“So you’re not going to hit anyone tonight?”
Grayson opened his mouth, then hesitated. “I probably shouldn’t make that promise.”
Rocky sighed. “Then you better watch your man.”
“I’m gonna watch himrealclose,” Grayson promised.
Rocky let him inside, and Grayson climbed the stairs up to the second floor. The music was loud and the crowd thick: Alot of folkshadshown up after the Macys’ deaths. Even folks who didn’t know about corrupted empaths couldn’t be missing the sheer number of empathy-related murders that kept happening in Seattle.
He scanned the crowd, checking the dance floor and every table for any sign of Reece. Fake empaths in gloves were all over the place, all of them about Reece’s height and build and dressed in costumes of various kinds. Reece could be in disguise, blend in perfectly and have a whole crowd of potential thralls; he’d definitely known what he was doing when he picked this meeting place, and Grayson might’ve underestimated him yet again.
In his pocket, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out and read the text on-screen.
Reece:Marco
Grayson looked up. At the far end of the club, three bartenders in fake empath gloves were making drinks behind the marble-topped bar: Ben Castillo, his complicated hair partially hidden by a plush hat with moving ears; a short woman with tattoos and a top hat, chatting with two other women; and a third bartender in a domino mask and familiar black bunny ears, looking straight at Grayson.
As Grayson approached, Reece leaned on the bar. “You’re supposed to sayPolo.”
“Pardon?”
“You know. When you’re seeking someone you can’t see, you sayMarcoand they call backPolo.” Reece rested his chin on one fake-gloved hand, all innocence. “Didn’t you ever play that game in the pool?”
Grayson slipped into the empty stool right in front of Reece. “I thought we weren’tplaying.” He leaned on the bar too. “Afterall, you picked a meeting spot where every hapless clubgoer is your hostage.”
Reece had already shifted backwards before their arms came anywhere near each other. “I didn’t have to meet with you at all.”
That was true. Reece could have told Grayson to fuck off with his ask; he looked on the verge of doing it now. Grayson nodded at the bottles stacked on glass shelves behind Reece. “Since when do you bartend?”
“I wanted a bar between us. For obvious reasons. Ben is pretending to be an empath; he was willing to let me pretend too.” Reece shrugged lightly. “I mean, I could havemadehim willing. But it hasn’t come to that yet.”
The mask only covered from his eyebrows to the bridge of his nose. Grayson could just make out his eyes behind the cutouts. In the dim lighting, they appeared almost glittery black, as they had that one night in the truck, when Reece’s empathy had danced free between them.
“It better not come to that ever—” Grayson paused as an out of place but unmistakable scent rose above the other club smells. “Did you use my shampoo?”
Reece scoffed a little too dramatically. “Don’t be stupid.”
“That’s not a no.”
“Not everything is about yourhair—”
“Hey, it’s your hot, scary boyfriend!” Ben’s cheerful voice broke through their conversation. He grinned at Grayson. “Evan, right? Thanks for helping Cookie.”
“Cookie?” Reece repeated.
Ben pointed at one of the fake empath waiters, who was wearing a halo on a headband, white feathered wings and not much else. “He was the one who suddenly went to Australia the night Senator Hathaway died. Your boyfriend had promised me he’d check on him. Turned out the job he’d been offered was fake, but Evan bought him a ticket back, and he came home safe andsound.” Ben glanced between them. “Did you guys not talk about that?”
“We’re overdue for a lot of conversations, don’t you think, sugar?” Grayson said, gaze darting to Reece, who narrowed his eyes.
Ben grinned. “Is Reece getting your drink?”
“Sure am,” Reece said, eyes still narrowed. “One Shirley Temple, coming up.”
“Ben!” the third bartender called.
Ben gave them a rueful smile and headed back down the bar.
Grayson unzipped his coat, gaze still on Reece, on the club’s lights dancing over his profile and the overgrown dark hair disheveled around the base of the bunny ears. His lips had a faint sheen to them, like he’d been drinking a Shirley Temple of his own. Their stolen moments in the truck had ended when their lips met and his touch had knocked Reece out, but the memory lingered; Reece’s kiss was one you didn’t forget.
