Page 48 of Top Shelf

Cautiously, I bring the cup to my nose and inhale. I’m met with the warm, creamy smell of honey and cinnamon.Who the hell knows my coffee order?

I glance once more around the room, properly taking in the faces of the other students, but still, no one seems to be paying me any attention. Everyone’s focused on what the professor is saying at the front of the room.

I know better than to accept a drink when I don’t know who gave it to me or why, so I set it back down, untouched, even as my taste buds crave a sip, and my fried brain cries out for caffeine.

For the next hour, I repeatedly glance back at the coffee cup, wondering who is paying close enough attention to know my class schedule and coffee order.

Only three names come to mind.

I already have a bunch of unread text messages from Lucian on my phone, and emails from Ronan with ideas for the youth charity event. And now this?

I already told these overbearing assholes to leave me the hell alone.

Looks like I’m going to have to tell them again.

12

WREN

Even though itis a Wednesday night, the Crooked Crown is buzzing.

Shoulders brush mine every time I turn. Glasses clink. Laughter climbs too loudly above the music. It’s Valehurst’s midweek version of hell, but the guys who come in for trivia night treat it like a Friday, and my legs ache from the constant motion.

I weave between tables, balancing a tray with three draft beers, ignoring the feeling of spilled vodka sticking to the soles of my sneakers. There’s a shout near the pool tables, another order barked across the bar, but I tune it out.

“One Wicked Harlot and two Wild Monarchs,” I announce, delivering the drinks with practiced ease, and only half-listening to the cheers that erupt from the group crowded around the score sheet.

“Careful,” I add dryly, “the Harlot goes straight to your head.”

That earns a round of laughter, and I flash a quick smile before wiping condensation from my fingers and stepping back from the table.

I turn, scanning the tables for any empty glasses I can clear—then pause.

My gaze lifts, past the trivia crowd, beyond the noise and flashing neon, to the darker stretch of the room near the back. That’s when I see him.

Silas.

Hoodie up. Shoulders hunched. Silent as a shadow.

His eyes are on the room, not on me, but I feel the jolt of recognition deep in my gut all the same. My stomach pulls tight. Without really knowing anything about him, I know this isn’t his scene, so why is he here?

Inadvertently, I take a step toward him, but Reid calls my name from behind the bar, and I stop. Glancing over my shoulder, he gestures to the trays of drinks needing to be distributed that are piling up along the bar top.

Shaking my head, I turn my back on Silas and maneuver my way over. Stella appears as I duck behind the bar.

“Hey,” I say, getting her attention. “That guy in the corner of the room.” I gesture with my head toward where Silas is sitting. “Have you seen him here before?” At twenty-three, Stella has been working full-time at The Crooked Crown since she was eighteen, so she knows practically everyone in the place.

Her gaze tracks to where I’m indicating. “Once or twice. Always orders the same thing—pint of Crimson Reign. Doesn’t say much and keeps to himself.” She shrugs, casting a quick glance over my face. “Why?”

“No reason. He’s a student at Valehurst; was just wondering if he came in often.”

She shakes her head. “Hadn’t noticed him until this year.”

Over the next hour, I cast looks Silas’s way. Every time I do, he’s in the same position, tucked away at the back of the room, with a notepad and pen before him and something in hishand that he repeatedly plays with—a coin or token of some sort.

Until one time I look up and…he’s gone.

Panic flares low in my stomach. I scan the crowd, twisting, rising on my toes, trying to catch another glimpse of him. Nothing. I throw a glance in Stella’s direction before I blurt out, “Bathroom. Two minutes!” Then I duck under the service counter and hurry toward the exit.