Nightshifted by Cassie Alexander Read Free Book Online Page B

where the cocktails were reasonably priced.
    Not that I ever drank while I was out. Years spent living around an alcoholic father had seen to that—that, and it just wasn’t safe to let your guard down. I still liked places that served drinks, though. Booze gave you a plausible deniability the next day that Frappuccinos did not.
    On my way out, I tucked my ID into my hospital badge’s holder, unclipped it from my lanyard, and pushed this into the back pocket of my skirt. I tossed on a coat, pulled on tights for the millimeter of warmth they’d afford me, and tugged on low snow-proof boots. Then I walk-jogged to the train near my house and gathered heat until my favorite downtown stop. The place I liked to go was a few blocks away from the station, and by the time I got there my calves were freezing, but the heat inside the club made the short misery worthwhile.
    The bouncer knew me—we gave each other a cursory nod—and I got in without cover, one of the few perks of being a single girl. I checked my coat—not having a guy to watch it being points against singleness—and went for the dance floor.
    Nyjara’s “Forget This!” was playing, a bass-heavy techno-remix, and I could feel the pounding bass shake through my chest. The words of the song were appropriate, but even without them, the bass might have saved me. If you’re close enough to the speakers and you do it right, dancing is like being high. The music can fill you and crowd out the knowledge that you’ve been a failure; the memories of all the times when you’ve let people down, the late nights and the later rent. It fills up all the spaces and doesn’t leave room for anything but itself. I stood still for a moment at the edge of the dance floor until the refrain, and then I let the music drag me in.
    Seven songs later, I was winded. My hair clung to the back of my neck, and I knew the little makeup I’d put on had already melted away. But I felt alive in a way I hadn’t before I started dancing—and in a way I knew I wouldn’t, when I eventually went home. For here and now, every time I’d swung my hips around and tossed my head into the air, I was chasing away my ghosts, and claiming possession of my body for myself. I strode over to the bar in sweaty triumph like a winning Thoroughbred.
    My first water I gulped down. The second one I took with me to sit in the dark in a chair that someone had just left.
    People-watching was fun. Not having to talk to people? Also fun. Nursing was all about talking. Here it was too loud to have a real conversation—I was alone, but not alone. Just the way I liked it.
    Then a man sidled up to me. I pretended not to see him and the shadows were in his favor. He leaned in.
    “You dance well,” he shouted over the bass. He had a British accent, which was unusual in this town. It probably got him a lot of girls.
    “Thanks,” I answered. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He had dark hair in chunky locks, and nearly black eyes. I didn’t really have a type, so my parameters for one-night stands were pretty wide. I also knew I didn’t want to be alone just yet. Whether that meant I spent more time dancing, or more time with him … “Do you?” I shouted back to him. “Dance?”
    He smiled and rattled the ice of his nearly empty drink at me. “Only after a few more of these.”
    “Oh.” I smiled back and shrugged. It was against my code of ethics to buy a guy a drink, as drinks cost money, and I now needed all the money I could get to rescue my table from hock. Water was free. I looked at his clothing—if the cut of his shirt was any indication, I couldn’t afford to buy him anything he didn’t already have.
    “What are you drinking?” he asked. He put his hand out for my glass.
    I pulled back a little. “Water.”
    “Can I get you more?” he asked, his hand still held out.
    “No.” I swatted his hand away gently.
    His eyes went wider in surprise at the skin-on-skin contact. He