Celine studies my face as if she’s trying to figure out what my game is.
I sag against the booth. Maybe coming here was a bad idea. I might have been better off bunking down with the roach colony and hoping they accepted me as one of their own.
“Are you—” Celine cuts herself off again, and I groan.
“Is this a pity talk?” I ask. “Because if it is, I’d rather skip it.” I raise one eyebrow and try to look sarcastic while fighting the urge to drop my head into my hands.
“Fuck you!” Celine shoves her shoulder against mine. “I’m trying to check on you, and you’re making it impossible.”
I raise both eyebrows. “Is that what that was? Really?”
“Fuck you!”
“You already said that,” I tease, then draw in a deep breath. “Shit, maybe you’re doing a better job than I thought. Somehow, I feel better.”
“You’re impossible.” Celine nudges my shoulder with hers again, and I nudge back. Her arms are wrapped in muscle, and when the stage lights spin our way, they land on a bruise she hasn’t quite managed to hide.
“When’s your next fight?”
She follows my gaze and sighs. “Can’t believe I missed one. I’ll be back in the ring tomorrow.”
“Still kicking ass?”
“Of course.” She grins, and it’s about a dozen times more natural than the start of our conversation. “Do you—” She clears her throat. “Do you want to come?”
I pinch my thigh under the booth to keep from punching the air like an eighties rom-com protagonist. “Yeah, I’d love to.”
A blush climbs Celine’s cheeks, visible even in the dim club lighting.
I’m trying to remember if I’ve ever seen her this flustered when Luca squeezes into the booth on my other side. He sets two drinks in front of me. One is a shot—tequila, maybe—and the other is an elaborate cocktail with alternating layers of red and pink. The rim is lined with sliced strawberries.
“One to knock the road off”—Luca points at the shot glass—“and another to sip until you smile.” He scrubs his fingers through his hair, his leg warm and solid against mine under the booth. I gulp.Does he realize how fucking cute he is?
I down the shot to hide the fact that, drink or not, he always makes me want to smile, then sip the fruity concoction, smacking my lips as the taste hits my tongue. It’s tarter than I expect, and I take another sip before letting the smile loose.
“You’re pure magic.” I shoot him a flirty wink. Maybe if I can make him squirm again for old time’s sake, I won’t feel out of place in the club anymore.
Except Luca doesn’t squirm. He faces me and leans in close, his distracting lip ring grazing the shell of my ear. “Do you really think so?”
On my other side, Celine laughs. “Is this the way all those conversations at the bar went between the two of you?”
“Why?” Luca aims his scruffy smolder at her. “Is it turning you on, baby?”
Now it’s her turn to squirm.
I take another sip of my drink, enjoying being trapped between their heat. “Get a load of the confidence on thisguy,” I say to Celine. “All it took was getting fired as head bartender, and he’s flirting right and left.”
“I didn’t get fired,” Luca drawls. “But that reminds me. Don’t order anything but beer from Lyss yet. Her skills lie in other areas.”
“Than bartending?” I glance at the brunette behind the bar and snort when the head from the beer she’s pouring overflows the glass and runs down her fingers. “Why hire her?”
“She’ll get better,” Celine hisses. “It’s only her second night, and her boss is too busy flirting to train her properly.”
“That’s true.” Luca shrugs, grinning mischievously at Celine. “But for someone with eight legs, she’s damn clumsy.”
I squint at the bar, as if that will help me see through the solid wood. “How many legs did you say? Is she a fucking?—”
“Spider shifter.”
