Chapter 1 Mr. Tattoo
KARA’S POV
“Come with us, okay?” Sancha says after I finish packing my things.
Our last subject for the afternoon session has ended, and it is already six in the evening. One by one, the hallway and classroom lights flicker on, visible through the window beside my seat.
“Clubbing?” I ask.
“What else?” Sancha replies. “It’s Academic Break next week, so we won’t even see each other. You know how strict your dad is. He doesn’t even let you go out when there are no classes.”
Louisse chimes in while fixing her tangled hair, carefully tying it up. “Seriously. You’re basically grounded even when school is off.”
“We’re still in our school uniforms, idiots,” I scoff. “Security and the bouncers won’t let us in. We’re even wearing IDs.”
I am about to turn away when Sancha suddenly grabs my arm. I look back at her and see the mischievous grin plastered on her face.
“Do you really think I’d invite you without being prepared?” she says, opening her bag to reveal two dresses inside.
The three of us squeal and hug each other. We are confident we will slip past security and the bouncers later. We are not minors anymore. We are old enough to go clubbing. Besides, I am already used to lying to Daddy whenever I go out. I simply tell him I am staying over at Sancha’s or Louisse’s place because we have something to finish. He is always busy with work, though he still keeps a close watch on me.
We head straight to Sancha and Louisse’s dorm. The moment we step inside, our things are scattered everywhere, on the bed, on the vanity, in every corner of the room. That is normal whenever we get ready together. It feels like a mini fashion show mixed with a makeup tutorial inside their tiny space.
“Hurry up, girls. It’s getting late!” Louisse yells as she switches on their large ring light.
I walk straight to the mirror and pull out the dress I choose from Sancha’s bag. It is black, fitted, and extremely short, almost as short as Daddy’s patience with my antics. The moment I lift it, Louisse squeals.
“Damn, Kara. My mom would kill me if I wore something like that,” she laughs, clearly impressed.
I raise an eyebrow and smirk.
“Well, good thing she’s not my mom.”
I slide the dress down my body, instantly feeling the cool fabric cling to my skin like a second layer. It hugs my waist perfectly and sits just right on my shoulders. Every deep breath exposes more of my cleavage. I do not know whether it is excitement or nerves brushing against my skin, but one thing is certain, I am not going home tonight without something happening.
I stand and turn in front of the mirror. It is so short that one wrong move and my soul might show, but it is perfect for a night meant for chaos, not modesty.
I go full glam with my makeup. Smokey eyes. Winged liner sharp enough to cut a soul. Overlined red lips, the kind that could make a man thirsty with just one smile. I pause and stare at my reflection.
Damn. I look good.
I smile to myself.
Hell, I want to make out tonight. No names. No introductions. Just heat.
After we finish getting ready, we set up our “proof.” We sit on the floor like criminals building an alibi.
“There. Pretend we’re working on a project,” Louisse says while faking a video of us supposedly making a scrapbook.
I take photos of the papers, laptops, and pens scattered across the table. I even choose the best angle to make everything look legitimate.
“What about our outfits?” Louisse asks.
“I’ll edit it,” Sancha replies.
After Sancha finishes editing, I send everything to Daddy.
Dad, I’m at Sancha’s place. We need to finish something for tomorrow.
Still not satisfied, I send another video of Sancha pretending to recite something.
“You’re such a good actress. You could be in a movie show,” I tease.
“That’s not from Netflix, girl,” she shoots back, laughing.
Fair enough, Daddy replies almost immediately.
Okay. Don’t go home late.
I freeze.
I lie back on their bed as I type my response.
Late? I’m not going home at all.
Sancha, Louisse, and I look at each other, then scream into the air.
Dad replies right away.
Just be safe.
When we arrive at the club, my chest suddenly feels lighter. The music is loud, the bass heavy, and it feels like my heart is dancing with every beat. Neon lights flicker wildly, almost alive. Even at the entrance, I am already feeling the vibe.
As soon as we get inside, I barely have time to breathe before the two of them ditch me. They quickly find men who fit their type and cling to them.
Me? I head straight to the bar.
I order a drink, and while waiting, I already feel a slight buzz. I do not know if it is the alcohol or the anticipation. Everything feels different, like something is approaching, like something is about to happen.
Moments later, a man sits beside me without asking, without a word.
I glance at him, and the first thing I notice is his neck.
Covered in tattoos.
Not just any tattoos, but the kind deliberately placed to make your blood heat up. Then I notice the piercing on his left ear, glinting under the bar lights. He wears a white long-sleeved shirt, slightly unbuttoned at the top, his collarbone exposed.
Clean. Fair. Ridiculously tempting.
And his watch?
Insanely expensive. The kind I could never afford, even if I sold myself and my soul. A necklace rests against his chest, clearly not just for show, but a signature piece.
Rich bad boy energy. My favorite combination.
“One shot of tequila, please,” he tells the bartender in firm, clean, unbelievably sexy English.
I look at him. He catches me staring and slowly raises an eyebrow, teasing.
That is when I see his face clearly.
Damn. He is handsome.
Not campus-crush handsome, but rich-boy-with-daddy-issues handsome. The kind who could emotionally ruin you and still be worth it.
Sharp nose. Red lips. Thick brows. Long lashes. Skin smoother than mine, even with my twelve-step Korean skincare routine.
“Why are you staring at me, hm?” he asks.
Damn.
I almost choke. His voice is deep, accented, and dangerously sexy.
God, why are you testing me?
I do not even know how it happens, but when I realize it, we are already on the dance floor. Our bodies are pressed together, his breath hot against my neck, and we are kissing. Kisses filled with alcohol, desire, and recklessness.
Tongues tangling. Lips being sucked. Not caring who is watching.
His hands grow bolder, wandering over my waist, my curves, my ass, sometimes rising to my chest or sliding down to my lower abdomen. I do not care. I do not know him, but I like what he is doing, and I want him tonight.
“Let’s get a room,” he whispers against my ear.
His voice is hoarse, drained, hungry. I look up at him.
Damn.
This night is going to be wild.