Odd Woman Out (Book 4 of The Triad Series)

3. DNA

“Shove over, Davonte. Your fat ass is taking up half this f*****g couch.”

Davonte moved maybe an inch before Kiara simply sat down on his lap, hard, and he winced. She wriggled her bottom to get comfortable, and his café au lait-colored skin turned a lighter shade as a dash of pain squinted his caramel-colored eyes.

“Okay, okay. I’ll move. s**t, woman.”

Kiara grinned and sat down in between Emily and Davonte as her friend grinned into the lip of her cocktail glass and Davonte tried to surreptitiously massage his possibly-bruised testicles.

“You ready to get freaky on the dance floor yet?” Kiara leaned into her friend’s ear so she could be heard over the music.

“I told you time and time again, I have to have a minimum of three drinks before my ass makes it out onto the dance floor,” Emily yelled back. “This one’s only my second, and we’ve only been here for maybe twenty minutes.”

“Well, hurry up and chug that s**t you’re drinking! I need to get on the dance floor soon and hate leaving you out here to defend yourself against some of these crazed lunatics.”

The DNA Lounge had a wide variety of clientele, a true San Francisco original located in the SOMA district wedged in between a glass company and auto repair shop. Nothing much happened in the area at night as many of the buildings on 11th Street held regular business hours. It was relatively easy to get to from both of their homes, and was always colorful and exciting.

But, besides the plush sofas that were scattered about the place, there was nothing even faintly lounge-ish about it. The place played music from the 1990s to present day but had been a staple in the community since the mid-1980s when it first opened. On the outside, there was nothing fancy about the two side by side buildings that housed the industrial-looking dance floors, but inside, it was a colorful world where, as many would say, is so San Francisco.

From half-dressed women to men in drag, if you didn’t see it at the DNA Lounge, it didn’t exist or wasn’t worthy of your attention.

The clientele was still wild after 35 years, and the decorations, furniture, bands and DJs that played there changed with the times. The first time Kia had dragged Emily there to celebrate her first week at SCAN, she was sure she didn’t blink her eyes once the whole night just on the off-chance she missed something new and thrilling.

Since then, they went to the club at least twice a month, drinking killer cocktails that only let the layers of inhibition slough off Emily’s tight shoulders until she finally broke out of her shell after cocktail number three. Something in that last drink always turned her to goo, and she could dance the night away in between finishing drinks number four and five when she needed to catch her breath.

Lucky drink three. It always worked its magic until Em was feeling loose-limbed and quite a different person than the business-sensible legal secretary she was during working hours. As for her drink of choice, she usually preferred the passion fruit mojitos, though she sometimes mixed it up and ordered the watermelon-mint margarita or a sangria. Usually, she stuck with her tried and true mojito.

As she ordered her third cocktail of the evening, she thought she saw a familiar head of silky, blond hair, but the crowd shifted around her and she blinked, missing what she could have sworn was the back of Leo’s chiseled form and his sun-lightened, spiky locks. Since Sofia was nowhere nearby when Emily looked further, she figured she was mistaken and went back to Kia and Davonte and the couch that was pushed into a corner against a purple wall.

He blood was humming halfway through the magic number three cocktail, and, as per usual, Kiara got antsy and left with Davonte soon afterward to get onto the floor, wearing a sinfully short skirt and tight, sleeveless top that bore more skin than it hid. Emily was almost jealous that the woman could make her curves look more dangerous than a straight shot along the Dalton highway in Alaska in the dead of winter. It was no wonder Davonte was smitten. Emily only wished she didn’t need to soak her brain cells in high grain alcohol and fruit juice to soften all the sharp edges that kept her from moving forward in life.

It was hard to look ahead when you always had your past creeping up behind you with gentle yet pain-filled nudges, reminders of how you weren’t enough, how sometimes something better, brighter came along and replaced you…

Taking the last sip of her drink, she stood, attempting to use the restroom before getting onto the dance floor. She wanted to touch up her lipstick, a shimmery wine colored MAC product that wasn’t supposed to fade, but still did after as many drinks as she had consumed.

The bathroom had a line, and after she emptied her bladder and washed her hands, she touched up a small smudge of mascara and added a little bit more lipstick before patting the excess away with a paper towel.

She left the bright lights of the women’s restroom back into the darkness and flickering strobe lighting. She bumped into a stumbling-drunk man wearing a fright wig and fishnets stockings under his Frank N. Furter costume and stepped to the edge of the crowd dancing wildly before her. In the dim light, it was hard to see, but she didn’t care. She’d drunk enough alcohol to feel the excitement thrumming under her skin, the soft, floating feeling of too much alcohol and not enough dinner making the edges of her vision fuzzy.

“You wanna dance?”

She turned to the female voice behind her, the face almost all in a shadow, but the bottom half alight with a soft smile. Emily smiled back, nodding her head.

“Sure!” She had no qualms about who she danced with, and she wanted to break her dance-seal of the night since she was feeling pretty good. Loose. Eager. Her smile broke even wider over her face as the woman with dark hair stepped forward, grabbed her wrist gently, and pulled her into the crowd.

They were playing an old 90s song, Be My Lover, by La Bouche. Fast, pounding bass blared through the speakers as people bumped and ground against their dance partners, arms flailing, the pumping rhythm of the tune seeming to vibrate the floors, though that probably had more to do with dancing feet than the actual music.

They found a spot that wasn’t too crowded, Emily’s hips already moving to the beat until her partner turned to face her, the upper half of her head still shrouded enough in the dark to be unrecognizable.

Not that Emily thought she would know the woman. This was a tourist town, and she was still relatively new even after a year living in the city.

After getting comfortable with her partner, they danced the rest of the song out until P!nk’s Get This Party Started came on and the floor got even got even more crowded, forcing the two women closer together as someone bumped into Emily’s partner. Outside of having long, dark hair and a bright, easy smile, she had no idea who the woman was, but the awkwardness she felt melted into not caring all that much since she happened to be a huge fan of P!ink and was only too happy to just dance.

One song morphed into another, and then it was NSYNC with It’s Gonna Be Me. The crowd didn’t seem to mind dancing to the tune made popular by the tween crowd of the mid to late 90s. If anything, they seemed to enjoy it even more than they should have, but that probably had a lot to do with the shots many of the crowd tossed back before jumping back into the fray of grinding pelvises, whipping arms, and fast and loose footwork.

At one point in the middle of the song, large hands caressed her skin from behind, drawing a shiver up her spine at the sensual, warm touch. She thought maybe someone had bumped into someone and the man behind her was just making sure he didn’t knock her over, but his grip on her only tightened and then smoothed over her skin. A hot, heavy breath caressed her cheek, and she thought she heard a word—her name possibly?

That couldn’t be right. Em could be certainly misconstrued by someone just clearing their throat or any other close syllable. It could have been part of him just excusing himself, but as he continued to edge closer, in rhythm with her body, she knew that wasn’t right either.

She looked over at her female dance partner, whose smile was even wider now, her body even closer. She didn’t seem to take the hint that the man behind Emily wanted his turn to dance, and strong arms circled around her waist, placing gentle pressure on the patch of skin exposed along her midriff.

He was close, as close as he could get to her without…

Okay, maybe he could get closer.

Emily could feel the ridge of the man’s impressive, surprising length rubbing between her ass cheeks, the woman before her coming so close that their breasts almost touched. She stood, almost frozen, confused at what was going on. Feeling a little like prey to two wily predators, she turned around in the man’s arms and looked up to find…

Her eyes widened.

Leo. He was here, and she wasn’t mistaken when she’d thought she’d seen him. But where was Sofia?

“Hey, Emily,” the familiar voice of Sofia purred in her ear. Her dancing partner—Sofia. How had she not been able to tell?

Stupid alcohol.

Sofia’s lips touched the soft line of her shoulder after she spoke, a gentle kiss placed near the curve of her neck and sending a zing of surprise and…something else down her spine.

Leo smiled down, looking like he was completely aware of what he was doing. Sofia too seemed like she’d known all along, her hands clutching her waist as Leo’s thumbs brushed down her sides, a soft smile curving his lips.

“Care to dance?”

***

Emily sought oxygen outside of the club after finishing her dance with Leo and Sofia. She had needed a breather anyway after ten consecutive songs or more, and probably a little more liquid courage after walking back inside.

It was times like this she kind wished she’d picked up the bad habit of smoking like her ex had. Of course, he’d picked up other bad habits along the way, one of them culminating in his cheating on her with her best friend back in South Lake Tahoe.

Emily only wondered what her friend’s excuse was. Whatever it was, it was probably as pathetic as she was.

After five minutes of cool night air, she dragged her reluctant self back inside, ordering another passionfruit mojito and drinking half of it before even getting ten feet from the bar. She was thirsty, but she’d also spied Leo and Sofia nearby, waiting patiently for her mental health break to be over.

She nodded over at them when that caught sight of her, and her heart pounded. Blood rushed to her head, and she wasn’t altogether sure how to breathe anymore. It was supposed to be an involuntary thing, right? You shouldn’t have to think about it so much, not like how she was currently telling herself to take deep gulps of air infused with sweat, the stench of beer and liquor, and so many other mingling scents that they were hard to make out.

But not so when she met Leo and Sofia halfway between the nearest bar and dance floor. He smelled of some spicy cologne, masculine and knee-weakening. Sofia smelled clean, somewhere between flowery and dangerously sultry. She didn’t know what to make of it.

“Want to dance again, or would you rather find out why we were here tonight and knew how to find you?” Leo asked, his lips quirked up gently, revealing two perfect, lickable dimples.

“You came here because I was going to be here?” She couldn’t help but blurt the question out. For all she knew, they came here in bondage gear with whips and chains on the regular and she wouldn’t have known.

Leo shook his head. “Not really our scene, though we do go dancing at Slate Bar & Lounge.” He paused. “A lot closer to the coffee shop and a little more laidback atmosphere. Less vomit in the bathrooms as well.”

He hadn’t answered her question, and Sofia stepped up to her, tugging her arm. “We asked your friend Kiara the last time she popped in to grab a bagel and some coffee. She said you guys would be coming here tonight, and we wanted to see you outside of the coffee shop to talk to you about something.”

“What? What do you want to talk about?” Her head bounced back and forth between the two of them.

Sofia and Leo shared a look before he cleared his throat. It was almost semi-formal. “There’s something we’d like to run by you in a little more private setting. If you want, we can go back to the café. We live right above it. Text Kia and let her know you’re heading back to The Mission with us, if you want. That way she won’t worry and you have evidence if anything goes horribly awry.”

He gave her a twinkling wink, a smirk drawing up one side of his lips as Sofia slapped him lightly on the arm with the back of her hand. She turned to Emily with an easy grin. “Don’t scare her. I promise we don’t intend to kidnap you or sell you into s*x slavery or anything. We can sit in the shop if you feel more comfortable, but it’s entirely up to you.”

Emily looked at both of them, Sofia, then Leo. They didn’t seem menacing, and she’d gone to their coffee shop/home often enough for at least the past ten months since switching from sugary Starbucks to the cozy atmosphere of Bean There, Done That.

She didn’t think there was anything to lose in hearing them out, so she nodded her head.

“Sure. I guess I could hear what you have to say.”

Leo gave her a dazzling smile, his white, even teeth twinkling different colors from the overhead lights. “Great. Is now okay? We can catch an Uber pretty easily on a Friday night. It’s not too late.”

She bobbed her head up and down again, agreeing silently.

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