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I head for the exit, and as I pass her, she grabs my arm. “In case they’re watching,” she whispers.
I clench my jaw, unable to shake the anger. “I mean it, Callie, don’t call me like that again.” I place my hand behind her head and tug her to me, kissing her hard.
CHAPTER TWO
8 years earlier . . .
TESSA
“So, what happened? Where did you go?” I ask Callie. She looks tired and pale. She disappeared at the party, and I didn’t see her again for the rest of the night. “In case you were worried about leaving me all alone, I was fine. I met some guy called Dante and he drove me home. Thanks for that, by the way, leaving me in a place with a bunch of strangers.”
“Stop acting like a kid,” she snaps. “It’s not always about you, Tess.”
I raise my brows in surprise. “What’s up with you?”
She scrubs her hands over her face. “Nothing,” she mutters. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Everything okay with Jase?”
At the mention of his name, she scowls. “Who’s Dante, anyway?” she asks, changing the subject, and I come to the conclusion she’s been dumped.
I shrug. “He came and sat with me after you left me. We only talked a bit. We were interrupted a million times by either his phone ringing or people stopping to talk to him.”
“Nothing happened between you?”
I scoff. “No, he was way too old for me.” I give a dreamy smile. “But he was so fit.” She smirks. “And he was surprisingly nice,” I add.
* * *
The Barrow Pub is the only place we can drink without being asked for I.D. It’s an old-fashioned place with dark carpets and a landlord who squints like he can’t see a thing. Our friend, Emerson, got us some fake I.D.s a year ago when we turned fifteen. The women in the photographs look nothing like any of us, so we’re wary of trying them out anywhere more upmarket, but it doesn’t seem to matter in this place. “I think we should go down the road to the Duck and Partridge,” says Callie.
Emerson almost spits her vodka and Coke out. “No way, that place is full of dodgy people.”
“And drugs,” I say pointedly, because I didn’t raise the issue of her snorting coke at that party, but I need her to know I haven’t forgotten and I won’t let it go.
“But this place is dead, like the people in it.”
I look around at the old men supping their Guinness. “We’ll never get served in there,” I point out. “This bar is safe. They never question us.”
“We can try,” mutters Callie, grabbing her jacket. “I’m sick of this place.”
* * *
The doorman at the Duck and Partridge eyes us suspiciously and stares down at our I.D.s. “This isn’t you,” he says, glancing back and forth between the photograph and me. “What’s your date of birth again?”
An arm snakes around my shoulder. “Leave it out, Jonny, they’re with me.” I glance up at Jase, and he grins back at me.
The doorman sighs heavily, handing us our I.D.s back. “I ain’t taking the blame if Dante kicks off,” he mutters, opening the door for us to enter.
“Stick with me, ladies,” says Jase, waltzing inside like he owns the place. I catch Callie’s expression. She looks worried, but when she catches me watching her, she forces a smile.
Inside, the place is heaving. Emerson hooks her arm in mine. “If my dad finds out I’ve been in here, he’ll go mad.”
There’s space towards the back of the bar, but as we make our way there, I spot Dante and the men he was with at the party. I have no idea if he’ll recognise me, so I stick with Jase and the girls. Jase passes us each a drink from the bar and then throws his arm around Callie. “You’ve been avoiding me, gorgeous,” he says, kissing the side of her head.
“Jase.” We look to the source of the voice. It’s one of the men from Dante’s group.
“Enzo,” Jase mutters, removing his arm from Callie. “I didn’t know you’d be in here.”
