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“Yes!” Bram bellowed. “But which? Paradiso? Escape, or—”
“Escape,” I said immediately. “Escape.”
“Noah wants Escape,” Schuyler cried. “Let’s help him escape!”
Ilsa linked arms with me, and they led me out of the café on a cloud of pot, laughter, and maybe even a little bit of danger. I felt it, lurking just beneath the surface, but hadn’t the faculties or the energy to investigate. Over the last month, my instincts had become a fifth sense, drawing me away from situations—or dark alleys—I could feel but not see. But these four moved too fast, and I was caught up with them like a swimmer tossed by a wave—helpless to do more than tumble along until it let up. And God help me, the part of me that had craved danger, that had sought it like a drug,enjoyedthis. The rush. The lightning that skimmed along my nerves was a million times more potent than the pot.
We scarfed down broodje sandwiches from a sidewalk café, and then the gang took me to Club Escape in Bram’s car. I thought it must have been much too early for a nightclub, but before the loud, pulsing music swamped me, my watch told me it was close to nine p.m.
“You have a talking watch?” Ilsa shouted in my ear. “Super cool!”
My sluggish and sound-drowned brain couldn’t come up with a response, but it didn’t matter anyway. Ilsa tried to drag me to the dance floor, but I refused. I was high but not so stoned out of my mind that I was about to dance in front of anyone.
I resisted the tug of her small but strong hands. “I wanna sit. Smoke.”
The music was too loud, and the place was packed with bodies. Too many people. If there was a fire or some other emergency, I’d be done for.
That’s just the pot making you paranoid. You’re safe.
That didn’t feel entirely true. Not by a long shot. But, fuck it all. I was tired of the routine, the regimen that I’d prescribed myself. I was going to go where the night took me and suffer the consequences later. My biggest threat, my stupid, cloudy mind reasoned, was keeping Ilsa’s grabby hands off me without pissing her off.
“Where are you staying, Noah?” James asked.
“In the red-light district,” Schuyler said. “All American tourists stay there. Get high. Get some girls, ja?”
“No. I’m at the Sir Albert.”
A silence and then, “The Sir Albert? Ooh la la.” Schuyler laughed. “Are you a prince? Noah, here, is American royalty. Prince Noah!”
“No, man. I wish. I’m just there for one night,” I said, cursing my loose tongue.
New rule: Don’t advertise you have money while being blind as a goddamn bat.
“I’m splurging for one night,” I said again.
“Sure, sure,” Schuyler snickered. “Just for one night.”
Inwardly, I cursed myself. I felt them assessing my leather jacket, my watch, my sunglasses—a designer brand Ava bought for me.
Prince Noah?asked the snide commentator who had taken up residence in my mind.Prepare yourself, Highness. You’re about to get royally fucked.
I listened to them chat in Dutch—even James, the Brit, could speak it—and, sure enough, I could feel the air between us change. It grew colder somehow. Eventually, the gang decided it was time to bail, and I was hustled into Bram’s car and wedged in the backseat between Ilsa and James.
“I think it’s time I called it a night,” I said.
“No, my man, we’re going to a party at my place,” Bram said from the driver seat. “Canal views,” he added with a dark laugh. “You will love.”
“I’m sure,” I muttered, trying to think how to get out of this predicament with all my body parts intact. But the pot had slowed me down, and Ilsa was all over me. She had turned sideways to press her breasts against my shoulder while her hand ventured up my leg.
I caught her wrist and held it. “I have a girlfriend,” I said harshly. “This is not going to happen.”
“What isthis?” Ilsa whined and then laughed. “Thisis nothing but a little fun, ja? A fuck in the truck!”
“No.” I pitched my voice to the front of the car. “Bram. Pull over. I’ll get back on my own.”
He didn’t reply, and Ilsa had nothing more to say to me, apparently, but she had plenty to say in Dutch. The four of them talked all around me, and they weren’t laughing anymore.
You’re a fucking idiot,I told myself, but of course it was too late for that little revelation.
