Holy crap, Bree! This is it!" Becks says, taking a giddy step forward. She hands our ID's to the bouncer, groaning to herself when she spots Luca waiting for us by the door. "Remind me again, why you let the goody-goody come?" she asks, her short, auburn curls brushing the top of her shoulders as the wind picks up.

"Be nice," I tell her, hoping that for once she'll listen to me. Luca's the only reason I did show up.

Aside from the fact that this place is in the wrong part of town, everything about being here screams trouble. The old Denton cotton mill transformed into Haze, the shiny new nightclub all of campus is talking about.

Forget the gangs I know that patrol every corner, and the mass hysteria that seems to go hand in hand with any college hot spot. They aren't what has me on edge tonight. My father is. He would kill me if he knew I let Becks talk me into ditching my study group. Especially if he finds out where we are.

Cops make the worst parents.

Well, Detectives, in my case. You can never lie to them. So, on the off chance we are caught, Luca's my get out of jail free card. My father loves him. He tolerates Becks.

"You're all set," the bouncer interjects, finally feeling satisfied with our ID's. He hands them back to Becks, then stamps each of our hands in bright blue ink. The word: "UNDERAGE" in bold. "You look like you're out to have some fun tonight. You sure you wouldn't rather stay out here with me, beautiful?" he asks, his voice sounding as if someone took sandpaper to his vocal cords.

He leans into where I'm standing and smiles, my nostrils instantly burning as the small barrier his gum held lifts and the smell of stale smoke quickly overwhelms the space around us. I tuck a strand of my dirty blonde hair back behind my ear and roll my eyes at the bouncer, who's a little too comfortable invading my personal space.

"I . . . um," I start to say, when I feel Luca's arm slip around my lower back. The soft material of my blouse pulls along the center under the weight of his grip.

"She's all good, man, but thanks." He smiles politely, gently guiding Becks and me through the aluminum doors.

I turn in time to see his brow furrow as he examines my outfit. The soft blue of his eyes is paler under the harsh glare of the entry hall lights.

Here we go.

I know that look. He hates it. I knew he would. The ivory blouse and silver sequined skirt, which Becks made me wear, barely reaches the top of my thighs. Hell, even I hate the idea of showing this much skin.

"Just say it," I tell him.

"No. No, it's just. . . y- you look. . . I—" A playful smirk presses his lips as he crosses his arms in front of him. "Look, you're beautiful, Bree. I just think that next time you might remind Becks that she doesn't need to be so good at dressing you. I feel like I need to give you my coat."

"God. . . you're such a cliché, Luca. Brielle looks hot! Besides, all the naughty bits are covered!" Becks yells as she reaches back to grab my arm. I wriggle under her grip as she drags me behind her to an empty area nestled between the bar and the restrooms.

Inside the club, everything is alive with the color blue. The solid LED bar top that's off to our right, which pulses between a mix of ice blue and a darker, midnight color. Even the light display playing over the dance floor is blue. I look at Luca, trying to gauge his reaction when I see the mammoth of brick walls, behind him. My eyes follow the wall, all the way to the top, trying to assess its height, when I see two extended levels of the club.

Holy crap.

This place is huge.

"Whoa. Hello, Haze." Becks lets out a laugh. She sweeps her eyes around the room as tightly packed bodies of college students, dance in groups along the floor. She wrinkles her brow down at her beige-colored dress and gently pats her lower region. "Looks like mama's getting a new plaything tonight."

"Oh. Good. God," Luca chokes, his hands shooting up to cover his ears. The tips of his fingers push into his jet-black curls as he shakes his head.

"Oh no, don't you start," I say, feeling more like a referee than their best friend. Luca smiles brightly and pulls me to his side. The spicy smell of his cologne instantly works to calm my nerves.

"That's okay, Bree. He doesn't—oh. . .for fuck's sake! You've got to be kidding me," Becks huffs, whipping around to face us as two figures lock eyes on the three of us and begin walking over. She swats Luca's arm, but misses, hitting him squarely in the chest. "What the hell! You invited them?"

Them?

Luca shrugs, looking equally as confused. "Don't look at me. Why would I invite—"

"Well, hello, handsome!" a girl exclaims, the neckline of her amber-colored dress, rising and falling at a rapid pace. She spins a lock of her red curls between her two fingers and licks her nude painted lips. "Isn't this a surprise!"

"Um. . . Hi! I'm Brielle. . ." I say when neither Becks nor Luca speaks up.

The girl turns to look at me. Her tawny eyes are blazing as she says, "Penny" in a flat tone, then swivels back to Luca with a flip of her hair. She reaches out and places a hand on Luca forearm, the pads of her fingers digging into his skin, as she chirps, "Come. Come sit with us."

"Oh hell no, I'm not—"

"That sound's. . .great, Penny. Thanks," Luca finishes for Becks. He wards off another one of her attempts at hitting him, before he waves for the girl to lead the way.

"I. Hate. You," Becks groans, shoving Luca's arm when Penny's a few feet ahead of us.

He motions for her to start walking. "Well, at least we can agree on that."

We arrive at a lounge area, which is positioned directly next to a bar where a massive U-shaped, white leather couch sits. We round the side, when I notice two other girls and a guy busily tapping away on their phones. Trying not to give anyone a show, I tuck my dress tightly underneath me and sit down.

"So, did you see Wesley when you came in?" Penny yells straightaway. Her eyes lock on Luca as she leans into his side. The viselike grip she has on his arm grows tighter by the minute.

Um . . . am I'm missing something here? Is Luca seeing someone he didn't tell me about?

I shift in my seat, listening to the leather material squeak under the bare section of my thighs.

"Wesley who?" I ask, suddenly desperate for some sort of clarity. I look up and see Penny staring at me with a not so subtle look of surprise. "What? Is he the owner or something?"

"Not quite. Wesley's the manager here, love," the guy sitting on the opposite side of Becks says—the one who was too preoccupied when we first arrived to be bothered to look up from his phone.

Pausing midtext, he lifts his eyes to lock with mine.

Leaning forward, he lowers his phone. His English accent is the first thing I notice about him. The second is his hair. It's short and black, much like Luca's, only not as thick. The tips of his ends are perfectly spiked along the front.

He crosses one leg over the other, then stares at his watch. "I thought everyone knew Wesley."

I shake my head when the name doesn't ring a bell. "So, Luc. I assume this is the lovely, uninformed

creature you're always going on about," the guy Penny was walking with when she first saw us says. His short, red hair is combed viciously around his face, the distinctive highlights bringing out the tawny flakes in his eyes. "Damn, you're a lot hotter than I expected."

"Ethan!" Penny frowns at him through thick lashes. Her expression becomes lax as she leans over Luca's lap and whispers, "Just ignore him. I'm pretty sure he was dropped on his head when we were kids."

"Whatever. Don't pretend you haven't noticed, sis."

It's then that I notice the obvious similarities between the two, and I mentally kicked myself for not realizing it before. They're twins. Like Ethan, Penny's hair is red, but tamer in the sense of the style. They both have the same tawny eyes and slender frame. In fact, the only difference I can find between the two is the shape of their noses. Where Penny's is short and bubbled at the end—much like her personality from what I can tell so far—Ethan's is the nose of an aristocrat, with a wide bridge that falls to a slightly curved tip.

Ah, crap.

It all makes sense now.

These are the annoying, rich twins from Becks and Luca's history class—the ones Becks loathes more than guys who wear deep V-neck shirts, and people who bite their string cheese.

"Trust me, if Wesley was the owner, you wouldn't want to meet him, sweets." Ethan smiles, coolly. His bloodshot eyes are full of contempt as he picks at something on his cuticle. "That guy's a rich, unpredictable asshole who hates everyone but Wes." He leans back against the seat. His arms move to cross behind his head. "Well, Wes and pretty girls like you. But I wouldn't mess with him. He'd ruin you."

I turn my attention to the dance floor and purposefully ignore him. Seems like there's plenty of rich assholes around here tonight. I arch my brow, hating the fact that he called me sweets.

"I don't know," the girl sitting next to Ethan says. With her extended eyeliner and bright blue eyes, slender frame and slow movements, she reminds me of a cat.

Her black, shoulder-length hair is styled perfectly straight, sweeping over her collarbone every time she moves.

"I don't care what he is. I'd sure as hell let him be mean to me for a few nights––if you know what I mean. The guy's fucking hot!"

"Please." Penny laughs. She turns to her brother, and the two of them lock eyes, seeming to share the same thought. "Being easy, isn't exactly an attractive trait, Hallie. Why would he ever waste his time on a night with you?"

Ethan pulls the girl onto his lap, laughing as he does. He clamps his hand down on her waist and nuzzles into her ear. "True. You've got my attention though," he says.

Now that's a disgusting thought.

"Gross!" I suppress a gag, feeling mildly offended for this girl.

When I sense Ethan's eyes settle on me, I look up in time to watch him snatch his glass from the top of the table, toss the remaining of his drink back, as he mumbles something inaudible.

Whoops!

Did I just say that out loud?

On that note . . . "I think I'm going to walk around," I say. Sitting here is doing nothing to help ease my already rising nerves. In fact, it's only making it worse.

Luca moves to follow, but I stop him. Not that I believe for a second that Penny has any intention of letting him go.

"I'm fine." I smile, silently wishing—not for the first time tonight—that I hadn't let Becks talk me into coming.

Economics is more bearable than these two.