Page 7

I scoop a bite of gumbo, a mix of rice, broth, and pieces of shredded chicken before pushing the bowl away. My glass is empty too. I stare at it for a beat before my eyes rise to the bartender. His back is turned, and he busies himself helping others. I should probably go home and shower the glitter off my skin. I could sleep until my body forgets what it feels like to stand for hours on end, using magic to keep the place running. Yet, my thighs won't stop jolting, creating a beat to the music of my feet against the bar. Restless energy pools inside of me. Work will wait for no one. At seven in the evening, roughly eleven plus hours from now, my ass better be at Midnight Embers, or Nyx will come find me.

I twirl my shot glass, staring at the drops of liquor left. I don't move to leave, though. Instead, I twirl the coils on the top of my head, glancing at the mirror. Magic keeps those bitches looking tight; otherwise, my shit would look like a snowball. Out of nowhere, my ears vibrate, ringing uncontrollably. Magic courses through my body, reacting to the familiar sensation of a supernatural being clashing into me. However, only one supernatural creature does this.

"Shit," I hiss, slamming my eyes toward the front door.

From my perch against the bar, I hide in the shadows. My jaw unlocks as Mr. Jackass himself steps into the bar. The air shifts, a change so specific and well-known to my system it crawls along my back. Unlike usual, he's wearing jeans and a short-sleeved black T-shirt. It doesn't stick to him like his dance clothes. His warm brown skin glows under the changing lights. His brown locs hang past his shoulder blades, loose and heavy. His brown eyes catch the dim bar light and flash, flickering between human and gargoyle. A group of people hollers his name, waving him over to the other side of the club. He looks in their direction, eyes growing wide while a slight grin takes over his face from the doorway. Ekon doesn't move right away. Instead, he scans the area, locking his eyes right on me. The grin on his face grows, blooming into a small smile. The people here for him yell his name, and he extends a finger, motioning for them to wait. With swagger, he marches over to me, standing by my side in seconds. Cold fingertips ghost along the back of my neck, throwing my brain into overdrive. My heart skitters, skipping a beat the closer he comes. My throat tightens, tensing until I can barely swallow.

Turning in his direction, I glance at his body. "Maverick," I state, trying to avoid his gaze. My eyes land on his shoulder, which jerks when I use his stage name.

"Yue," he whispers my name over the music, making the hair on my arms stand up. "Drinking tonight... with a bit of gumbo. I didn't think you were the type."

My eyes roll, breaking whatever hold he has on me. If this man would just shut up, he could likely get my pussy. "You don't know me well enough to think about me."

"Don't I, though?" he asks, flirting smoother than any man I've ever seen.

"Can I help you?"

"Look at me," he demands.

I shove a spoonful of food into my mouth, chewing slowly all while avoiding his eyes. I can't taste a fucking thing. For all I know, I could be eating a plate full of worms. Ekon's hand brushes the back of my chair, fingers ghosting over my flesh as he caresses the iron pieces of the stool. Goosebumps spring from my flesh, covering my skin. My pulse kicks up, and my thighs press together under the bar. I continue to chew, mouth working even though everything in it is fucking mush. The stool next to me glides against the floor loudly, scraping my ears. Ekon climbs into it, feet hitting the ground as mine swing from side to side on my seat.

"How about some company?" he ponders.

"How about not?" I ask, lifting a shot to my lips. "Don't you have somewhere to be? A mirror to admire yourself in? A flock of women to disappoint?"

Ekon's eyes drill into my frame, sending heat all over my body. "You're funny as hell. Like I could ever disappoint a woman, Yue," he starts before waving to the bartender. "What are you drinking?"

"None of your damn business," I reply.

The bartender brings over a few shots of bourbon.

Ekon sets a pile of cash on the counter and hikes a thumb in my direction. "I'll cover her meal and her drinks."

The bartender frowns. "She already cashed out."

Ekon nods. "Refund her." He taps the bar top, and he pushes over the mound of cash.

I lift my drink to my lips, taking back the shot. While I can't stand Ekon, I know when to shut the hell up. This is one of those moments. The two of us sit in silence for a beat.

"What are you doing here?" he ponders.

I don't answer him, but that isn't a deterrent.

"I didn't know you'd be here. Thought you'd be home, knitting or whatever it is you do when you're not giving me dirty looks."

A snort escapes my mouth. "I don't knit." I pause, finally looking at his face. My sternum pops, and my left side jerks, but I don't stop looking at him. Art should be praised and seen. While I'm not in the habit of praising men, this works too. "You look tired. You should sleep."

"I don't want to go home. I want to sit here and bother you."

At least he's honest.

"That dress," he begins, tongue moving in his mouth like he's speaking carefully, "is doing a fucking lot."

I raise an eyebrow.

"You got a little lace situation happening back there."

"Are you staring at my ass?"