LUKA (The Rhythm Series, Book 2) Read Online Free Page B

disoriented. The curtains were thin and I guessed it was twilight. I hadn’t meant to sleep so long. My stomach growled with hunger, but my shoulders slumped at the thought of that antique block of cheese.
    I crawled out of bed, tentatively stretching my muscles, then puttered around the kitchen searching for takeout menus.
    I hit pay dirt on the third drawer, finding Chinese, Indian, pizza and what seemed to be a local deli—lots of healthy shit.
    Pizza. I was in the mood for pizza, and I ordered a large pepperoni with pineapple. Don’t judge.
    I slumped in front of the TV and flicked through a dozen channels before I was back at the start. Great. Sarah didn’t have cable. No late-night porn movies then, unless I streamed it through her wifi. But I checked my phone, cursing not very silently. No wifi either.
    I knew Sarah hadn’t had the apartment very long before we went on tour. I guess she’d never bothered. I foresaw a lot of Starbucks in my future, surfing their free wifi.
    The pizza arrived and I settled with an old scifi movie. But by ten o’clock I was feeling wide awake and restless. I was 27, for fuck’s sake, and I was sitting on my ass all by myself on a Saturday night in London. Pathetic.
    I looked again at the note Sarah had left: Becky’s parties are always amazing.
    Yeah, that would do. If I didn’t like it, I’d go back to the club in Soho and check out the main dance floor.
    I showered quickly, hitting my elbows twice, grumbling over the small space.
    I dried off and pulled on a pair of worn jeans and a dark blue t-shirt that Gary said made my eyes pop. I wasn’t necessarily looking to get laid, but I wouldn’t say no if the opportunity arose.
    The cab driver raised an eyebrow when I told him the address, but it was only when we were cruising down a long, leafy avenue that I began to understand why. These weren’t ordinary London houses—these were mansions. Huge fucking monstrosities, most of them.
    “It’s not nicknamed Millionaire’s Row for nothing, mate,” said the driver as he watched me gawking from the rear view mirror. “You got friends here?”
    “Just a party I was told about.”
    “Lucky bugger.”
    I paid the cab driver and walked up the gravel driveway, hearing music pounding out through the windows.
    The front door was open, with people hanging out on the porch, smoking and drinking.
    “Hi, I’m looking for Becky.”
    Two of the girls turned to look at me, and one of them vaguely flapped her hand, which I took to mean that Becky was inside. Not that it helped as I had no clue what she looked like.
    But it didn’t seem to matter. The place was jammed, people dancing in the massive living room, more spilling out onto the patio at the back, surrounding a large swimming pool. I snagged a glass of champagne from the open bar and headed to the pool.
    The atmosphere was more chill outside, and I watched, bemused, as a gorgeous girl in a tight leather skirt sashayed up to me, drank my champagne, winked, and dove into the pool in all her clothes and five-inch heels.
    A roar of approval went up as she whipped off her top and flung it at me, grinning.
    “I’m well in there, mate!” shouted the man standing next to me, seeming to think the leather basque had been aimed at him.
    He’d managed to get his shirt off and one shoe before he lost balance and fell in. The crowd cheered and several other people jumped in, too.
    I scored another glass of champagne, downed it in one gulp, and decided it was a nice night for a swim.
    I pulled off my shirt and felt a warm hand with sharp nails on my back.
    A woman with honey-blonde hair was stroking my shoulder.
    “I don’t know you,” she said.
    “Are you Becky?”
    She gazed at me with interest. “No, but I could be.”
    Looked like it was going to be a pretty wild night.
    I never did find Becky.

I WOKE UP , confused. Sunlight flooded through huge picture windows opposite the bed I was laying in. Way, way below, the Thames