Malorie Rousseau threw a small shot glass back, letting the warm, tart liquid glide down her throat before it could touch her tongue.

The nightclub around her pulsed with life—bright, multicolored lights flashed in time with the heavy bass, casting everything in flickering shades of neon. The air was thick with a mix of sweat, perfume, and the tang of alcohol. Bodies pressed together on the dance floor, swaying in hypnotic waves to the rhythm of samba and reggaetón beats.

The DJ, perched high above the crowd in a glass booth, expertly shifted tracks, his silhouette occasionally lit by the blue-white strobes slicing through the darkness.

Above, ceiling fans spun in slow motion, barely cutting through the heat, while low laughter and shouts blended with the music, creating an almost disorienting hum. The walls, painted a deep crimson, were lined with mirrors, their surfaces streaked from the humidity.

Near the bar, groups of people leaned in close, speaking in rapid Spanish, their conversations drowned by the loud pounding of the music. Bartenders moved like choreographed dancers, flipping bottles and pouring drinks with fluid precision, ice clattering into glasses as orders were barked over the beat.

Her eyes swept the room, taking in the velvet ropes cordoning off a VIP section where sleek, dark leather couches were occupied by those who watched the crowd with cool detachment—men in sharp suits and women in glittering dresses, lounging like predators. Smoke from their cigars curled lazily upward, catching in the colorful lights before dissapearing.

In the center of it all, Malorie stood with the shot glass still in her hand, the faintest burn lingering in her chest. She let herself get lost in the scene for a moment longer—the raw, unfiltered energy of a Mexican nightclub in full swing—before she set the glass down and joined the dance, letting the music take over.

Sommer Steven's grabbed Malorie's wrist, dragging her into the middle of the floor. Myriad sweaty bodies pushed against her clammy skin, making it impossible for Malorie to tell if the writhing hands on her waist were those of her best friend or someone else. With tequila coursing through her veins, she couldn't say she cared.

Malorie and Sommer's families had vacationed together since the beginning of middle school. They alternated years going between the Rousseau's cabin in Colorado and the Steven's beach house in Mexico.

The girls had yet to be out for a girl's night, instead spending the last 2 weeks doing more family friendly activites like backpacking, visiting fruit trucks, hang gliding, and laying out with a book and a marg on la playa Revolcadero. It wasnt that she didnt enjoy those things, but as Malorie looked up to the  wooden ceiling and felt every worry drain from her body, she wished she hadnt wasted so much of the trip not doing exactly this.

Malorie felt the beat of the music in her chest, letting it guide her hips as she swayed. The lights above flickered in bursts of blue and violet, catching on her silver sequined mini skirt, making it shimmer like a tiny disco ball with every twist of her hips. Her black baby tee clung to her bronzed skin, accentuating the golden tan she'd picked up. Her hair, still sun-kissed and wavy from saltwater, spilled over her shoulders and onto her back, swaying with each move.

As she spun toward the VIP section, she glanced over out of habit. A young guy stood with a few friends, lounging casually with an elbow on the private bar. The one staring wore a tight fitted black t shirt and a pair of tight black jeans. There was another guy next to him who also wore a black t shirt but he instead wore a pair of jean shorts. From across the room, Malorie noticed the one in jean's tattoos—ink snaking up his arms. It was clear he had been staring at her, but when her eyes met his, he looked away quickly.

Malorie felt a flutter in her stomach, a mix of curiosity and embarassment. He didn't look like trouble—at least not at first glance. But she couldnt help but notice the way he and his friends kept scanning the room, even while relaxing in VIP.

After a few more songs, Malorie found herself glancing over at the VIP section again. She no longer saw the man who had been staring at her, which she silently thanked God for.

Malorie Rousseau was an attractive woman, with sharp features and soft, expressive, almond-shaped brown eyes. Malorie's olive-toned skin was warm and paired well with her dark, silky hair that fell just past her shoulders in loose waves. Her full lips turned down at the edges, creating a flirty pout that often touched with a subtle smile.

It was no secret that she was beautiful, but she hadnt expected as much attention as she'd received in the last 2 weeks. She also noted her diet was paying off.

"Wanna get out of here soon?" Sommer yelled over the music, a few strands of her choppy black hair were clinging to the gloss and sweat on her lips. Sommer was a short girl at just 5'3, with striking, straight black hair that flowed down to the bottom of her shoulder blades, perfectly framing her flawless, ivory complexion. Her almond-shaped eyes, an icy green flecked with hints of amber, were framed by long lashes that were casting a delicate shadows over her high cheekbones in the blue lighting. She wore a pair of beige cargo knee shorts, that hung low on her peaking hip bones, and a green tank top, with a pair of dirty white converse. Her style hadnt evolved much since the pair were young, but somehow she still always managed to look perfect.  Perfectly sun kissed, even in the middle of an Oregon winter. Perfectly fit, no matter how many weeks she took off the gym. Perfectly put together in every way. Both gold and silver jewelry hung off her wrists neck and waist.

"Im down for whatever," Malorie said.

Sommer led Malorie off the dance floor, weaving through the crowd as the music shifted to a heavier reggaetón beat. They moved past the bar, where a few groups hovered, standing close enough to hear eachother yell over the music.

As they took a half flight of stairs up and approached the exit of the club, Malorie felt the crowd tighten, bodies pressing closer as people jostled for space. There were people pushing to get both in and out. Malorie could feel her chest tightening with the crowd. Suddenly Sommer halted to a stop, making Malorie step back slightly—bumping straight into a firm chest. An arm caught her instinctively as she stumbled, steadying her before she could fall.

"Whoa, easy there," a smooth voice spoke in her ear.

Malorie looked up and found herself staring into his face. The guy from the VIPs section. Up close she could see the tattoos snaked up his forearm, disappearing under the sleeve of his fitted black shirt. The hint of a smile tugged at his lips, and though there was something undeniably intense about him, he didn't seem threatening—just quietly confident.

"Sorry about that," Malorie said, flashing a sheepish grin. "Crowd's getting a little wild."

"No worries. It's not every day I get to play the good guy" His tone was teasing, but there was a glimmer of something genuine in his eyes that made her stomach flutter. When he spoke, the sing-song lilt of Spanish lingered in his English, each syllable carrying a subtle, rhythmic cadence that was both charming and distinctly foreign.

Sommer turned around, apologizing profusely while cursing out the people who stopped abruptly in front of her. When she noticed that Malorie was in a conversation, she stood quietly.

"You looked like you were having a good time out there." The man continued, tilting his head to the dancefloor.

"Oh, you saw me?" Malorie asked innocently. The man chuckled, shaking his head.

"It was hard not to. Me and my friend here don't dance much. Its nice to watch people who actually know how to move."

"Maybe you should join next time, loosen up a bit," Malorie teased, her confidence growing.

"Maybe I will," he said, holding her gaze for a second longer. "But first, let me get you a drink. What are you drinking?"

Before she could answer, Sommer budded in, grabbing Malorie's shoulder.

"Actually, we were just heading out." Her voice was light, but firm. She always knew how to shut a man down. They both knew the drill. Summer breaks were made for fun, and looking was no crime, but they both had boyfriends at home. Long term ones.

As they started to walk away, the man's voice followed them.

"Alright, maybe next time," he called, still watching Malorie with that same easy grin. "Enjoy your night."

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