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It’s that desire that has me leaning into Lizzie. I can have fun tonight. I’ll make myself have fun tonight, even if it kills me. I don’t have a death wish, normally, but nothing’s normal on April twenty-third. Not anymore.
“Maybe I’ll take her home instead of roping her in for you.” I grin up at Lizzie. “Want to make it a wager?”
She studies me with her eerie dark eyes. “Are you drunk?”
“No. Probably not. Okay, maybe a little.” I’m just being sentimental and letting it get the best of me. Not that Lizzie would know that yesterday was my birthday or that today marks Bunny being gone seven years. That’s not the kind of relationship we have. What we have can’t even be called a relationship. It’s a … what do my mortal peers call it? A situationship.
“If you’re not drunk, then what’s wrong with you? You never act like this.”
If I were a different person, if we were different people, this would be the turning point for us. I would confess why I’m so down, and she’d do something to comfort me. That’s the stuff of romantic movies, though. Not real life. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Evelyn.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.” I lift my hand to flag down the bartender for another shot, but Lizzie catches my wrist. “Don’t bother. We’re leaving.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not in the habit of repeating myself.” She drops a wad of money on the bar and drags me toward the door. She’s moving fast enough that I can barely keep my feet. I catch sight of the woman at the end of the bar and her disappointed look, and then we’re at the door. No one moves to help me, though I’m not exactly in danger.
At least, I don’t think I am?
“Lizzie?” I almost knock my hip into one of the tables, but somehow Lizzie senses it and jerks me to the side at the last moment. I hiss out a breath. “Where’s the fire?”
“You’re walking wounded right now. Every predator in that building was about to come sniffing.”
I blink, but my response is lost as she hauls me through the door and the cold nighttime air slaps me in the face. It should sober me right up, but somehow it makes me realize exactly how drunk I am. I weave on my feet and jerk my arm out of Lizzie’s grasp. Or I try. All I get for my trouble is what will probably be an outstanding bruise tomorrow. “Let go.”
She ignores me. “If I put you in a cab, are you going to go home and sleep this off?”
Ten minutes ago, that’s all I wanted to do. Now, I dig in my heels, buoyed on by the promise tequila whispers through my blood of a good night that couldn’t possibly end in ruin. “It’s early.”
“Evelyn.”
“Lizzie.” I mimic her tone. “You wanted the pretty lady. Let’s go get her.”
“I’m not in the mood to babysit a melancholy drunk.”
“That’s rude. I’m not melancholy. Melancholy is for poets and people writing the Next Great American Novel. I’m happy. Fun. A riotous good time.”
“Mmm.” We reach the curb and she lifts her hand, I’m assuming to flag down a cab. But the car that pulls up is dark and without a single identifying thing on it. I’m not even sure of the make and model.
I peer at it. “Is this one of those expensive black-car experiences? Because I might pay my bills just fine, but I do that by not wasting money on shit like this. It’s ostentatious, Lizzie. Honestly, just wasteful.”
She looks at me, and I could almost swear I see her considering whether or not to rip my throat out and just be done with this mess. She finally shakes her head. “Get in the car, Evelyn, or I will make you get in the car.”
“If you—”
Apparently we’ve reached the end of Lizzie’s patience. She pulls a move that I might be impressed with if I weren’t so damn irritated, jerking me forward with one hand and grabbing me by the back of the neck at the same time that she opens the door. I barely have the opportunity to curse when she’s shoving me into the back seat.
“Stop treating me like I’m a threat!”
“You’re not a threat. You’re a liability.” She slides in behind me and slams the door. I reach for the handle of the other door, but the car pulls away from the curb fast enough to throw me back against the seat.
She just … She honestly just … I spin around and look at the driver. A quick scan—it’s rude, but I don’t care—tells me they’re a vampire. Damn it. I lean forward and knock on the back of the driver’s seat. “Excuse me, I’m being kidnapped.”
Lizzie rolls her eyes. “You’re not being kidnapped. I’m saving you from yourself. You’re welcome.”
“No, I’m definitely being kidnapped. Stop the car.”
