By: Kim Karr

“Maggie!” he shouts as if he is surprised to see me.

Two can play at that game, buddy.

“Keen,” I answer in a high-pitched voice meant to show equal surprise.

Setting his drink down, he moves fast, but the girl is on his heels, and the two of them are close to me in no time.

I look from him to his trampy whore, who clears her throat when all he does is stare at me for countless moments.

He blinks at the sound, and then quickly regains his composure. “Francesca, this is Maggie,” he says all rough-voiced, bad-boy style.

Francesca. Please. I’m so not impressed.

Okay, so her name is much sexier than mine, and I am a little jealous. There, I said it. Now let’s drop it.

Francesca tilts her head to look at me, and her smile is wide and warm and inviting. She doesn’t shake my hand, but she does lean a little closer. “Hi!”

This time I look from her to Keen, and then back. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

Like three idiots, we stand here making stupid small talk. I consider leaving them to do whatever it is they are going to do, but something won’t let me walk away.





When a tattooed girl taps trampy flapper chick on the shoulder and she eagerly engages in another conversation, Keen slips his arm around my waist and draws me close. Hip to hip. It’s electric. And then he hisses in my ear, “Why didn’t you tell me you were my brother’s date?”

Oh, shit!

Now, I could come clean and explain the date is anything but real, but why would I do that when this is going to be so much more fun? “It never came up in conversation.”

He grits his teeth. “You practically invited me into your bed; I think it should have come up.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You did, and you know it.”

“Even if I did, you obviously weren’t interested, since you left me like a dime-store hooker the minute your dick wagged in another direction,” I snap back.

Clearly frustrated, he runs a hand through that beautiful hair of his. “My brother called me over, for Christ’s sake. When I went back for you, you were gone. I looked around and couldn’t find you.”

Avoiding his eyes, I pick at the chips on my purple nail polish. “You didn’t look that hard, obviously, because you’ve been right here practically eye-fucking this little tart.”

“Jealous,” he says with a smirk.

I straighten my shoulders. “I don’t do jealous.”

He pulls me even closer, and I can feel the burn of his stare. I don’t dare look for fear that I will forever be trapped in his inferno.

Because to be honest, the room is still looking a little green. And yes, I know the lights are purple.

No. Never mind.

It’s just hot.

Too hot.

The whiskey was strong. It went to my head. Everything is too bright and pulsing and my heart is beating way too fast.

“So . . . what do you say the three of us dance?” Francesca asks when she wheels back around.

Saved by the floozy.

Keen and I look at each other.

Francesca sips her something-fruity concoction and then sets it down on the railing. “Come on. I really like this song.”

Suddenly dancing is all I want to do. “Sure, why not,” I say with a nod and let Francesca lead the way.

He can come or not. I don’t care. I look over my shoulder. Yep, he’s right behind me. And yes, I did care.

The three of us hit the dance floor just as Taylor Swift’s “I Knew You Were Trouble” begins its distinctive beat.

Two Swift songs in one night.

How awesome.

She’s so my jam.

And this song couldn’t be more fitting.

The crowd surges around us, bouncing, thrusting, wiggling, grinding. Keen is in the middle. Someone is right behind me and I’m pressing my front to Keen’s back as he dances with Francesca. I can see her face over his shoulder, but it’s me she’s staring at, not him.

I let the music push and pull me, closing my eyes for a moment when the swirl of purple lights threatens to make everything spin. When I open my eyes Keen is moving, and soon he’s behind me with his hands on my hips. Francesca is in front of me, arms in the air, moving to the beat.

I toss my head to the right, and then to the left. Brooklyn is on the other side of the floor, dancing with the two other women I saw him with earlier.

Threesomes seem to be the theme of the night.

Expectation hums in the air as warm bodies jostle. Moving to the beat. Up. Down. Sideways. Soon my body is straining against Keen’s. I can feel the feral atmosphere around us spinning like whirlwinds at my sides, intoxicating me even more.

Tossing my arms up in the air like Francesca, I turn around and find Keen staring at me, his blue eyes dark, lashes thick, lids low. All I can do is stare back. Stare at that strong body hidden under the fine fabric of his white shirt. The way his muscles flex and move with every step. And then he turns to the beat and my eyes land on his tight ass, like forbidden fruit hidden beneath his fine slacks.

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