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She laughs while I spin her upright, and her legs fit around my waist.
Luna bobs on my dick, her fist in the air, and I’m taken back to Scotland for a second. Where we danced just like this together.
Friends.
I don’t even want to be there. I want to be here. Something more than what we were. Something I know we shouldn’t strive for, but I’m just genuinely happy—and I’m not letting her dad take this moment from me.
When I drop Luna to her feet, I spin her a couple times, and we both slip on the wet floor, and we fall to the dirtied ground together. Backs to the hard cement, breathing heavily, our heads are turned to each other. Dyed in neon green light, I think I’ve landed on her planet.
Where I’m at a certain peace.
She leans closer to ask, “What was that song?!”
“You’ve never heard it?!”
She shakes her head.
“Scorpions!” The music changes to a Vitamin C song, and I don’t shout as much. “‘No One Like You.’”
“You like them?”
“Love ‘em. I’ve got a tattoo in tribute.”
“Where?” She frowns, unsure if she’s seen it.
While we’re still lying on the ground—just being stepped over and not stepped on (I’m not letting a single foot step on her)—I unbutton my pants and tug an inch of my boxer-briefs down.
Luna eyes the tail of a scorpion inked in line with my waist. She’s grinning. “You tattooed your dick?”
“It’s not on my dick. Above.”
She keeps smiling. “I wish you could tattoo me again,” she admits.
Me too. A question pushes at me. The night I sleepwalked into the kitchen and made a pretzel house, I thought more about Farrow’s offer of the guest room. I don’t want to scare the rookies of SFO with another episode like that.
And if I’m closer to Luna, maybe I’ll stop sleepwalking altogether.
“Would you be okay with me moving into the penthouse’s guest room?” I ask Luna on the beer-spilt floor of a nightclub, shirtless. “If it’s something that’d make you uncomfortable, I won’t do it.”
Surprise has jumped her brows, but something bright touches her eyes, and I watch her lips lift higher. “Uh-huh, I’m okay with it.” I can’t tell if she’s flushed in the club’s green light. “Orion will be too. He loves you.”
I’m on a high, and I’m about to respond when Korey steps over my foot. With three beer bottles in hand and a cup of vodka Fizz, he towers above us, and Luna freezes.
He chokes on an ill-humored noise. “Slut.” His hand begins to tilt, and without pause, I slide over Luna’s body while he dumps the vodka Fizz onto my back instead of her chest.
I can’t see him. I’m just staring at her wide, frightened eyes.
“We should get out—”
“Donnelly!” Luna screams just as a bottle is smashed against the back of my head. Pain searing.
All hell breaks loose behind me, and I’m not thinking about retaliation. I’m just picking Luna up in my arms as I stand.
“Donnelly, Donnelly.” She’s scared. I hate that she’s scared. It’s just a club fight.
“Watch your feet!” Maximoff yells at Eliot and Tom, maybe. “Luna?!”
“Motherfucker!” Farrow is yelling.
Oscar is yelling. I catch one glimpse of my friends in fistfights with more than just Korey. The club has become a mosh pit of knuckles and sucker-punches. A fight I’d be joining, but I want to help Luna out of here.
“I have her,” Frog takes Luna’s hand. “Go.”
“He’s bleeding,” Luna says.
“Out, out!” Jack shouts, trying to usher Joana away from the mess. “Come on, Jo, please. For me.”
“I literally just knocked a girl unconscious tonight. I can help.”
“Violence isn’t how everything is solved,” he starts when she darts off. “JO! OSCAR, YOUR SISTER!”
“Stay by the amps,” I tell Frog and Luna.
“You’re bleed—” Luna’s voice fades as I push through the crowds. Decking, swinging, and I drag Joana away from two hefty-set men three-times her size as they come at her.
Farrow sees. “HEY!”
Guy turns, Farrow decks him.
Oscar races forward and takes care of the second guy.
Maximoff nails someone who tries to push Eliot, all before Vance Wreath, the SFE bodyguard, registers what’s happened.
“Time to go,” Farrow says swiftly, passing me to reach his husband.
I’m slipping through just as quickly, and I find Luna where I left her. Frog is waiting tensely, and I motion with my head. “Run.”
We’re all running out.
Up the stairs.
“Hey, hey!” a manager shouts at our group. “Names—all of you.”
No one slows. I’m holding Luna’s hand, pretending we came here together. I pretend we’re leaving together, too.
“HEY!” The manager tosses his hands exasperatedly.
On our way out, the bouncer at the entrance just nods to Jack like he knows him. Oscar makes prayer hands at his husband. “I love you.”
We’re all laughing, and as we head to the parked cars on the curb, ignoring a few camera flashes from paparazzi, pain catches up to me.
