"I swear to God," Renee hissed, sloshing her cocktail as she gestured toward the booth, the ice clinking sharply. "If they're making out in a goddamn bathroom stall—"
"They're not," Elias said, stretching his legs out under the table and tilting his head back as he took a long, lazy sip of his tequila. He looked like he was poolside, not in the middle of a packed club. "We would've seen. Heard. Felt it in the floor vibrations."
Renee narrowed her eyes, the shimmer of her glitter-shadow catching the flash of the strobe light overhead. "Then where the hell are they?"
Elias's gaze slid toward the crowd—toward the mass of sweating, grinding bodies under the slow sway of red light and thick, delicious basslines. His voice dropped. "Well, we got separated."
Renee groaned, tossing herself back against the booth with a dramatic sigh. Her heels were already kicked off beneath the table, legs tucked under her like she owned the damn lounge.
