A One Nightstand To Live For

Chapter 1

Claire

The bass of the music pulsed through my body, each beat syncing with the thrum of my heart. Shake n Buzz was alive tonight. The air was heavy with the scent of sweat, spilled drinks, and the faint sweetness of perfume. Everybody was swaying with the music, the multicolored lights almost blinding my eyes in a good way.

"Go, Claire! Go, Clairy!"

My friends cheered, their voices cutting through the pounding music as they egged me on. Lyla handed me a glass of apple martini, her grin wide and mischievous. I took a sip, the tangy sweetness sparking in my veins like a shot of courage. With a flick of my wrist, I passed the drink back to her and loosened my ponytail, shaking my hair loose to cascade over my shoulders.

The crowd roared as I stepped into the center of the dance floor. The black sundress I wore clung to my body, the fabric teasingly thin and cut to show just enough skin to keep their attention. The rhythm of the music took over, and I raised my arms, letting my hips sway and spin to the beat.

The regulars cheered louder, their voices rising with each move I made. My legs bent into a squat, my thighs burning with the effort as I twirled and dropped low, the skirt of my dress teasing the edge of decency.

"Damn, Claire! Shake it!" someone yelled.

It was a routine by now. Every weekend, I was the unofficial queen of Shake n Buzz. For a moment, I could pretend this was all there was to life—no commitments, no responsibilities, just the music and the thrill of being alive.

The money came next, crisp bills fluttering to the floor as strangers showered me with tips. I gathered it up between dances, laughing as Lyla held out her purse for me to stash it away.

"Look at you, Clairy," Lyla teased. "You’re making more money dancing than you do waiting tables. What does that say?"

I smirked. "Maybe I should quit my day job."

The night soon became a blend of lights, laughter, and music. It wasn’t until I turned toward the bar for a break that I saw him.

He was tall, his broad shoulders cutting an imposing figure as he leaned casually against the counter. His dark eyes swept the room, pausing briefly on me before locking myself in place. My heart skipped, the surrounding air suddenly feeling too warm.

He was older—maybe early thirties—with chiselled features and the kind of confidence that didn’t need words to announce itself. His black shirt stretched across a chest that looked impossibly solid, and the sleeves were rolled up just enough to reveal the edge of a tattoo snaking around his forearm.

When he smiled, it wasn’t a grin or a smirk but it made my knees buckle and my thighs clench together.

"I must say," he said, his voice low and smooth as he approached, "the way you dance could bring any man to his knees."

Heat rose to my cheeks. Compliments weren’t new, not here, but something about the way he said it made me feel as though I was standing in front of him completely exposed.

"Thanks," I managed, my voice tighter than I wanted it to be.

He tilted his head, studying me with a kind of amused curiosity. "What do you say I take you to mine and bring you to your knees?"

The question hit me like a bucket of ice water, and I almost choked on my breath. Before I could respond, he slipped something into my hand—a stack of cash, thick enough to take care of a good chunk of my student loans.

I stared at it, then at him.

His expression was stoic, but there was no mistaking the intention behind his offer. I should have said no. I should have walked away.

But I didn’t.

The penthouse suite smelled of leather and cedarwood, the air thick with his presence. I stood just inside the doorway, my fingers curling and uncurling around the strap of my purse.

"Relax," he said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine.

I didn’t know how to relax. Not when I felt so utterly out of my depth.

But then his hands were on my waist, firm and steady, pulling me toward him. My body responded before my brain could catch up, leaning into the heat of his touch.

"I’ll make it worth your while," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.

He wasn’t lying.

That night wasn’t just good—it was unforgettable. His kisses were rough but left a mark, each one setting me ablaze in ways I’d never imagined. He stripped away my defenses as easily as he stripped away my dress, leaving me bare, vulnerable, and completely consumed by him.

And when it was over, when the heat between us finally settled into a quiet hum, I lay beside him, staring at the ceiling and wondering how I’d ever return to my old life after this.

Morning came too soon.

The sunlight was harsh as it streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, its brightness a cruel contrast to the darkness of my thoughts. His side of the bed was empty, the sheets cool to the touch.

On the nightstand, I found an envelope. It was thick, heavy with cash, and tucked beneath a gold pen.

I stared at it, my stomach twisting. This wasn’t just payment for the night. He must be extremely wealthy. But paying me for the s*x meant something. A cold, glaring symbol of what I had let myself become.

I should’ve felt shame. Regret. But all I felt was the bitter sting of reality crashing back down.

Taking the envelope, I slipped out of the penthouse and back into a world where my debts were still piling up and my future felt as uncertain as ever.

The hospital smelled sterile, the sharp tang of antiseptic clinging to the air. The rhythmic beeping of the monitor next to Ted’s bed was the only sound breaking the silence. I looked down at my hardened n*****s and felt extremely embarrassed that I still couldn't let go of those memories after seven years.

I sat beside him, holding his small hand in mine. His pale face looked even smaller against the stark white pillow, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. My heart twisted with every beep of the machine, each one a cruel reminder of how fragile his little life had become.

"Ms. Claire," a voice pulled me from my thoughts.

I looked up to see a nurse standing in front of me. Her glasses perched low on her nose, and her expression softened with pity.

"You’re free to go home now," she said gently. "But don’t lose hope. We’re doing everything we can."

I nodded, though her words barely registered. I turned back to Ted, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. He didn’t stir.

"Mommy’s here," I whispered, my voice breaking as tears welled in my eyes. "You’ve got to fight, okay? Please, baby… come back to me."

A single tear slipped down my cheek, landing on his hand. I clenched it tighter, guilt clawing at my chest.

This was my fault. Every bad decision I’d made, every wrong turn, had led us here. The money from that night had been gone in an instant, swallowed by student loans and overdue bills. Only to find out weeks later that I was pregnant from that night. I hadn’t thought about what it would mean for my future. I’d only known one thing—I couldn’t let him go. Not even the stranger who got me pregnant could know about him or take him from me.

And now, I was failing him.