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I don’t know whether to keep dancing, get a drink, or leave.
I settle on getting a drink. I push my way over to the bar and order a beer. There’s no stool available but I catch a guy getting up so I dash over and grab it.
The bartender hands me my drink, and I down it like I’ve been stuck in a desert and it’s the only drink I could find. I motion for another.
Fuck Jace.
The bartender replaces my drink and I sip at this one slower—and by slower, I mean it takes me a full five minutes to drink it and not one.
“Did you break up with someone?” the guy beside me asks, his drink halfway to his lips. He looks as miserable as me.
“Something like that,” I mutter.
“Feelings fucking suck,” he grumbles. “Cage.” He holds out a hand.
“What about a cage?” I ask, taking his hand.
He chuckles. “No, that’s my name. Cage.”
“Oh, I’m Nova,” I say.
“Nova,” I hear an angry growl behind me and turn to see Jace with a stormy expression. He looks like he wants to rip poor Cage’s arms off. Cage could probably take him, though. He looks like he’s tall, even sitting down, and he’s muscular.
“Cage,” I drawl his name. “This is Jace—he likes me but he won’t admit it.” I hiccup. Fucking beer. “So, he probably just went and fucked someone in the bathroom, or even better in the back alley, all because he’s my friend and he won’t touch me.”
“Nova,” he warns.
I turn to him. “You don’t have to say it. I’m not stupid. I know you won’t touch me because we’re friends.” I spin on the stool. “It’s okay. I’m sure Cage would be happy to fuck me if I asked him to.”
“Don’t fucking touch her.” Jace glowers at Cage, pointing at him in warning.
Cage raises his hands in defense. “Fuck, I was just making conversation with her. I didn’t mean to get into something.”
He quickly abandons the stool like his ass is on fire.
“Thanks a lot, Cage!” I yell after him.
“We’re going,” Jace says, his voice gruff with irritation.
“I still have more to drink.” I lift my beer by the neck and wiggle it so the liquid inside sloshes.
“Leave it.” He pulls out his wallet and slaps some bills on the counter to cover my tab.
“I can pay for my own drinks. This is the twentieth century.”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s the twenty-first century, Nova. How many drinks have you had?”
“Um …” I count. “Three. Four?” I hold up five fingers. “I don’t know.”
Jace covers his face with his hands and mutters something. When his hands fall, he has a determined look in his eyes.
I squeak when he picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder like I’m a sack of potatoes. I feel slightly disoriented and my stomach churns.
Please do not throw up.
“Put me down,” I plead as he carries me out of the club.
He ignores me or maybe he doesn’t hear me—which is possible with as loud as it is in here and seeing as how I’m basically speaking to his knees.
