CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Harley collapsed onto the banquette, exhausted from several sets on the dancefloor.
“Who’s next?” Dakota shrieked. “Polidori.” She pulled at his arm.
He’d just sat down, drenched in sweat from dancing with Jess and Rachel. “Okay, okay,” he said, after guzzling a bottle of water. He stood and peeled off his saturated top, the clipped hair on his chest matted with perspiration. His lowcut jeans, much lower than Rachel had realized, hung inches below his hips without a belt. But with the curve of his butt, there was no way they were going to fall down.
After Aubrey and Dakota disappeared into what had devolved to look like the first circles of Dante’s hell, Jess grabbed two water bottles and beckoned Rachel to follow. They pulled back the curtain and headed through the
