Emerald runs her fingernails up Pan’s neck, leaning closer, closer. Tilting his chin, his face, toward hers. Leans in, her own lips parted, until…
…until just at the last minute, he turns, so her slip-shiny kiss lands on the flat of his cheek instead.
“Aww.” Emerald pouts, scooping hair out of her face as she retreats. “No fair. Just let me?—”
“No means no.” The familiar clack of heels rings out against the floor as Treasure, in a gold bodycon and gladiator stilettos to match, swings to greet us.
“What on earth did you do to your hair?”
“What’s it look like? Changed it.” Pan widens his eyes. “Why, do you not like it?”
Treasure looks him dead in the eye, flipping her own cascade of dark high ponytail. “I think it looks dumb as hell.”
Kit softly cracks up. Fox whispers “oh,shiiiit.” Blue says nothing, but smirks.
“Oh yeah?” Pan folds his arms over his chest. “Hey, Emerald!” He catches her eye, then smooths a hand over his head. “You like my hair?”
“Um…yeah!” Emerald chirps from down at the end of the bar.
Pan grins, triumphant, at Treasure. “See?”
Treasure just sighs. “Another round?”
“Yes, please,” Fox pipes up, but Treasure’s already clack-clacking away.
Pan rummages for his phone, studies his reflection in the glossy black of the unlit screen.
“It looks good,” he says, preening.
I snort.
Pan lowers his phone. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, no, no.” Pan hoists a leg up onto the seat of his club chair so he’s half-crouching, and points at me with his almost-empty beer, one eye squinted shut. “I know that snort. That’s aTink’s got an opinionsnort. Don’t act like I can’t read you.”
The skin on my throat goes hot, and I’m glad for the collar of my T-shirt and the fact that the green-blue-green light rotation gives everyone alien coloring and blushes are invisible.
“Just, uh.” I cough, lean my elbows on my knees, and glance at him. “She paused.”
Pan lowers his beer, frowning. “Explain.”
“Before she answered. She paused. To, like, formulate.” I take a sip of my own beer. Shrug.
“Aw, whatever.” Pan scowls.
Now it’s Blue’s turn to snort. His icy eyes dart to the side of the room, to where Sapphire in her long copper curls is lingering, staring.
“Hey, Kit?” A Mermaid sidles up to him, petite with big brown eyes and an iridescent crop-top-and-skirt set that gleams like scales. “Um, I was wondering, do you do cover-ups ever?”
Kit, who’s scrolling through reels on his phone, the screen glinting in his glasses, looks up like he’s startled.
“Yeah, sure, uh?—”
“Pearl,” she tells him.
“Pearl.” He lowers his phone. “What were you thinking?”
