Part II

"We've got to stop meeting like this," a voice hums just by your ear, close enough to be heard over the pulse of music.

Lifting your drink to your lips, you turn to lean against the bar so that you're facing Quinn, brow quirked in her direction as you appreciate the form-fitting dress she sports. It's definitely on brand for Quinn to come skulking from the shadows, your eyes cut to behind her and see the luminescent, green glow of the exit sign.

Planting yourself on the bar's periphery normally saves you the trouble of talking to too many creeps. Apparently not tonight.

"Are you stalking me?" You ask, licking at your lips as they leave the rim of the glass.

"That would fall under pleasure. So no, I'm not stalking you. I'm here on strictly business, unfortunately," she says with a tilt of her head as she runs appraising eyes along your form, fingers lightly drumming against the sticky surface of the bar.

"Good for you, but I'm not here for work."

She narrows her eyes at you, "It's quite important."

"I don't care."

A flicker of frustration passes over her features, her palm flattening against the bar with a sudden, barely heard thud, "Okay, I guess I'm not here for work either." Without asking she reaches forward and takes the drink out of your hand, drinking liberally from it before handing it back with a grimace. "Disgusting. I thought you had better taste," her voice hoarse from the liquor.

"Obviously not," you murmur under your breath as you take another sip.

"I didn't take you for a clubber. What are you here for?" Quinn asks, making herself comfortable as she rests her elbows on the bar to lean back as her eyes scan over the crowd of dancing bodies.

"You don't know me, so you shouldn't take me for anything."

"So hostile," she says with a look in your direction.

You ignore her and the small smile on her lips as you catch the attention of the bartender, ordering the same and deliberating as the woman asks you if that's everything. "What are you having?" You venture, glancing in Quinn's direction.

"Who?" She looks behind her in faux surprise, "Me?"

It's no surprise really. This woman makes you regret almost every decision that involves her, big or small.

"I won't ask again," you gesture impatiently to the waiting bartender who has already made your drink.

"What a sweetheart you are," she grins, turning those pearly whites on the bartender as she orders, eyes never leaving the woman's, drawing her in, fooling her into thinking that she is somewhat personable.

For all the time you've known her you don't think you've once seen one genuine emotion. It's impressive, you have to admit, to be able to charm so effortlessly. Not that you're not just as capable. You just know how tiring it is. And that's why you've avoided front-facing jobs since you were a teenager. Customer service has never been your strong suit, you'll take the closing shift, thanks.

So when Quinn goes out of her way to make a bond with a mark, a hopeless connection that has about as much depth as a puddle, it baffles you. And not just because it's more mess, more room for mistakes. No. It's the effort put into creating hard work that Quinn puts into everything, going out of her way to smile, talk, seduce. She's reckless.

Her dangerous smile falls back to you as the woman behind the bar hands her a glass, eyes low and deceptively open as they flicker to your lips. She makes it look so easy. And much as you hate to admit it to yourself, it's the one thing you like about her. Well, not like. But appreciate. Because you know that her mind must be running haywire right now, trying to figure out how to make you do what she wants you to do. To make you hear her out. By the glint of her eye and roll of her lips as she pulls the glass away from her mouth only to pout slightly is all so deliberate. You could call her out, tell her to fuck off, but maybe she's rubbing off on you, because you'll play this game.

And you'll play to win.

Your body prickles with heat as a bead of sweat trickles from your hairline over your temple and down your cheek, eyes closed, hips swaying with the beat as hot bodies press against you. One in particular closer than the others.

You feel so good. So good.

A smile spread across your face as the hands on your hips trail up your sides, eliciting a shiver you barely have the inhibition to suppress. You'll allow yourself to press even closer. Just this once.

Soon after your first couple of drinks, you'd pulled her into the toilets, her face colouring with surprise, actual surprise, as she trips into the back of you as you pull to a stop for the woman in front of you to leave the last stall free.

"This is forward," she jokes, her surprise quickly slipping into a smirk.

"You wish," you laugh lightly, tugging her by the wrist to pull her in behind you as you both squeeze into the small space, soon reaching into your bra to pull out a baggie.

You don't like to get drunk. But that doesn't mean you're comfortably sober in these kinds of places.

"Well I didn't expect this," Quinn murmurs, eyeing the baggie in your hands as she leans heavily against the stall's door.

"I'm full of surprises," you smile, watching Quinn closely as she follows your lead, no hint of the reluctance you had expected.

A weight settles against you, hot breath on your neck, "Oh fuck," the words spill across your skin, wet, hot.

Your eyes roll before opening, Quinn's lidded gaze meets yours before her head lolls backward as she moves with the beat, hands tightening their grip on you.

Thoughts slip around your mind like barely-set jelly, clamouring to the forefront, then mercifully falling back into the murky slosh of your uninhibited brain. The tingle of your skin where she touches you is the one thought that maintains. God, this music is so... you sigh into the crook of Quinn's neck, your arms having laced their own way over and around her shoulders.

You're pressed so closely together you're barely even moving, she doesn't seem to mind, you know you don't.

It's nearing four in the morning by the time you both leave, together.

The closeness remains but only by the grazing of arms as you exit the club, the sidewalk you follow lit by the streetlights, the thrum of the bass slowing receding as you move further away.

You focus on the traffic lights ahead, ignoring the way Quinn's hand brushes against yours for the fourth time.

"So," the sound of her voice startles you, "I have a proposition."

You barely suppress an eye roll, you knew she couldn't resist. You knew she'd come for one thing and not much could deter that.

"I have a room, a room I think we-"

The bark of laughter is out of you before you even register it left. Now that was not what you thought she was after.

You turn your head to face her to see her already looking at you, a bemused look on her face.

"No, please," you hum, another laugh bubbling deep in your chest, "continue."

Quinn narrows her eyes then, "Forget it. You've ruined it."

"Oh no. I've ruined it," you reply, mouth set in an all-amused grin.

"I prefer it when you're scowling. This," she points her finger at you and motions around your face, "doesn't suit you." You raise an eyebrow at her. "At all."

Your lips slip into a slight smirk as you lightly bump into her, her offended scoff being nothing more than for show as she finally takes your hand in hers. It confuses you. Not because you don't understand what she wants out of this. But what are you getting?

Returning your gaze to the sidewalk ahead, you ponder the question before releasing her hand, stepping away, and saying your goodbyes.

She doesn't stop you, but she does say, "Answer your phone when I call you. Okay?"

Normally you would have told her where to go, but tonight you're feeling generous.

"Maybe."