Until We Surrender | EXCERPT ONLY (f.k.a. Sweets)

Two │Henry

Fuck, what a night.

What started as a fun evening with my closest friends at the Avalon, one of the hottest nightclubs in New York City, turns into a blurry haze of confusion.

I shouldn't have had that last drink; my slightly inebriated state clouds my senses, and it's only slowly sinking in what the woman standing in front of me is up to. She runs her index finger down my chest with a flirty smile, making me shudder. No matter how hard I fix on her lips, the surrounding noise drowns her words. Their horrid shade of pink adds to the confusion swirling in my mind.

Another shiver ripples through me, and I intend to step away from her, but she uses the time I need to move to her advantage. She fists my shirt and pulls her body closer, causing the hair on the back of my neck to lift.

Before I know what's happening, she presses her lips on mine. A grumbling noise erupts from my chest, and I have no clue why in the world this woman shoves her tongue down my throat. There's nothing wrong with women being forward and making the first move, but if a first move is this, I pass.

Yes, I definitely shouldn't have had that last drink, because instead of pushing her away, my brain wants to come up with an explanation. What gave her the impression I was up for this? Was it how I returned her smile?

Okay, Henry, focus. Her motivation doesn't matter; it needs to stop. "Whoa, wait," I say and get her off me with a firm grip on her hips.

Gasping, she steps back and blinks at me before a frown forms on her forehead. "I'm, um, sorry," she slurs. Yup, she shouldn't have had her last drink either. "Was that too much?" She averts her gaze with a pout, and her shoulders heave with a deep breath. "I thought that eye contact meant something."

My brows furrow, and I rack my brain, struggling to make sense of her words. "What eye contact?"

"On the dancefloor. Earlier. You checked me out."

I may not be in total control of all my senses anymore, but I didn't check her out. Won't tell her that, though; I'm still a gentleman. "Sorry if I gave you the wrong impression," I say, "but I'm not interested."

"Fine. Excuse me." Without another word, she storms off.

I watch her disappear into the crowd, and with a shake of my head, I return to my friends. Clenching my jaw, I push past the people, careful not to make any more eye contact with strangers.

"There you are." Once I reach our table, Paul hands me a bottle of beer, looking left and right behind me with a smirk. "Where's your new friend?"

I accept the drink with a huff. "Shut up." After taking a large swig of the alcohol, I welcome the cooling effect it has on my parched throat, dismissing the earlier thoughts about having had enough for tonight. Time to wipe this incident from my memory.

"So it didn't work out? Was it because she was brunette?"

I roll my eyes. "It had nothing to do with her hair color and all with the fact—"

"—that she wasn't Lauren," Paul murmurs, and even over the loud music surrounding us, I understand his every word. Or maybe it's because he never passes up on a chance to comment on anything Lauren-related. I'm used to his teasing when it comes to her, and it's not getting to me.

So I ignore him, like usual, and let my gaze wander through the Avalon. I spot Ben and Jack, who return from the bar with more drinks in their hands.

"Henry," Jack says, mirroring Paul's smirk. "You're back. Alone. You two looked kinda cozy."

"Not you too," I grumble. I'd rather forget the incident from a moment ago. "Where are the girls?" I ask about Lauren and Amy, who were at our table before this woman viciously attacked me on my way from the restroom.