midnight rain [f. colapinto]

f o r t y - o n e

Two shots and a cocktail later, Evita and Genevieve took to the crowded dance floor. The bass from the speakers thrummed through the busy club, keeping time with Evita's racing heart. Strobe lights flashed intermittently, lighting up the room in bursts of blue, purple, and green.

Evita and Genevieve clasped hands as they danced to the music. Evita could feel the alcohol coursing through her veins, blurring her thoughts, allowing her to focus solely on the music and the girl dancing in front of her.

The world seemed to fade away from Evita. All of her worries about work and Franco began to disappear, lost to the sensual beat of the music blasting from the speakers. Genevieve pulled Evita closer, leaning down slightly to talk to her over the noise.

"Look to the right, don't make it obvious," she said.

Evita repositioned herself and Genevieve so she could face the direction indicated. Almsot immediately, the young woman locked eyes with Franco, who was standing on the side of the dance floor with some people Evita vaguely recognized, presumably the reserve drivers he had spoken of earlier. Evita felt her face flame as Franco stared at her. She leaned her forehead against Genevieve's shoulder, in an attempt to conceal her embarrassment.

"He's so into you," said Genevieve.

"He shouldn't be," said Evita. "He's had his chance."

"Come on, let's go get another drink," said Genevieve. "Then you can find someone to dance with, make him jealous."

"I don't know, Gen," said Evita.

"It'll be fun, Ev. There are plenty of attractive people here. Liven up and get some action," said Genevieve.

The two young women left the dance floor, arm in arm, and headed over to the bar. Evita had another drink, allowing the strong alcohol to burn her throat. Genevieve had her phone out, quickly typing something on the screen.

"Is everything alright?" asked Evita.

"Fantastic," said Gen. "But I need to make a call. If you need me, I'll be right outside."

Evita furrowed her brows in confusion, but gave her friend a hug before allowing her to leave. Then she scanned the crowded club, running her fingers through her straight hair, hoping that would make it look less flat. Evita straightened her posture and walked back to the dance floor.

She located a young man who looked to be around her age, standing off to the side, watching the crowd of people intently. He was tall, with dark blond hair. He was cute, in a boy-next-door kind of way.

With one last glance at Franco, Evita set off across the floor, weaving through groups of people dancing, until she reached the young man.

"Hey," she said, smiling up at him. She rested her hand on his bare forearm.

The man smiled back, giving Evita a once over. "You look familiar. You work for Williams, right?"

Evita nodded, taken slightly aback that he recognized her.

"I'm Luke," he said. "I'm part of the academy."

Memories clicked into place. Now Evita remembered him. Luke Browning, one of Williams's junior team members, who recently moved up to Formula 2.

"Evita," she said in response. "Want to dance?"

"Of course," said Luke.

Evita stepped closer to him, allowing Luke to wrap his arms around her waist. Evita didn't resist his touch, instead leaning into him. She linked her arms loosely around his neck, her fingers delicately brushing against the skin above his shirt collar.

Evita let the music take over her, letting her body move to the music. Luke's touch on her waist was firm, yet comfortable, guiding her through the dance. There was something enticing about dancing so closely with someone she didn't know. It was almost enough to take her mind off Franco. Almost.

Evita's ex-boyfriend stood in the same place he had been earlier, this time joined by a blonde woman. The girl was practically hanging off of him, laughing at something he must have said. Franco looked almost disinterested, as if something else was on his mind.

Evita focused her attention back on Luke. The beat of the music slowed, becoming sultrier, more romantic. Luke's grip on Evita tightened, pulling her closer to his chest, his hands lowering to her hips.

Evita arched her back slightly, pressing her body even closer to his, allowing herself to lose herself to the dance, to Luke. She tilted her head tilted back, exposing the soft curve of her neck. Luke's lips brushed gently against her skin, so lightly Evita could barely feel it. The intimacy of the moment sent shivers down Evita's spine, and she found she was enjoying the moment.

Luke pulled away enough to make eye contact with Evita. She smiled up at him, flashing him a flirtatious smile.

"What is it?" she asked softly.

"Do you want to get out of here?" he asked.

"Hmm?" hummed Evita, tilting her head to the side in feigned confusion.

"We could go back to my hotel room," he suggested, tracing a finger up Evita's side.

Evita genuinely thought about it for a moment. Luke was attractive, and she enjoyed dancing with him. But thoughts of Franco still lingered in her mind. She chalked it up to the alcohol she had consumed, making her thoughts fuzzy, but he wouldn't leave her head. She shouldn't be thinking about him at all, especially in this sense. There was nothing going on between them, but Evita's conscience couldn't allow her to sleep with a man while thinking of another, no matter how confusing things were.

Evita rested a hand on Luke's chest, putting a bit of distance between them. "I'm sorry," she said. "I can't, it's just- I'm sorry."

Luke took a step back, completely eliminating any contact between them. "It's okay, Evita, don't worry about it. I'm sorry if I read things the wrong way or if I crossed any boundaries."

"You didn't, I promise you didn't," assured Evita. "Luke, I should go."

"Can I get your Instagram first?" he asked.

Evita paused long enough to type her social media into his phone, then hurried to the bathroom. She stood in front of the sink, touching up her lipstick and squeezing some hand sanitizer into her open palm. The liquid cooled her sweaty palms, stinging the damaged beds of her fingernails. The sensations calmed her, allowing her to ground her thoughts.

She should call Genevieve. Though Evita hadn't seen her since she'd left to take the phone call, perhaps she was still at the club.

The line was busy, Evita's call immediately transferring to voicemail. Evita let out a groan. Either she would have to take a taxi back to the hotel alone, or she would have to let Franco drive her. Neither option seemed appealing in her drunken haze.

Evita settled on taking a taxi. She couldn't face Franco, not in her current state. She left the bathroom and began to walk towards the exit, before a hand grabbed her wrist.

Evita whirled around, fear flooding over her, before realizing it was Franco. The young man quickly let go of her, taking a step back.

"We need to talk," he said.