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My pulse speeds. “Are you going to kiss me?” I question, hearing the anxiety in my voice. I hate that sound. I chug the rest of my appletini.
He strokes my head, all my hair pulled into a tight, sleek pony. “Get out of your mind, Rose,” he coos.
It’s not that easy for me, not with so many eyes on us. I set my empty glass on the counter, and he flags down the bartender again. I realize I’m still clutching onto Connor’s forearm like if I let go, I’ll fall.
This isn’t exactly normal for me. Be the fucking shark, Rose.
I will be. I’ll snap my jaws over every human here.
“Rose.” That’s not Connor. Ryke sidles next to me while Daisy slips in front of my body, settling on a nearby vacant stool. Four-leaf clover sunglasses shroud her eyes while she’s dressed in a graphic tee that says, Shake your Shamrocks. Since her back is to me, I can’t spot a smile.
I face Ryke.
His jaw is scruffier, making him appear older. He spent the past week camping with Daisy and their Siberian husky in the mountains, still no approval from his doctors to rock climb. Daisy thought camping would help ease the wait.
“What?” I ask, ice frosting the word. At least my bite hasn’t disappeared yet. I almost pick up my empty glass and take a sip. I remember not to be a drunken fool this time.
Connor detaches from me, except for his fingers that just barely hook around mine. He leans over the counter to speak to the bartender, the persistent music drowning their conversation.
Ryke places a hand on my shoulder and leans closer to me, all so he doesn’t have to raise his voice. “Do you have any Advil or Midol?” he asks.
My back straightens, and my eyes flit to my sister. She has her feet on the stool, legs tucked to her chest, sitting in a fetal position. When she swings her head to me, she paints on a bright all-consuming smile. I almost believe her, but silently, I hear her saying, I don’t want to be the reason you have a bad time.
“How bad are her cramps?” I ask, opening my clutch first. Lipstick, compact mirror, mini perfume, powder, mints, safety pins…
“Enough that she has to sit down.” He runs a hand through his hair, watching me dig around my clutch that’s two sizes larger than Lily’s. All of my items are packed neatly in pockets and little wallets.
…mini sewing kit, bobby pins, stain removing pen, small brush, driver’s license, debit and credit cards, super glue (god forbid my high heel should break) and—
“Advil,” I say, handing him a mini-tube of pain reliever.
He pops open the bottle. “It’s empty.”
“What?” I snatch it back and shake…to find nothing inside. “Lily might have some.” I unclasp her clutch to find her ID, cash, her phone, and condoms floating around.
At least she carries protection.
“Nothing?” Ryke says off my frown. “Fuck.” He groans and looks back at Daisy.
“I’ll be fine!” she shouts. “It’s really okay!” She playfully twirls her green glittery glasses before placing them back on.
He’s not buying it, and neither am I.
“Find Poppy,” I tell him, my stomach flip-flopping at the thought of being so unhelpful that I have to pass this task off. “She’ll have something on her.”
He nods, more hopeful. “Keep an eye on Dais for me?”
“Of course.” While he squeezes through the masses to search for Poppy, I’m about to fully detach from Connor and join Daisy.
In unison, Connor not only holds more of my hand but Lily’s phone buzzes. My head swirls from the alcohol, distracted by the cell enough to click into Lily’s texts.
Lil. How long does it take to pee? – Lo
I thought they were dancing? The alcohol must be fucking with my sense of time. It’s already 2 a.m.
I whip my head from side to side and finally spot Loren outside the girl’s bathroom door, one that has stalls so he doesn’t burst through or bang on the wood.
I curiously scroll through my sister’s old text conversation. Sober Rose would never do such a disloyal act unless it helped Lily, but morality has all but flitted away.
Their most recent discussion:
Moffy just said poop! We’ve been saying poop too much, Lo. – Lily
I soften and my frozen joints unthaw. My little sister is precious, and luckily, her son’s first word wasn’t poop. It was boo. They’ve been playing peekaboo a lot with him.
I keep reading the texts.
At least he didn’t say shit. – Lo
I roll my eyes, and a new message pings, my drunken gaze landing on every word without permission.
Please just reply so I know you’re okay. – Lo
I’m sure Lily is fine, and if Loren didn’t irk me so much, I might reply with that. With my free hand, I type out this message with quick, sloppy fingers: Green appletini.
It’s as random as I feel.
I press send and watch his face scrunch in confusion. He texts back rapidly.
??? – Lo
I snort under my breath, a roguish smile rising. Go fuck a cactus, I type and press send…only to reread the message and realize I sent: Gig fuck a castings.
Really, Rose?
Lo wastes no time, pushing through the bathroom door. Camera flashes go off again, brightening the back area of the pub. In maybe a minute, he exits with Lily by his side, and I watch his daggered eyes pierce and search the room.
They set on me. Lily probably told him that I have her phone. He raises his hand in the air and gives me the middle finger.
I raise mine and—I accidentally drop Lily’s cell. Nothing is going according to plan. I bend down to collect the remnants. Don’t be broken, I chant with an angry growl.
I discover a perfectly intact phone and return it safely to her clutch, all of which I place on the bar next to Daisy.
“Watch these?” I ask, Connor’s hand still in mine.
She gives me a smile and a thumbs-up, her green sunglasses masking whatever pain she may be feeling. I’m literally seconds from asking our bodyguards to go make a drugstore run for us. I’d even leave and go make one with them.
“I have Advil!” Poppy shouts, weaving through the crowd with Ryke and Sam behind her. My tan older sister is more prepared for the luckiest day of the year than I am. Her long, straight hair splays over her green tunic, wooden bracelets decorating her forearm.
Poppy is “chill” in comparison to me, as Loren has said before. I’m not surprised. When I was younger, she always disappeared to our backyard to paint, finding quiet places away from our mother. She discovered calmness in her teens that she’s carried to thirty.
I’m twenty-six and calm has still evaded me, even boozed.
Maybe that’s why I have Connor. Just as I think it, he finishes speaking with the bartender. I slide closer to him and scan his hands and the counter for my new drink. It’s nowhere to be found.
“Have you just been talking with him this whole time?” I question, my feet aching. Not because of the shoe but because my muscles keep constricting.
My heels have not betrayed me.
Connor clasps my hips and pulls me against his body a little more, guiding me so that my back digs into the lip of the bar. I look over my shoulder, hoping to spot the bartender making my drink, but he’s helping another girl.
“Rose,” Connor forces my name and simultaneously grabs my attention. I focus on him, his deep blue eyes almost eating me out. His gaze is as dirty as that sounds.
You love it, Rose.
I do, but there are onlookers…
He holds my face, possessing me with one strong move.
“I’m not ready…” The words prickle my skin. “I need another drink, Richard.”
He lowers his head, his lips grazing mine before he whispers something in French. I can’t translate it, not unless he speaks slower. The alcohol jumbles my thoughts, and he notices the confusion blanketing my face.
“Concentrate on me,” he repeats.
I scrounge
up a decent glare. “I am.”
I expect him to kiss me now. He’s going to make out with you against the bar with everyone watching. I wonder if he can feel my pulse race, my chest collapsing, half-anxious, half-wanting.
Very swiftly, he grasps my waist and lifts me onto the bar.
What the fuck.
What the fuck.
My ass hits the wooden surface, and cameras swing in our direction. My legs hang off, and I grip his forearms so hard that my nails must be leaving imprints.
“Connor…”
I expect him to kiss me now.
He doesn’t.
