A Designer Dress From Heaven and Your Dirty Wedding Ring

vii. wise men say, only fools rush in

this chapter contains warnings for the following: alcohol, violence, blood, minor character death

In the following weeks, you learn one very important thing: John Price is a relentless flirt.

(After that first conversation, he had disappeared into his office for the remainder of the day not reappearing until you had returned to the club to get ready backstage. You took your time, heart racing as your attention was split between preparing for the show and trying not to imagine Price joining you backstage and making good on his offer to wish you luck.

He never did, but once you took your place on stage, you immediately spotted him sitting at the bar between Ghost and Nik, eyes trained solely on you. He stayed in that spot for the entire show, his gaze never once leaving you, even when others came up to speak to him. He bought you a congratulatory drink afterward, handed to you with a sly smile and gentle squeeze of your hip.)

He hadn't stayed long after that, whisked away by something important Ghost whispered into his ear, but you find him in that same spot every night after that, watching your performance with a singular intensity that sets your skin on fire.

Farah takes over the two weeks leading up to her and Alex's departure, giving you a welcomed break and letting you enjoy the club and her flawless performances.

Price maintains his spot at the bar, making eyes at you anytime you pass by as you spend your time between dancing with Kyle and watching Valeria hustle unsuspecting patrons at the pool table. When you occasionally stop at the bar, you make it a point to stand next to him as you wait for your drinks.

Regardless of what he's doing—whether he's drinking with his eyes glued to you or talking to someone else, his attention focused entirely away from you—a warm hand always winds its way around your waist, slowly feeling up the fabric of whatever outfit Valeria's put you in for the night before it settles on your hip. You lean into the touch, lightly skimming your nails across the back of Price's hand as you wait for your drinks.

Alex serves you with a knowing look—one you make a show of ignoring—and you squeeze Price's hand. He presses your hip in response, the slow glide of his hand as he pulls back his arm, leaving a blazing trail across your skin that lingers as you take your drinks and return to Kyle or Valeria.

"You know," Valeria says one night, sharp gaze following you as you return from the bar with a drink for her and lemon water for yourself, "you still owe me a game."

"Can't say it'll be much of a game," you laugh, sitting beside her. "I'm shit at poker."

"I wasn't talking about poker," Valeria grins, eyes sliding to her right where the pool tables sit.

"Alright, but fair warning, I'm about as good at pool as I am poker." Valeria pays you no mind, taking her drink and sauntering toward the tables, crimson dress flowing with every step.

The table she approaches is occupied, surrounded by a small group that isn't so much playing as they are holding cue sticks and talking. Valeria joins them, easing into their conversation with a coy smile and a light touch to the nearest man's arm. You don't hear the conversation, but Valeria tilts her head and says something and one of the group hands her his pool cue before leading the rest of his friends to the dancefloor.

"That was nice of them," you laugh, joining her at the table. She hums a small laugh, handing you your own cue stick.

Valeria starts the game, and it ends almost as quickly as it begins, a look of absolute disbelief plastered on her face.