Kaede winces. “Light beer . . . ugh. Okay, so pizza, mouthwash, club. We can pull it off in an hour.”

*

It’s actually an hour and ten minutes before we pull up in my supercharged Camaro, my own little rebellion against my parents. In a social class of Beamers, Bentleys, and other Euro-made cars, my all-American muscle car with a blue collar reputation and an engine that rumbles like an earthquake announces me to the Club Red crowd even before I get out.

Tossing my keys to the valet, I take a moment to look around while Kaede grabs the parking stub. Club Red isn’t the biggest club in the city, but it doesn’t need to be. It’s the club you come to when you’ve got it, and as such, they’re picky about who they let in the door.

But that’s never a concern for me as an Andrews. Doors magically open with my last name, just like the inner doors of Club Red do tonight. As always, I pause just inside, letting myself adjust to the atmosphere inside.

It’s not that Club Red’s over the top. If anything, the muted decor and low-key lighting lend a touch of class that elevate Club Red over the grind houses further downtown. Not that the elegance stops the dance floor from being an undulating mass of sexually charged bodies writhing against one another.

“You see your sister?” Kaede asks as we approach the bar. Sure, Abi said she’d get us a spot in the VIP area, but I always stop at the bar first for a ‘regular’ drink. Just sort of a habit, I guess, to help me get the feel of the place.

“I’m sure she’s up there,” I assure him, ordering a Rum and Rockstar, my personal weird ass club drink. It’s my personal opinion that everyone’s got one, even if they don’t admit it. “That girl can talk her way into a VIP seat at the White House.”

I grab my drink and a club soda for Kaede before we head upstairs. The VIP Lounge at Club Red is perfect, with wide, slightly semi-circular couches that allow you to have privacy while at the same time not jamming you in, and the view overlooking the entire rest of the club allows for great visuals too.

I spy Abi and Archie, the two of them laughing over some private joke as they lean in toward one another. I’m always watchful about whom Abi dates, but Archie’s pretty much as gay as you can get on the spectrum without involving glitter rainbows. He’s a cool guy and can carry on a conversation about football or music and then turn around and slice and dice you with a well-spoken barb. I like him, and I like Abi being friends with him because I feel like he’d watch out for any assholes who tried to worm their way into my little sister’s pants.

On the other side of Abi is a girl, her body half turned away as she talks with a waitress. With the dancing strobe lights, I can’t see her face or even her head, really, but from the shoulders down she’s a fucking vision. A tight, voluptuous body is practically poured into a skintight red dress that shows off a set of curves just this side of unbelievable.

“Fuck me, that’s not an hourglass. That’s a day and a half glass,” Kaede says quietly, seeing the same girl I’m noticing. “Who is she?”

“Ross!” Abi calls out, seeing me, but before I can answer, I feel like my jaw drops to the floor.

The girl next to Abi . . . Violet?

Holy fucking shit on a Ritz. Have I not been paying attention for that long? I literally just saw her hours ago, but I feel like maybe I’ve never really seen her. Not like this.

“A–Abi,” I stammer, finding my cool again. “Arch.”

“Hey, Ross . . . and Goose,” Archie jokes, using his nickname for Kaede. “You still haven’t taken me to bed.”

“Guess I’ve lost you forever then,” Kaede replies as the two bump fists. Kaede’s as straight as I am, but he’s chill as Slurpee with Archie, ever since Arch wing-manned for Kaede one night. I still can’t pry the full story out of Kaede a year later. I just know he walked into work the following Monday looking like he’d had a holy experience.

“Violet.”

The word hangs in the throbbing bass-filled air of the club, and I swear Vi blushes a little as she gives me a nod, but more than likely, that’s the pink lights skimming over her skin. “Ross.” She seems completely unaffected by me, which unnerves me for some reason.

“Anyway . . . what’s the emergency?” I ask as Abi scoots to the side and I find myself wedged beside Violet. Her thigh rubs against mine through my pants, and . . . oh, fuck, it moved.

This can’t be happening. Violet’s my little sister’s best friend, to the point that I’ve heard all of their stupid little girl giggling from the time she was eight years old. She’s damn near family, which means off limits.

Nope. Not going to happen.

I am not allowed to be attracted to Violet.

Not tonight. Not ever.

What the hell is wrong with me?

But feeling the warmth of her thigh pressed against my leg and the way her lightly tanned skin contrasts with the blood red of her sexy dress, that shade of red I’ve always thought of as Fuck Me Scarlet, is new, and I’m having to fight my own body’s desires.

It doesn’t care that Violet is Abi’s BFF.

It doesn’t care that I’ve known this girl since she had chicken legs.

It only cares that those legs are long, toned, and leading to a body that’s erotic in every atom of its being.