Page 119

Monica clocked his disappointment too, and I could feel her practically vibrating beside me, trying not to laugh. I wished I could say our interaction ended there, but as always, Luke had to take it a step further.

“Hailey and I have been spending a lot of time together.”

Before I could respond, his arm tightened around Hailey. He dipped down and started aggressively kissing her in front of us. It wasn’t romantic. It was the kind of kiss people did when they desperately wanted witnesses.

Monica and I stared blankly. She leaned toward me. “I don’t know, girl. I think your feelings are supposed to be hurt.”

I leaned closer. “I think he’s trying to unhinge that girl’s jaw.”

Monica nearly doubled over laughing. Luke finally pulled away and glanced at me, expecting something. I blinked once, then looked directly at Hailey. “Girl, blink twice if you need help.”

Monica lost it, and Hailey accidentally snorted. Luke’s expression darkened, and they were gone as fast as they’d appeared.

“If desperate were a person,” Monica laughed.

“No shit,” I agreed.

The beat transitioned suddenly. It was slower, darker, and the entire crowd screamed as ArKane lifted the microphone.

“I see you, Vera.”

The voice rolled through the warehouse, low, distorted, and haunting enough to raise goosebumps on your arms. Monica shoved me and I stumbled.

“What?”

“Girl! You’ve been holding out on me!”

“What do you mean?”

“ArKane your sneaky link or something? That hockey man ain’t gonna like that,” she stated, shaking her head.

My face pinched in disgust. “Ew!”

“Ew? That man is hot as fuck!”

I shook my head. “Not a man,” I corrected.

“Hm. I didn’t know you got down like that, and also you saying ew like that might get you canceled.”

I laughed. “There’s a reason for that.”

I grabbed her hand and pulled her deeper into the crowd toward the stage where ArKane had been performing for nearly an hour. The energy near the front was completely different—wild, addictive, frenetic, and the chances of you getting injured increased significantly.

Onstage, ArKane moved behind the DJ booth like she owned it. She was tall and muscled in that lean, feminine way that made tank tops and crop tops look unfair. Her tattooed arms flexed every time she adjusted the controls. Black cargo pants hung low on her hips, exposing a well-defined six-pack. A mask hid the upper half of her face, making her somehow more intimidating beneath the flashing red lights.

ArKane pointed directly toward us.

“She’s so annoying. Come on.”

“Come on, where? To the parking lot?”

“To the stage.”

“Why?”

“Because if I ignore her, she’ll get worse.”

“Harpo, who dis woman?”