"To tonight." My voice is shaky, and I flip my long hair behind me, wishing it wasn't so frizzy. It should be sleek and shiny, like that of the other women here.

He clinks his glass to mine and I take a hesitant sip. The bubbles slide down my throat, sending what feel like sparkles through my entire body. Or maybe that's from Griffin, because he can't seem to stop smiling and shooting little glances my way. We stand like this, our arms about six inches apart, watching the gyrating, sweaty bodies below and drinking.

In the middle of one song, the DJ stops the music. A hush falls over the club, and I watch, transfixed. The DJ looks up, right at our skybox, and points. Whoa. What's going on? My breath catches in my throat.

The club plunges into darkness and then a tight, white spotlight hones in on Griffin. He raises his champagne glass to the DJ. Or to the crowd. I'm not sure, exactly, because I'm mesmerized by the confident and commanding look on his face and stunned that all eyes are on him. It's as if Griffin's a king, the DJ's a jester, and everyone down below are his subjects. He moves closer to me and slides his arm around my waist, pulling me close.

I feel the heat from his body and I step closer, into him and into the spotlight.

Throbbing lights and the music burst through the club, and the crowd erupts, screaming and whistling. Clouds of fake fog creep onto the dance floor. Griffin gives my waist a little squeeze and lets go, moving for the champagne. He grabs the bottle and refills my empty glass as I finally exhale.

And that's when I realize: if Griffin is a king, for a brief, incredible moment, I was his queen. I stand, mute, soaking everything in. I'm a senior at Kendall High, and not even a popular one. Normally I have my nose in a book and now, I'm here. At Miami's hottest club.

With a guy who seemingly rules South Beach. Who knows the DJ. Who gets bottle service. Who is gorgeous and used to be my brother's best friend.

Allison taps me on the shoulder. She's been in a whiny mood all night, and even though we're in the VIP area at Babylon for the first — and probably only — time, she's still got a bit of a sour look on her face.

"We're going down to the dance floor, it's more fun down there." Her loud voice makes me wince. "Are you coming with?"

I glance over at Griffin, who's standing near the balcony of the skybox, drinking champagne and watching the crowd. His eyes meet mine.

"Hang out with me for a little while?" he asks.

How could I say no? "Um, sure."

I turn back to Allison. "Maybe later."

She tosses me a knowing smile and Lucas walks to Griffin, shaking his hand as he thanks him for getting us in. I can tell Lucas doesn't want to leave the VIP area, and would prefer to sit with Griffin all night, talking about cars.

"Have fun," I mouth to Allison, then return to stand near the balcony. On the dance floor, women in bikinis are holding trays of shots above their heads and blue lights pulse in time with the music. I stand like a dork for several minutes, drinking my champagne.

Griffin presses his arm into my shoulder and leans in. "Why don't we go downstairs and dance?"

I look into his eyes and find myself a little lost. It takes a moment and gnawing on my bottom lip before I answer. "You totally don't have to. And you probably have other friends to meet up with tonight. It was really amazing of you to invite us in and bring us up here. I can hang out with Allison and Lucas so you don't have to babysit me."

I expect him to grin and nod and give me a quick hug goodbye, but instead, he edges a little closer with a serious look on his face. "I'm not babysitting you. I'm asking you to dance."

His expression spreads into a smile, and honest to God, my heart's rhythm is faster than the beat of the music. He takes my hand and leads me out of the skybox, down the stairs and into the lobby. It's warmer down here and smells like sweat and a thousand perfumes and booze. We stand, looking at the crowd through a set of double doors. It's then that I notice that the women gyrating on raised platforms are naked — but are covered in glittering silver and black body paint. On one platform, two women are dancing together and kissing, while a group of guys below stand transfixed. For some reason, I hadn't noticed any of this until now.

I glance to Griffin, expecting to see him staring at the gorgeous dancing women. But he's not, because a man with a shaved head is standing in front of him with a scowl on his face. My stomach clenches, because the man's even bigger than Griffin, like football player-size. I'd heard of fights breaking out in clubs, shootings even. Why was this guy being a jerk?

Then I catch Griffin grinning. He pulls me toward him and slips an arm around my waist.

"Juliette, this is Matthew."

I crane my neck to look at him. "Hi." I can't shake his hand because my entire arm is trapped behind Griffin's back. There's nothing I can do but hold on to him.

Matthew's eyes are possibly the kindest I've ever seen. Looking at him now, he seems more like a massive teddy bear.

"Good to meet you." He grins and his eyes slide to Griffin. "Did that piece of shit Seth give you the money before he started spinning?"

"He didn't, that slippery fuck. He texted me and said he can't pay tonight."

Griffin leans in and says something in Matthew's ear, something I can't hear. That's odd. The DJ's name is Seth. Are they talking about him? Why would Seth owe Griffin money? From the tone in his voice, it doesn't sound like he's pleased with Seth.

Matthew squeezes Griffin's shoulder. "See you," he says to me, and walks toward the exit.

"A friend?" I ask.

"Friend, business associate, bodyguard, confidant. C'mon."

Why would he need a bodyguard? Ohhh, he was probably joking.

He steers us right into the pit area in front of the DJ booth. I've read about this in the city's alt-weekly gossip column; the pit at Babylon is where the models and the beautiful people dance. It's surrounded by a half-circle of red velvet couches and usually the ordinary people can't even get close to this area because it's lined with a set of bouncers.

Griffin has no problem here, either, and he shakes one beefy bouncer's hand as we glide in. Within seconds, two girls come up to him and whisper in his ear and again, he pulls me close.

"Not tonight and not here," he yells, shaking his head. "I've got nothing."

My chest constricts as the girls walk off. Oh my God. Did they just proposition him? Right in front of me? I guess that's to be expected because he's so handsome and obviously rich. We're in the middle of what seems like a sea of models, dancing to nerve-pummelingly loud music, which soon downshifts into something darker, more rhythmic, more sensual. I feel awkward dancing at first, especially around these gorgeous people.

But Griffin's eyes, and his easy sway while dancing, inspire me to relax. The DJ's playing music that's all deep beats and smoky atmospheres, and I smile. He leans into me, almost as if he anticipates that I have something to say.

"I love this kind of trance beat," I say into his ear, hoping I'm not shattering his eardrum.

"I do, too." Unlike before, when I only felt the puff of his breath on my ear, I can now feel his touch. Only this time, instead of pulling back, his mouth lingers and I lean into him, just a fraction of an inch. The sensation of him on my skin makes me forget the music, the club, the women, everything.

It's a little embarrassing, how close I want to be to him, and I dance away and half-close my eyes, pretending to lose myself in the music. When I glance his way, he's studying me, then his glance slowly rakes down my body.

Is it possible that he's also attracted to me? A rational voice deep inside my brain answers: no way in hell is Griffin attracted to you.

The lights abruptly flick off, and the music stops, so the club is plunged into darkness and a split-second of silence. People scream and whoop, and honestly, I'm a bit terrified. When a pair of hands grab me around the waist and pull, I yelp.

"It's okay. It's just me," Griffin says in my ear. And I melt into him, into his scent that sends pangs of longing through me.

The lights and music explode back on again and I stand, breathless, laughing. Griffin's hands are still around my waist and he laughs, too. We move together, slow and sexy to the sharp drums and smooth synth sounds.

I'm not sure how long we've been dancing; time seems elastic and has taken on a dream-like quality. When did I ever imagine I'd dance to an awesome DJ with a stunning guy at South Beach's best club? Griffin appears equally as captivated by the moment, with half-lidded eyes and a little smile. He draws me an inch closer and I swear he's purposefully grinding his hips toward mine.

My heartbeat is probably louder than the music. He has a fluid sensuality that makes me yearn to know more about him. Makes me want to kiss him. To be as graceful and sexy as he is.

Holy crap, this man can move his hips. I try not to stare.

Just then, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I whirl around, and it's Allison.

"Damn, Juliette, could it have been any harder to get in here to talk to you? I practically had to blow the bouncer just to step in this area for five seconds," she yells.

I keep swaying and smile. She narrows her eyes. "What happened to you? Did you take drugs? You look funny."

I crack up.

She glances over my shoulder, probably at Griffin, then back at me. "Never mind. I think I know what drug you're on. Listen, we're going to go. I feel like shit tonight. I'm sorry. You coming?"

Both my face and my stomach fall. I don't want to leave, but it's not like I have a lot of choice in the matter. I'm staying at Allison's tonight. "Yeah. I guess."

I turn to Griffin, who clasps my wrist and pulls me in.

"Hey, we're going to take off. Allison's not feeling well. Thank you for everything." I squeeze his shoulder softly. Then I squeeze it again, because it's so hard and muscular under my fingers and I want to remember what it feels like.

"If you want to stay longer, I can take you home. Don't worry, I'm done drinking for the night."

I look at him, wide-eyed and unable to mask my surprise. "Are you sure you don't mind driving all the way to Kendall? I'm having a great time here with you. Uh, listening to the music."

He smiles, a tiny, private smile. "It's no problem."

I whirl and wrap my arms around Allison. "Go ahead and go. I'll get a ride to your house with Griffin."

She leans into my ear. "You can invite him in, if you want. My mom won't be home until eight in the morning."

I roll my eyes. Yeah, right. As if he'll want to come into Allison's apartment and ... do what? Make out on the sofa? Eat microwave popcorn? Play with her stinky dog?

Instead of saying any of those things, I let go of her.

"Text me when you're on your way to my house. If you make it to my house." She winks, and I laugh. She and Lucas disappear into the crowd, and Griffin and I continue to dance. I slip into a fantasy of actually going back to Griffin's house with him, but the very idea makes me sweat.

He probably lives in terribly sophisticated apartment somewhere nearby.

And what if he did try to kiss me? I probably could handle that without being too awkward, although he's so handsome I'd probably get flustered and drool or something. I've kissed a few guys, but being in Griffin's presence makes me forget their names and faces. God knows I'd love to kiss Griffin, would like nothing more than to explore those soft-looking lips. But if he tried any more, if he put his hands on my skin or under my dress, I'd probably combust. And let on that I'm completely, totally, sexually inexperienced.

Again, time stretches and slows with the tropical house beats, until Griffin leans in. "You hungry?"

"I could eat." I can always eat, actually. But since I haven't had dinner, and downed a couple of glasses of champagne, my stomach does feel hollow.

"I know a good place. Let's go." He obviously thinks I'm not capable of following him through a crowd because he takes my hand again. Although I don't exactly mind, because he threads his fingers through mine, as if we're a couple. No, I don't mind at all, because walking next to him, I feel special, somehow.

On the way out, he stops to say hi to a few people. All guys, most look like they're pumped up and muscular, scary-looking bodybuilders or bouncers. Similar to Matthew. He speaks to them in Spanish—which isn't that odd, everyone in Miami speaks some Spanish, and if I recall correctly, Griffin's mom was from Argentina, I think —and all of the men treat him deferentially. As if he's a celebrity of some sort. They nod politely at me, almost always looking above my head, and not into my eyes.

"Did you get a new cell number?" one guy asks.

Griffin smirks. "You know I always get a new number."

Weird.

On the street, I figure he'll take me to the pizza place next door, or to the over-lit waffle diner across the street. Instead, he drops my hand and pauses. "Hang on, I'm going to call a buddy at The Carlisle."

I step back as he presses his cell to his ear, wanting to give him privacy. Is he really calling The Carlisle? It's one of Miami Beach's nicest hotels, and has a couple of swanky restaurants on the ground floor. Of course, I've never been, but have read all about them in gossip magazines. Celebrities are sometimes spotted there late at night.

"Hey, Juan! It's Griff. I need a table. Yeah, for two. We're right around the corner, at Babylon. We'll be there in five. Thanks, bro."

"Come on." He holds his hand out for me, and smiles sweetly when I take it. "You're going to love this."

"Griffin!" A female voice calls out in a sing-song.

We turn, and there's Victoria, strutting toward us in her tiny silver dress with a fierce look in her eyes and a devilish smile on her lips.

____