Chris Brown brashly stands on top of his bench in the neighboring booth. He and Rihanna start tossing flirtatious glances like kids passing notes in middle-school math class. The smirks and the playfulness continue until they’re dancing with each other from afar. Then, out of mock frustration, Brown climbs over the top of the booth. A mischievous tingle of controversy vibrates through the club.
There, in the middle of all the craziness: Rihanna stares straight at me and passes me a spliff. She turns her green-hazel Bambi gaze back to Brown and begins to sway those famous hips from side to side. It’s 2 a.m. She looks like she’s just getting started.
“This is some movie sh*t, ladies and gentlemen!” the DJ bellows. “We see you, Chris and Rihanna!”
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