red spade • h.s.

two.

The scent of smoke and sweat fills my nose as soon as I take a step in.

Some early 2000s pop song booms against the walls and I can feel the heavy bass rattling in my chest. The closer I get to the center, the more sweaty and drunk everyone is and soon it's just a mix of messy hair, flailing arms, and incoherent shouting.

A certain part of me longs to be among them. Dancing and drinking to my heart's content, but I stop myself before I can inch any closer to the dance floor.

My eyes glide over the room, trying to search for him.

He's usually standing near the bar, stealing some girl's heart with a smug smile and charming remarks. Such a booming and bright personality for someone they expected to be an asshole, people often say. Being the owner of the most popular underground club in New York City didn't always strike people the right way, I guess.

In the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of blond.

Sure enough, there he stands at the bar, a drunk smile spread across his face with a lazy arm draped over a girl. I sigh as I make my way over to him.

"Rosaline!" his face brightens when meeting my eyes. He flashes me a smile as he pulls away from the girl next to him. She seems distracted anyways, instantly moving to the other side of the table, morphing into a group of girls.

"Hi Niall," I breathe, grinning into his shoulder as he embraces me. The smell of his cologne hits me as soon as I do. Vanilla mixed with the strong smell of alcohol.

"You're late, you were supposed to be here an hour ago," he frowns. His Irish accent is still strong under the slur of his words.

He says something to the bartender and then moves over to offer me the seat next to him, his hand coming around to take my purse for me.

"Got caught up with work," I explain as I sit, taking the drink given by the bartender. The sharp taste of it swirls in my mouth when I gulp it down. I had no idea what Niall ordered for me, but I ask for more anyway.

"Work, work, work. That's all you talk about. You're like one of those--what do they call them?" he pauses to think for a moment, "a workaholic. You're one of those, you know. Always talking about work, it's ridiculous. Who comes to a club just to talk about the place they wouldn't want to be at? "

Niall has a habit of babbling when drunk. He just says whatever he needs to until he runs out of things to say. And as soon as you reply, he'll probably find another thing to go on about. Not that I'm complaining. It's better than trying to come up with things to say to fill awkward silence.

I only nod at him, bringing a shot to my lips and throwing it down my throat.

He gives me a once over.

"Is that the dress you got when we went shopping that one time? It's about time, I was starting to think you'd never wear it."

I look down. I'm wearing my bright red stilettos to match my red slip dress. It's fairly simple and ordinary, nothing too bold or scandalous.

"It is. How does it look?" I motion to my dress.

His eyes gleam, "It looks great."

"Thanks," I smile. I give him a once over as well.

Droopy eyelids cover his glistening eyes, even more blue than usual under the colored lights. His cheeks are stained splotchy red with intoxication and I can see some maroon color left around his lips from someone's lipstick. He's wearing a white button-up shirt, a couple of buttons at the top left open, and his sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, his shirt is tucked into his black dress pants.