"The Girl Who Smelled of Summer" #1
The bass pounded in his chest so hard it felt like his heart had synced to its rhythm. The air was thick with a cocktail of alcohol, sweet perfume, and overheated bodies. The soft glow of the spotlights would suddenly burst into blinding flashes, then dim again, casting golden reflections across faces.
On a large leather couch, in the center of his own little kingdom, sat Nicholas Harrington — the golden boy with a flawless smile and a confidence that seemed as natural as breathing. To his right was Lucian, his loyal friend and constant partner in nighttime escapades, with two girls beside them, glossy as if they’d stepped straight off a magazine cover.
The brunette, in a glittering gold dress, leaned in seductively, her hand sliding along his shoulder, her lips almost brushing his ear. In response, he only smiled, grabbed another shot from the low table, raised it high above his head and, shouting over the music, called out:
— To the end of another damn school year!
Loud, brazen — as if it were a toast not just to friends, but to the whole city.
— To that! — everyone echoed, clinking glasses. The alcohol burned down his throat, and the wild, reckless euphoria only grew stronger.
Lucian, leaning so close his voice had to compete with the thunder of the music, shouted:
— Man, I haven’t seen you in forever! Sucks you had to go study in another city!
Nicholas, with a half-smile and a voice already rough from the alcohol, leaned back on the couch, twirling the glass in his fingers:
— Not my idea. My father wanted to shove me far away from familiar faces so I could “focus” on my studies. — His lips curled in an ironic smirk. — If only he knew I can find trouble anywhere.
Lucian laughed, giving him a warm shove on the shoulder.
— And guess what, I’m starting to doubt my career choice.
Nicholas snorted, swallowing his laugh along with a gulp of alcohol:
— Did you ever even have a choice? Your whole family’s been doctors for generations — you didn’t choose, you were just queued up for the role. Same as me in a family of goddamn bankers. — There was a bitterness in his voice even the alcohol couldn’t wash away.
— Yeah, but… it’s just not me, — Lucian sighed, wincing slightly. — I nearly threw up when they took us to the morgue. I almost joined those corpses. One more minute and I’d have been lying next to that old man they were cutting open.
— Pull yourself together, you wimp, — Nicholas smirked crookedly. — Who else am I supposed to go to when my liver finally gives out?
They both burst out laughing and, almost in sync, downed another shot.
The brunette, who had been watching him all night, leaned in closer. Her fingers, chilled from the glass, pressed into his thigh, slid upward, and stopped at his zipper. The light, yet confident grip made him narrow his eyes before stretching his lips into a faint, cocky smile.
With a sharp motion, he snatched a pack of cigarettes from the table, clamped one between his lips, and lit it. The hot smoke burned his throat as he took a greedy, almost hungry drag.
Without breaking eye contact, the brunette slowly rose to her feet, her thigh grazing his knee. The bass seeped through his body as she began to move in front of him — smooth, fluid, as if the club and the crowd had vanished, leaving the two of them alone in a tight cocoon of light and music. Her dress shimmered, revealing first the curve of her thigh, then the cut of her back, every movement a deliberate provocation.
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