Wesley blew out a harsh stream of smoke. “Even if I was—which I’mnot—that would be my problem, not Sebastian’s.”
“Uh-huh,” Rory said again.
Sebastian had pulled the girl in very close. Because it was the tango and that was how it was danced. Wesley cleared his throat. “I have an open tab at the bar. You can put anything you like on it if you bring me back a whiskey neat.”
“Deal.” Rory stood and disappeared.
Wesley brooded through three cigarettes and two songs, and then Rory was back. He set a glass in front of Wesley, then sat down again with his own soda. “I started a tempest in here once ’cause I was jealous.”
“In here?” Wesley raised an eyebrow. “I thought that was at Mr. Zhang’s library.”
Rory flushed. “Yeah, there too, but see, you gave me areasonto be jealous at Zhang’s place,” he added, pointing at him. “But before that, I was in here, and I got jealous just ’cause Ace told me he needed to bring his ex as a guest to a society event. I had the ring relic on and I lost control of the wind: shattered every bottleon the shelf, smashed the glasses, overturned the tables—I think I even broke the drum set.”
Wesley brought the cigarette back to his lips. “Did you really?”
Rory nodded. “Ace never said but I know he footed the bill. I probably wrecked half this place, and all because I heard you were going with him to a wedding.”
“Christ.” Wesley took another drag. “You know, it’s frightfully decent of you to admit all this to me and try to make me feel like less of a fool. You really need to stop being the better man of the two of us.”
Rory huffed a kind of half laugh. “Not a better man. Just sympathetic about what it’s like when half the world wants your fella.”
“He says that as if he isn’t the most adorable creature in this bar,” Arthur said, turning to join their conversation as Jade and Zhang got up and disappeared in the direction of the stage.
“Shut up,” Rory said fondly. “I’m sorry for Fine, all right?”
“Oh God,Brodiganfeels sorry for me.” Wesley exhaled the smoke. “I’ve truly hit a new low.”
“I just don’t blame you,” said Rory. “I mean, that’s one pretty doll Sebastian’s dancing with.”
“Not helpful,” Wesley snapped, just as Arthur said, “Excuse me?”
“Well, she is,” Rory said. “Pretty doll that can dance like that—who wouldn’t be jealous? And now they’re at the bar and he’s buying her a drink.”
Wesley had been leaning forward to tap his cigarette over the ashtray, but at Rory’s comment, his gaze stole, without his permission, over to the bar.
Sure enough, Sebastian and his dance partner were part of the crowd waiting for the bartenders.
Wesley forced his gaze back to the ashtray. Yes, Sebastian was having several dances and now a drink with a pretty girl, but Wesley wasn’t having feelings about it. Wasn’tgreen with envyorfeeling blueor any of the other hyperbolically colorful phrases coined by melodramatic poets with even less emotional control than Rory Brodigan.
“It’s fine,” Wesley said curtly, maybe to Rory, maybe to himself, as he tapped his cigarette. “After all, obviouslyIwould never destroy half a speakeasy over a fit of emotion.”
A sudden commotion made Wesley raise his head. His gaze was drawn to the side of the crowd, where a blond man Arthur’s size was pushing his way toward Sebastian and the young lady. The big man’s face was flushed with anger and too many drinks, like a bull about to make a bad decision.
Wesley was already on his feet when the man grabbed Sebastian by the shoulder—already halfway to the bar and had a full view when the man’s fist connected with Sebastian’s face.
And Wesley saw red.
“Getoffhim.” He was between Sebastian and the angry man so fast he didn’t remember moving. He shoved the blond man backward, hard enough he stumbled and staggered into the watching patrons.
“Who the fuck are you?” The blond man straightened up by pushing off some poor bystander, sending the unlucky fellow crashing into a third man drinking at the bar. “Edith’smygirl.”
“Hey, watch it!” the third man snarled as he sloshedhis own drink all over the bar. Dark liquid ran over the counter’s edge and onto the lap of a woman, who yelped and jumped up from her stool.
“Billy, stop it,” snapped Sebastian’s dance partner, Edith apparently. She was bent over next to Sebastian, who had a hand on his face, smeared with red. Edith was speaking to Sebastian, but Wesley couldn’t hear what she was saying over the ringing in his ears. This shit had made Sebastian bleed.
Two men had grabbed onto the blond man, Billy, in the futile attempt to restrain a giant arsehole fueled by jealousy and alcohol. Wesley shifted his weight, automatically falling into an old fighting stance from the war.
“What’s it to you if I hit that guy?” Billy jeered at Wesley, as he yanked his arms free from the other patrons. “You thinkhe’spretty?” And he came charging back at Wesley with a drunken bellow.
