves dismissively. “Please. I am so Zen these days that the thought of alcohol doesn’t even fazeme. I just want to dance with my best friend and help dig her out of the misery spiral she’s about tosink into.”

“Who said anything about a misery spiral?”

“I see you glancing over at the freezer.” She flattens her lips. “If I don’t get you out of here, you’ll endup watching terrible romcoms until you pass out in a puddle of melted ice cream.”

I am annoyed that she has anticipated my evening plans so astutely.

“Fine,” I sigh. “Let’s go dance.”

She squeals and perches on the coffee table, pulling items out of the bags. She has brought her entiremakeup kit, as well as enough hair-styling tools to supply a pageant.

“What’s all this?” I ask suspiciously.

“This is your future.” She pulls a sparkly dress out of one of the bags with a flourish. “Gaze upon itwith glee, for I am going to give you a makeover.”

I eye the dress. “That’s not going to fit me.”

Clara is petite, with toned everything and an ass that defies gravity. I run on the curvier side, with aflat stomach but flaring hips, thick thighs, and generous cleavage. I have the kind of body that looksgreat in pencil skirts and form-hugging jeans, but I’m dubious about the slinky number that Clara haspicked out for me.

“It absolutely will fit,” she replies. “You can trust me. I’m enlightened.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously wise.” She fans out a selection of makeup brushes. “Now... Where to begin?”

Clara pokes and prods at me for the next hour. By the end of it, my face is so caked with makeup andmy hair so full of spray that I question whether I will be able to keep my head upright. Claraannounces in a singsong voice that she is finished and somehow goads me into the sparkly dress. Thenshe guides me to the mirror, and the first thing I see is her hopeful expression.

And then… Wow.

Clara has coaxed my normally curly hair into silky waves that cascade over the tops of my breasts.My blue eyes pop under thick black false lashes, with gold and purple eyeshadow and thick blackliner on the upper lids. My lips are light pink and shiny, and my skin is flawless, like creamy marble.

And the dress… Damn, the dress. It clings to me in all the right places, with a deep V accentuating mycleavage and a fringe at the bottom that tickles the tops of my thighs when I move.

“I don’t even look like me,” I comment, turning my face from side to side, entranced by my ownreflection.

“That’s not so bad, is it?” Clara brings the makeup to the mirror and bumps me out of the way whileshe starts on her own face. “Tonight you can be anyone you want to be.”

She’s right, I realize. I am transformed.

Maybe going out is a good idea after all.

Clara and I hit up a few bars on the Lower East Side before making our way to what she claims is thebest club in all of New York City—Fiamma. Once we get inside, it is a veritable buffet of sights andsounds. Loud dance music pulses through the speakers and ultra-glam revelers pack the dance floorand wave their arms above them as neon lights s***h through the crowd.

I had a couple drinks in the earlier bars, but I never drink to excess when I’m around Clara. She saysit doesn’t bother her, but it doesn’t seem fair. I’m working with a bit of a buzz, so Clara and I skip thebar and head straight for the dance floor.

I don’t know the song playing but let the beat flow through me as I start to dance, winding my handstoward the ceiling and rolling my hips. It feels good to dance. I lose myself in it, swaying and twistingand tossing my hair. Clara and I make eye contact and break into giggles. It is the first time all day thatI have felt truly alive.

I look over my shoulder to see how crowded the bar is, and my eye lands on a man cutting through thecrowd a few feet behind me. My breath catches.

I’m just drunk enough to have one crystal-clear thought amidst the chaos: That is one fine specimen.

He must be around 6’5” as he towers above the crowd of high-heeled glamazons. His dark hairfeathers around his face and the nape of his neck. It’s the kind of hair that looks silky to the touch, andmy fingers twitch at the thought of running my hands through it. His full lips are set in a hard line, asthough annoyed at having to swim through the sea of bodies. He glances over, and for a second, oureyes meet.

My heart skips a beat and I go still, like a deer in the headlights. His eyes are dark pools that draw mein until I feel as though I’m drowning. He looks away, and I snap back into the present, realizing thatfor the past few seconds, I’ve forgotten to breathe.

The man disappears without so much as a backward glance. Maybe he wasn’t looking at me at all.

Clara pokes my shoulder. “You okay?”

I nod and go back to dancing. “Sorry. Got distracted.”

“By that hunk of man meat?” She licks her lips. “I don’t blame you.”

I dance until my feet ache, and sweat shimmers on my chest. I even indulge in a little bump-and-grindwith a few guys who come my way, but the second any of them start asking too many questions, I grabClara and we scoot into another part of the crowd. I just want to have fun, and at the moment, the ideaof chatting up any guy is the opposite of that.

Clara and I hit the bar and I order drinks. She starts to drift off in the direction of a sexy guy with avery impressive afro and I have to wrangle her back to my side as she has my wallet and phone in herpurse.

We hit the dance floor again and the guy comes over, performing silly dance moves like some sort ofmating ritual for Clara’s approval. It works. One second I’m shimmying with my best friend, the nextI’m sipping a drink next to her while she and the hot rando paw at each other like teenagers.

I scan the club, my vodka cran tasting increasingly bitter with every sip. I don’t even realize what I’mlooking for until I see him—the hot guy I maybe made eye contact with earlier. He’s leaning againstthe wall near the VIP area, scrolling through his phone.

I don’t get him. He doesn’t seem to belong here. He’s too serious, and he looks too bored. He’swearing a slim-fitting black suit, with a black shirt and a red tie. It’s bold, but he’s not peacocking.He’s just... being.

As though he can feel my gaze, the man looks up from his phone. His gaze skewers through me fromacross the room. A blue light splashes across my face, and I have no doubt that this time he is lookingat me. Everything seems to slow down around me and my pulse races. His mouth lifts ever-so-slightlyin a smirk. My mouth is dry, and I down the rest of my drink in one gulp. When I look back up, he isalready walking up the stairs into the VIP area.

I turn back to Clara and grimace. She and her new friend look as though they’re trying to eat eachother, but at least she’s having fun, I suppose.

Clara breaks away and whispers something in the guy’s ear, then comes to talk to me.

“Hunter and I are going to get out of here,” she says. “You’ll be okay to get home, right?”

I nod, forcing a smile. “Sure.”

She smooches my cheek and grabs Hunter’s hand. The two of them disappear within seconds. It’salmost impressive, or rather, it would be if it weren’t so annoying.

I heft a sigh and glance down at my empty drink. I’ll grab one more for the road. There’s a bottle ofwine waiting for me at home, and if I’m remembering correctly, I’ve got a big bag of Doritos in one ofthe cupboards.

I squeeze my way to the bar and order another drink, swaying to the music. The bartender, a gorgeousredhead covered in tattoos, hands me my drink, and I take a sip absently as she keys it into the till.