VANCE’S POV
The bass hit before the door even finished opening, a low pulse that lived in my chest before it ever reached my ears. I told myself I came to the club to unwind. That was the story I'd been feeding myself since I got dressed, since I drove here with the windows down and the radio off, since I walked past the line without waiting because the bouncer knew my face and didn't ask questions.
It was a lie, and I was getting tired of pretending I believed it.
I wanted to see Scarlett. That was the truth of it, plain and unglamorous, sitting in my gut like a stone I couldn't spit out. I'd told myself a dozen different versions of why — that I needed a distraction, that Friday nights were for letting loose, that a man was allowed to enjoy himself without it meaning anything. But the
