This was Viv shouting in my ear as we walked into Slade, the trendiest nightclub in downtown Denver and that was trendy in a bizarre way where it wasn’t trendy just for a year or two but had been since I started clubbing when I was twenty-one. The cover charge was high but it was the place to see and be seen. It was uncanny since clubs went in and out but Slade stayed popular. So popular, when celebrities hit town, they hit Slade. This was because Slade had small, medium and large VIP seating that was cordoned off from the commoners. Movie stars went there. Rap stars. R&B stars. Broncos. Nuggets. They took their posses to their VIP sections, had their own cocktail waitresses and bouncers and didn’t see but were up on daises so they could be seen.
This was so rare, I had actually given headspace to this phenomenon and came up with the fact that Slade stayed the hotspot because every year it was closed down for a month and the entire inside was gutted and renovated. It was like getting a whole new club and yet it wasn’t. And it was always the best, the coolest, the hippest. A costly but clever ploy, I thought, and it worked.
Not to mention the cocktail waitresses were always gorgeous with amazing bodies, the bartenders were hot and the bouncers and security were huge, scary but all attractive so if you hit Slade there were other treats for both sexes. Not just hot music in a hip atmosphere with well-poured drinks in fantastic glasses but eye candy.
Further, there was a line to get in, every night, even weekdays, and whether you agreed or not it was the right thing to do, the bouncers picked and chose who got in. It wasn’t just about clothes and money. If you were gorgeous, you went to the front of the line. Then, if you looked like you had serious cake, you got in. All others could stand out there for hours and never get in so they’d learned over the years not even to bother.
We got in because Sandrine had her sheet of strawberry blonde hair, fake breasts an ex-boyfriend bought her and her ability to say no to desserts all the time and therefore her body was slim and perfectly toned. Not to mention, there was Vivica, with her tall, slender frame, dark, flawless midnight skin, unusual tawny eyes, graceful giraffe neckline and perfect skull with her short cropped afro. And, lastly, apparently the new intel was me, who had a face that could launch a thousand hard-ons. Not a flowery compliment but still, it said it all even if it pulled no punches.
Once I noticed this (not, obviously, the bit about me since I didn’t know that until a week and a day ago), this had made me, for a six month stretch, swear off Slade. Sandrine, of course, wore me down and I lifted my ban.
So now I was back and had been back for a couple of years though with decreasing regularity.
Further, last Saturday I’d told both Viv and Sandrine all about Knight.
Sandrine’s comment was, “Hope he leaves you alone. He’s totally hot but he’s also a total asshole.”
Vivica just stared at me and said nothing. This was her way. She tended to cast judgment only when she had all the facts even if, I found, one of those facts included the knowledge that some guy had sent “his boys” out to beat someone up for me. Still, it was one of the three million, twenty-two thousand, six hundred and eleven things I loved about her. That said, once she cast judgment, whether it was right or wrong (or whether I thought it was right or wrong), it would take torture to make her change her mind. This could get a tad bit irritating. But it was, as far as I could see, Viv’s only flaw. And since we put up with enough of them from Sandrine, it all balanced out.
Until I mentioned him, neither of them knew Knight Sebring.
But obviously, Viv had asked around. I wasn’t surprised. This was also Viv’s way. She tended to be curious and that curiosity would go into overdrive once a man gave me a thousand dollar phone and had my landlord beaten up to make me safe(ish).
“Really?” I shouted back.
She nodded. “Yep. Since it opened eight years go.”
Wow. Interesting.
Suddenly, I was happy that I’d pulled out my best going out dress. It was designer but I bought it at a secondhand shop. Black, skintight, two inches above the knee, one shoulder bare, other arm sleeveless, across the side it gathered to a big, opened hole that exposed the skin of my other side under the sleeveless arm from ribs to the top of my hip. It wasn’t hot. It was scorching hot. And part of that scorching was the obvious fact that, to wear it, there was no way I could wear underwear. I loved it. I’d paired it with spike-heeled, strappy sandals that were black but looked like they were coated with silver glitter. They didn’t cost the bomb, I got them on sale at a mid-scale shoe store but they were sexy as all heck.
“Did you, uh…” I was still shouting in her ear as we pressed through the bodies on our way to the bar, “learn anything else about him?”
Her eyes caught mine and she shook her head. “Nope. No one knows much about him except he’s Nick’s older brother. I think he’s thirty-four, thirty-five, got different ages on him but only those two. He’s not Nick’s biggest fan which means I’m leaning toward liking him. He’s also got a serious, kickass name. And he owns this club.”
Not a lot of information, some of it I already knew, but still interesting.
“Ohmigod!” We both heard Sandrine shriek and our eyes went forward to where she was powering through the club, cutting a swath for Viv and my passage, to see she’d turned back to us. “That asshole is here!”
Before my eyes could move to where her finger was pointing, a VIP dais that was medium-sized, across the club from us but had a spectacular elevated view of the room since it had at least five steps up, Sandrine was again powering through. But this time she was practically throwing people out of the way to do it.
This was because Nick Sebring was clearly visible up there. This was not a surprise, we met Nick here and Nick was almost exclusively and always here in his own VIP section.
My first thought, and I acted on it, was to scan the dais for Knight.
He was not there.
My second thought was that this was a bummer.
My third thought was to remind myself it wasn’t. He had someone beat up and lamented the fact he couldn’t do it himself. Sure, he did it for me and Landlord Steve was a jerk but he did it and that was scary.
My last thought was that I better get my booty in gear because Sandrine was riled and when Sandrine was riled this usually caused a scene.
Vivica had my last thought first and she was hurrying behind Sandrine in the futile hope of heading her off.
And it was futile.
Before I was even close and Vivica was twenty feet behind, Sandrine was up the steps to the dais and pushing past a bouncer who was looking behind him toward Nick to see if he had the all-clear for her entry. Sandrine, with years of experience, was adept at getting anywhere she wanted to go, past bouncers, security, to the front of lines, backstage, her ass at choice window tables in trendy eateries. You name it, she found her way to get it even if she had to use her toned muscles to do it.
Which she did now.
I watched Vivica follow and the bouncer didn’t turn back to see if he had the all-clear for Viv. He caught one look at Vivica’s rounded behind in her tight, turquoise dress and didn’t stop looking.
Seeing as he was distracted, this made it easy for me to get by him too.
Vivica was too late and I was woefully too late. I knew this the instant I hit the scene.
And I say woefully because Nick Sebring was not just a mammoth jerk.
Nick Sebring was scarier than his brother.
And I knew this because I interrupted Knight Sebring having a calming cigarette by intruding in his very personal space and helping myself to his phone. Even though he made his irritation clear, he ended up giving me a ride.