My head reels at what Devon is saying.

Found me again...no letting me out of his sight....

"Literally or figuratively," I ask, "Because I need to run to the restroom."

He rolls his eyes at my poor attempt at a joke. "Down the hall to your left, around the corner and first door on the right."

I repeat his instructions under my breath as I go, already completely turned around. It's a maze of corridors. We're on the floor under the night-club, the administrative level, and I can't believe how many rooms he needs to run this business. It doesn't seem possible.

I pass an open door to what looks like some kind of ballroom. Private parties? Receptions? Who knows. I turn the corner.

There's a huge man standing at the end of the hall, talking to another. My warning bells go off. He's got on a fluffy parka—

He turns. It's the bouncer from this morning. I can't remember his name. He lifts his chin as if he expects to see me there and, taking off his coat, takes a side door up a flight of stairs. My heart rate goes back down. Lots of men have fluffy parkas. He's security here, he must have been outside a moment.

It's only then I notice the other man—the one the bouncer was talking to.

If everything about Devon shouts rich, everything about this man whispers bad and calls to the part of me that's tired of being a good girl.

Dark brown hair and medium length beard, every visible inch of his arms and neck covered in tattoos, ropy muscles, dark, fitted tee and ragged jeans. Leather boots.

I lick my lips. What is he doing here and why did the security leave him here in the hallway instead of escorting him out? It's like standing face to face with a panther at a fancy restaurant. He doesn't belong, and yet, the way he looks me over makes me feel that I'm on the menu. Should I turn heel and leave?

I hesitate.

I'm already lost, but I'm not sure I can ask him where the ladies' room is. I mean, he looks like he would throw down his cards on a table and whip out a butterfly knife in the same movement if he saw someone cheating. Can you ask someone like that where the toilets are?

While I pause, caught between going forward to keep looking for the bathroom, and running back to Devon's office, he walks forward almost cautiously. He must see how close I am to bolting.

He holds out his hand for me to shake, not taking his eyes from mine. "Ty. You're the new girl? The singer?"

I shake his hand. "I am a singer."

"I just passed Conner. He mentioned you. Avery, right?" He continues when I nod. "You and I never met, but I did know your brother."

That explains it. He's another one of Keith's friends, a part of the gang of friends that Devon and my brother led back in the day, although for some reason, our paths never crossed. I was eight years younger than my brother, after all. While I sat at home or biked around the neighborhood, they were cruising to other cities to stir up trouble.

The way he says he knew my brother immediately tells me he was there when he died.

He looks a little older than the others and has an easy-going charm about him, despite the numerous tattoos and leather. Now that he's closer, I relax. I'd drink beers on a porch in the summer with this man, watching the sun set. Lie on the hood of his car, while the stars turn in the sky above. Let him pull me into a slow dance in some back-alley dive, populated by hardened criminals, and not be afraid of anyone bothering me.

In another life, that is.

He cocks his head at me, devilish grin on his lips, and I can't help but smile back.

"What?" I ask.

"You haven't signed the contract, yet, have you?"

"Not exactly."

He beckons me closer to the niche at the end of the long hall. "Let's get a drink together. Tonight. Talk about things here, there, and everywhere."

A drink?

Images of tossing back shots of tequila and laughing while I tell him my secrets flits through my head. I bet he has some good stories to tell, knows some dirty jokes.

Tempting. So tempting. All I have to look forward to tonight is watering my pothos plants and pirating a show to binge since I can't afford a subscription to any streaming sites. But...

"I'm afraid I'm not free tonight," I say.

"But I think you are," he says, studying me. "Free, I mean. You enjoy freedom. You don't like a man who tells you what to do, and I'm not the kind of man who tells women what to do. I ask them what they want to do and then I let them do it."

Let them do it to me hangs unspoken.

I lick my lips, more images already spiraling through my head. I've never been with a slightly older man, and he must be in his early thirties. Old enough to enjoy taking his time, maybe taking all night. To know how to please and not take offense at being told what I want him to do. What a change that would be from my fumbling, rushed, eager boyfriends of the past, who couldn't give me an orgasm if I wrote down instructions Ikea style.

I mentally shake myself. This nightclub and the men here are really getting into my head. I need to get a grip.

"Still no for tonight? Once you sign that contract, all kinds of rules slam into place around you and your life," he says.

"What do you mean?"

"Devon can be..." He pauses and scratches his chin through his thick beard a moment. "Overprotective of the ladies who work here. I understand, a lot of the clients don't know what "no" means, but one of the downsides is that it narrows who you are allowed to date. As in, no one else who works here."

He motions to himself, grinning suggestively, and an embarrassingly loud chortle escapes my throat before I can stop it.

"Seriously—not that I would ever tell you what to do," he continues, "but if you want to see Devon suffer, then don't sign right away. Make him beg for it. It would be good for him to not get what he wants right away."

I step away to go, but he stops me.

"I'm hoping that's a raincheck for a drink. Oh, and do you play poker?"

"No," I say.

"Because I give lessons. I could teach you."

I was right about picturing him in the middle of a card game. "No, but thank you."

"Think about it. It's a useful skill in the club." He gives me a pointed look as if we are in on a secret.

I frown, confused. "I'm afraid I'd be a terrible student. I have lots of nervous tells and I'm not very good at acting, unfortunately."

"Then we'll just have to do something else together for fun. I'll see you around, Avery."

"Ty."

He leaves, heading for the stairs and murmuring a country song under his breath. I cock my head listening. He has a scratchy but warm baritone voice.

"Mmmmm," I whisper to myself. I'm such a sucker for gritty, warm male singing voices. "All right. I still don't know where the bathroom is."

*** ONC 1230. Thank you so much for reading! Will she sign, and if she does, will she make Devon wait for it so he suffers? And will she ever find the bathroom in that crazy place? Find out in the next chapter... ***

*** This chapter is dedicated to SallyMason1, an old friend and an incredible writer - whose ONC won the first round for 2023! Check out One Last Waltz, a romcom with a simple one-night stand that makes life very complicated! ***