Worth The Risk

Chapter Two

SPENCER

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          Chaos. That might've been the only word to describe the intoxicating air around me.

Loud music boomed in my ears, the smell of alcohol, sweat, and mixed perfumes and colognes filling my nostrils as I sipped on my alcohol at the bar.

I'm on my third tall glass of cranberry vodka, and the night is still young. I can't help myself, guzzling like there's no tomorrow. I was supposed to be serving the drinks, not drinking them.

But I couldn't help myself. Plus my tolerance was pretty high so I'm sure I'd be fine.

Avalon Nightclub is scorching hot tonight— even more than normal— and the sweaty dancing bodies of drunk people isn't making it any better.

My nerves are getting the better of me, like I always knew they would. The slow tempo of the music echoes through my body, reminding me why I'm here.

I feel a pair of eyes on me, but not a single soul is in sight when I take a look around me.

Consciously, I straighten my back, holding my head higher as I clutched my tall glass tighter in my hands. I pressed my hands into the counter in front of me, leaning forward and slowly sipping from my drink.

The lights were dimmed and candles in bottles were lit, creating a beautiful ambiance to this already-very-nice club.

Just one glance around at this extravagant and expensive nightclub and the thoughts of running away from here vanish into thin air within seconds.

The silver that decorates the ceilings swirls down the walls, complemented by small areas of plain white paint. The tall, arched glass windows are outlined with the same silver tint, which shimmers under the strobe lights of the huge chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling, dominating the room.

I admit, I had an idea of how real diamonds look, and the way the small gems glinted in the light, casting tiny beautiful rainbows around the entire club, had me fairly certain they were real.

"Here you go," I smile at the customer as he swiftly passed me another twenty dollar bill. I shoved the tip money into the bag on my hip, sighing with exhaustion.

I slipped a little, but luckily I regained my balance. I blinked, my eyes wide.

Whoa, maybe I should slow down with this stuff. Or maybe— just fucking maybe, it's these five inch plastic platform heels I've been forced to wear all night.

I surely wasn't drunk, but I struggled to walk in these fucking heels. Who wouldn't?

I was dressed in a cropped black lace bustier with bows on the straps, showing just enough of my small cleavage. My sort-of restricted panties were high cut (bikini style), lacy and black, and matching my top.

The black miniskirt I wore covered just enough, leaving the rest to your own imagination. My black curly hair was straightened for tonight, flowing past my shoulders and down my back. My light hazel eyes stood out more with the simple black eye makeup I wore for tonight.

An incoming call suddenly flashed across my phone screen, the name Walker shown. A small smile instantly lit my face and I swiped right, answering the call.

"Hello beautiful," a sweet and deep voice said.

I smiled. "Hey Walker. How are you?" I met Walker my freshman year of college. We actually used to be roommates. I hooked up with one of his friends and when I tried to escape the next morning, he was there, innocently cooking breakfast.