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The man continued to look at Mykie as if she had two heads before he suddenly scoffed. "I'm not going to walk to get my drink. That's ridiculous."
"Then let go of me," Mykie said evenly, no longer polite. What wasridiculouswas continuing to stand there with the man.
"I think the lady has asked you multiple times to let go of her," someone said, sliding from the booth behind Mykie. She looked over her shoulder, recognizing him as the expensive-looking guy from the group outside. Immediately, she was confused. If he was a VIP member of the club, why would he and his friends be so nervous?
Immediately the man dropped Mykie arm, which miffed her slightly. When she askedpolitely, the man didn't let go, but when another man asked, he automatically did? She couldn't help but feel like that was sexist.
She held her arm to her chest, rubbing the spot where the man's meaty fingers previously touched her. She was resisting running and washing her entire arm just to get rid of the prickly feeling that his hand on her skin caused.
"No trouble," the burly man said, holding his hands up.
A hand touched the middle of Mykie's back, causing her to jump.
"You look shaken. Mind if I walk you back to the bar?" The voice said in her ear, making her shiver. Now that she was listening to his voice and his voice only, she caught a sort of southern twang in some of his words. It wasn't often enough to be obvious, but Mykie was used to picking out mixed accents due to how often down-state and New York City people—which felt like an entirely different state than upstate New York—came to visit her city.
She silently nodded, even though the rest of her was screaming for her to refuse and appear stronger than that scene made her out to be.Sheknew what she was capable of, but all this boy knew was that she wasn't keen on throwing a punch in a crowded bar.
His hand was steady on her back as she weaved around the crowd, never letting go of her for a second. It made her feel safer, which was strange in and of itself. She barely knew the boy—not even a name to put to the face—and she believed she was safe with him? Did she learn nothing from being a Cantil?
He removed his hand once they reached the bar, going over to a less crowded side while Mykie went behind the bar. She immediately spotted him out of the people on the other side of the bar from Jezebeth and her fan club.
"Thank you for that," Mykie said, leaning on the bar counter in front of her. "People can be..."
"Idiotic? Piggish?" the boy supplied, and they both laughed.
"That just about sums it up," Mykie said.
"It's the least I could do after you helped me sneak my friend in." He grinned.
“If you’re a VIP, why did you need my help?” she asked, placing a hand on her hip.
“It’s my father’s table, not mine, and I don’t like throwing around my name like him. Besides, I didn’t want him to know that we came here alone. Using your name got him in, but someone recognized me and led us over to the table. My friend is grateful for the attempt at helping, though.”
Mykie shrugged. "It's no big deal. As long as I'm not supplying him with alcohol, I don't see a problem. But," she grinned, "if he justhappenedto be drinking out of someone's glass, who am I to reprimand him? After all, I didn'tsellit to him."
The blond leant forward, mirroring Mykie's pose. "Very sneaky. I like how you think." He tilted his head, looking her over before he seemed to come to a positive conclusion as he smiled again. "I'm Renly."
Mykie smirked, opening her mouth but Jezebeth spoke over her. "Hey, Myk! More tables need drinks," she said, throwing her arms around Mykie's shoulder.
"A fan of Ms. Greenie said you were getting a beer together," Mykie said, pointing over in the direction she came from. She and Renly shared a secretive grin with each together.
Jezebeth followed her finger. She crinkled her nose in disgust, which finally let the floodgates loose in Mykie and she began to laugh.
"Oh, God," Mykie gasped between bouts of laughter. "Your face..."
"You wouldn't like it if someone called you 'Blondie', hmm?" Jezebeth huffed, crossing her arms subconsciously.
Mykie sobered up at her remark. No, she wouldn't like that at all.
"Can you grab the beer he ordered? He was very... insistent that he wanted his drink as fast as possible," Mykie answered.
Jezebeth nodded and went to fetch the drink.
"You were saying?" Mykie asked, focusing on the boy in front of her again.
"I think I was asking for your name," Renly murmured, smirking. "But it's not difficult to put two and two together. You're Mykie, which apparently has some weight around here since it got a nineteen-year-old through the doors of a bar that’s owned by the most well-known gang in the area."
Mykie shrugged, brushing off the inquiry. "Just a little. I'm a model employee, after all."
