There was no trace of the butch in the downstairs area. Felicia bought water from the bar and took a long pull from the plastic bottle, letting it hang off her first two fingers, her thumb over the open neck to prevent anyone slipping in a roofie. She trod lightly upstairs, weaving past the men using them as a vantage point to watch the dancers, picking out women with whom they hoped to spend the night. Felicia suspected they’d all be going home alone, despite the admiring glances sent her way. Her figure had filled out and toned up considerably since she’d last frequented this club. Was it only last week? By the time she entered the Goth floor, she had turned down several offers of drinks and dances. Hidden in the lee of a fruit machine, she looked for the butch who’d changed her life so radically during sex. The whirrs and bleeps of the machine kept interrupting her concentration and her eyesight shifted focus, the flashing lights around her losing color as her anger roused her inner wolf.
