In the Club
Aaliyah
The club was alive with energy, the thumping bassline vibrating through the floor and into Aaliyah’s chest. The crowd around her was a blur of neon lights and moving bodies, the air thick with music and laughter. She took another sip of her cocktail, the sweet burn of it warming her from the inside out.
Across the table, Cruz was nursing her whiskey, her gaze constantly sweeping the room. Always scanning, always calculating. It was such a stark contrast to the chaos of the club that Aaliyah couldn’t help but smile. Cruz looked so out of place here in her leather jacket, cut-off tee, and fitted pants, but somehow, she still managed to look effortlessly cool.
And, Aaliyah realized with a sudden jolt, ridiculously attractive.
She swallowed hard, tearing her eyes away before Cruz noticed her staring. The alcohol was making her thoughts wander in dangerous directions, and she couldn’t afford that—not now, not ever. Still, the realization lingered, making her heart race in a way that had nothing to do with the music.
Then the opening notes of a song she loved filtered through the speakers, and Aaliyah’s grin widened. It was upbeat and fun, the kind of song that made it impossible to sit still. She set her drink down and turned to Cruz, her excitement bubbling over.
“Oh, we’re dancing to this,” she said, grabbing Cruz’s hand.
Cruz blinked, startled. “What? No, I don’t—”
“Yes, you do,” Aaliyah said, tugging her to her feet. The alcohol gave her confidence, her usual hesitations drowned out by the pounding rhythm of the music. “Come on, Mrs. Mendez. Let’s celebrate properly.”
Cruz groaned but let herself be dragged onto the dance floor. “This is a terrible idea,” she muttered, though there was no real bite to her words.
“It’s a great idea,” Aaliyah countered, pulling her into the crowd.
--
At first, Cruz was as stiff as a board, her movements awkward and unsure. Aaliyah laughed, taking her hands and guiding her gently. “Relax,” she said, her voice teasing but warm. “Nobody’s judging you.”
Cruz gave her a look. “I feel like that’s a lie.”
“It’s not. Just follow me,” Aaliyah said, stepping closer. She started to sway to the music, her movements natural and confident, and after a moment, Cruz began to mimic her.
It was hesitant at first—small, careful movements that barely matched the beat. But as the music built, and as Aaliyah kept encouraging her with little laughs and nudges, Cruz started to loosen up. Her shoulders relaxed, her steps became smoother, and before long, she was moving in time with Aaliyah, the awkwardness melting away.
“See? Not so bad,” Aaliyah said, beaming.
Cruz smirked, her dark eyes glinting in the flashing lights. “Don’t get used to it.”
Aaliyah laughed, the sound light and carefree. The alcohol in her system made her bolder, and before she could second-guess herself, she placed her hands on Cruz’s shoulders, guiding her movements even more.
That’s when she realized how close they were.
--
Cruz smelled faintly of leather and something clean, like soap or fresh air. Her hands rested lightly on Aaliyah’s waist, her touch warm even through the fabric of her dress. Aaliyah’s heart raced as she looked up at her, suddenly hyperaware of everything—the strong line of Cruz’s jaw, the way the lights caught the faint sheen of sweat on her skin, the casual confidence in the way she moved now that she’d relaxed.
Her brain whispered a dangerous truth: She’s gorgeous.
The thought sent a wave of heat through her, and she looked away quickly, trying to compose herself. But the closeness didn’t help, nor did the way Cruz’s hands lingered, steady and protective, like she was anchoring Aaliyah to the music and the moment.
Aaliyah couldn’t stop her gaze from drifting back, catching on the way Cruz’s fitted pants highlighted her lean frame, the way her cut-off tee showed just enough muscle to make her stomach flutter. The leather jacket was the finishing touch, the perfect blend of tough and cool that made Aaliyah’s head spin.
Her cheeks burned, and she tried to chalk it up to the alcohol. It’s just the drinks, she told herself. You’re overthinking it.
But when Cruz caught her eye and gave her a small, almost teasing smile, Aaliyah felt her knees weaken. She looked away again, her pulse pounding in her ears.
“Flustered?” Cruz asked, her tone light but with a hint of amusement.
“No,” Aaliyah lied, her voice higher than she intended.
Cruz raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. Instead, she kept dancing, her movements easy and fluid now. Aaliyah followed her lead, but her thoughts were a tangled mess. She couldn’t shake the way Cruz looked under the flashing lights, or the way her touch lingered just long enough to send sparks racing through her skin.
Stop it, she scolded herself. She’s just being nice. This isn’t anything more than that.
But no matter how much she tried to convince herself, her body didn’t seem to get the message. Every brush of Cruz’s hand, every fleeting glance, sent her heart racing again, and by the time the song ended, she was completely flustered.
“Okay,” Cruz said, stepping back slightly, though her smirk remained. “Satisfied?”
Aaliyah nodded quickly, avoiding her gaze. “Yeah. Totally. Great job.”
Cruz chuckled, the sound low and warm. “You’re something else, Aaliyah.”
Aaliyah’s breath caught, but before she could respond, Cruz gestured toward their table. “Come on. Let’s get another drink before you drag me out here again.”
She followed Cruz back to their table, her thoughts still swirling. She told herself it was all one-sided, that whatever she was feeling was just a product of the moment. But as she watched Cruz settle back into her seat, her smirk fading into something softer, Aaliyah couldn’t help but wonder if she was wrong.
Cruz
The thumping bass of the club reverberated through Cruz’s chest, a constant reminder of how far outside her element she was. She sat at the table, her whiskey untouched, scanning the room for potential threats. Her eyes flicked over the crowd, noting exits, security cameras, and anyone who looked like they didn’t belong.
Aaliyah, meanwhile, was sipping her cocktail with an enthusiasm Cruz hadn’t seen in days. She seemed lighter here, freer. The tension that usually tightened her shoulders had eased, replaced by an energy that Cruz couldn’t quite define.
When Aaliyah’s eyes lit up at the sound of a new song, Cruz felt the shift immediately. “Oh, we’re dancing to this,” she said, grabbing Cruz’s hand.
Cruz’s stomach dropped. “What? No, I don’t—”
“Yes, you do,” Aaliyah insisted, pulling her to her feet with surprising determination. “Come on, Mrs. Mendez. Let’s celebrate properly.”
Cruz groaned, letting herself be dragged toward the dance floor. She muttered something about bad ideas and terrible timing, but Aaliyah wasn’t listening. She was already weaving through the crowd, her hand firmly clasped around Cruz’s wrist.
I’m going to regret this, Cruz thought, even as the corner of her mouth twitched upward in the faintest hint of a smile.
--
The dance floor was a chaotic swirl of lights and bodies. Cruz hesitated at the edge, her instincts screaming at her to stay in the shadows where she could watch the exits. But Aaliyah turned to her, her green eyes bright with excitement, and Cruz felt her resolve waver.
“Relax,” Aaliyah said, laughing as she began to sway to the music. “Nobody’s judging you.”
Cruz huffed, crossing her arms. “I feel like that’s a lie.”
“It’s not. Just follow me,” Aaliyah said, stepping closer and taking Cruz’s hands in her own. Her touch was light but insistent, her movements fluid and natural.
Cruz followed reluctantly, her body stiff and awkward at first. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d danced—if she’d ever danced. The whole concept felt foreign, unnatural, like exposing a part of herself she’d long buried.
But Aaliyah was persistent, guiding her with a teasing smile and soft laughter. Slowly, Cruz began to mimic her movements, loosening the rigid set of her shoulders. The music pulsed around them, and for a moment, Cruz let herself focus only on the rhythm, the sway of her body matching Aaliyah’s.
--
Aaliyah moved closer, and Cruz felt her chest tighten. Their hands lingered a little longer than necessary, and Aaliyah’s touch sent a faint warmth spreading through her skin. She was beautiful under the flashing lights, her face framed by soft curls and her dress catching the neon glow. Cruz’s breath hitched as their eyes met.
You’re playing with fire, Cruz told herself. But a small, treacherous part of her brain whispered something else entirely: What if things were different?
For a fleeting moment, Cruz allowed herself to imagine. Imagine dancing with Aaliyah in a world where there were no missions, no enemies, no need for false identities. Just the two of them, moving together under lights that didn’t feel like interrogation lamps.
The thought hit her like a punch to the gut, and she shut it down immediately. Focus. You’re on a mission.
Still, the closeness made it hard to think clearly. Aaliyah’s laughter was light and unrestrained, her energy contagious. Cruz tried to ignore the way her heart skipped when Aaliyah placed her hands on Cruz’s shoulders, guiding her movements with a confidence that left Cruz slightly unmoored.
“You’re getting it,” Aaliyah said, beaming up at her.
“Don’t get used to it,” Cruz muttered, though her voice lacked its usual edge.
Aaliyah laughed again, her green eyes glinting. “Too late.”
--
Back at the table, Cruz took a long sip of her whiskey, letting the burn ground her. She didn’t look directly at Aaliyah, but she could feel the girl’s gaze flicking toward her, could sense the unspoken questions hanging in the air between them.
Cruz told herself it didn’t matter. This was just a moment, nothing more. They had a mission to focus on, a danger they couldn’t afford to forget. But as the night wore on, and as Aaliyah’s laughter filled the space between them, Cruz couldn’t quite shake the thought that, for the first time in recent memory, she didn’t mind being a little reckless.