Luca jumps down laughing, jacket flaring around his bare thighs. His feet launch into a chaotic but familiar rhythm—Nix clocks the TikTok dance instantly the one Margot insisted Long Road Home learn last week.
“Yeah, Nixie! That was fucking awesome!”
Nix dismounts so he can throw his helmet on the seat of the bike. He grabs Luca’s hands, and they jump up and down like two children going to Disneyland.
“Who knew we could do that?” Nix lets the sheer thrill and adrenaline course through him, making his knees wobble. “We are doing that again.”
Another car drives into the lot, and two women get out and head intoFruit of the Moon. When they open the door,What’s New Pussycatby Tom Jones blares out into the night.
It’s enough to stop their adrenaline high in its tracks.
“Shit, we gotta rescue Doods,” Luca mumbles. He pulls up his leg-warmers and cracks his knuckles. “Come on. I’ll distract your stalker by kicking his ass, and you can save our baby.”
“Luc, you can’t kick anyone’s ass with yours hanging out. You’re a rock star, and that jacket is the only thing keeping you from an appearance onNashville Now. So, I’ll distract Tommy, and you grab Doodle. And for all that’s holy, do not cause trouble.”
“If you insist. Our goal here is to get in, get out, and get home before anyone knows we are gone.”
“That’s an affirmative. Let’s hit it.”
Fruit of the Moonis booming when they push open the door, music shifting from old Tom Jones to house music, the beat pounding up through the floor into the soles of Nix’s bunny slippers.
It’s not the only thing pumping; the small space is wall-to-wall humans, jumping up and down to the beat.
Don’t they know it’s Tuesday?
It’s not the bodies or the line-up at the smoothie bar or the realization that they must all be stone-cold sober that gives Nix pause; it’s the man standing on the bar, holding Nix’s cat high in the air.
Doodle sits serenely in the palm of Tommy’s hand as he sways in a trance, like a goddess surveying their domain. Her piercing yellow eyes catch his across the room as if to say,about fucking time, dimwits.
Not like she was the one who got in Tommy’s car on her own, or anything.
“I’m not the dimwit, missy.”
“What the fuck is he doing?” Luca mutters beside him, TikTok’s livestream still going, pings signaling that watchers are sending hearts and crowns and other rewards to his account.
“Fucked if I know. Let’s go get our cat.” Nix begins pushing through the swaying crowd, who have various crystals raised above their heads.
“She is ordained!” Tommy shouts, his eyes rolled back in his head. “An emissary of love.”
“Hey, fuckhead. That’s my cat,” Luca yells. So much for not drawing attention to them, let alone not causing trouble. “You’re a fucking cat burglar.”
Tommy doesn’t even twitch at the verbal assault, and it seems to push Luca right back into his angry squirrel stage. He’s revving up to vault onto the bar and give the room a look under Gideon’s jacket.
“Must I do everything?” Nix mutters to himself, barely audible in his own head over the techno and humming from Doodle’s sycophants.
“Tommy.”
There is no denying that it is creepy as fuck when Tommy’s eyes pop open at the sound of his name. How he’d heard Nix over the noise is one of life’s greatest mysteries.
“Nix! You came.” He beams, as if surprised anyone would retrieve their stolen feline. “I knew you’d come if I kept her safe.”
“She’s my cat.Obviously.”
“She brought us together. It’s fate.”
“Oh, I will show you fate, you fucking tofu-brained raccoon—” Luca growls, claws already flexing.
Nix throws an arm across his chest. “You could’ve just brought her back to our place.”
