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My mouth is parted, frozen.
His lips move from within his neatly trimmed beard, tracing the edges of my name.Skyler.
Not Sky, like everyone here knows me as.
But Skyler.
I stumble back. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, not even sure who I’m saying it to.
I can feel everyone staring at me—at us.
He must sense it too—he has to—yet he only has eyes for me. Big, confused, shocked eyes. Like he can’t wrap his head around what he’s seeing.
“Is there a problem over here?” Raúl says gruffly. I didn’t notice his approach.
Fuck. I’m making a scene.
“No, I don’t—”
“What just happ—”
“Bumped…accident—”
All these voices clamor. It’s too much. I shake my head, and force words out. “My fault. Accident. Um, I need—” My voice hitches, throat squeezing.
Nolan’s face is still frozen.
I can’t do this.
Whirling around, I storm around the stage, making a beeline for the back rooms.
Micah’s eyes are wide on me from behind the bar. The music’s still playing, and in my periphery I notice Dana is still doing her routine, unfazed by what’s going on the floor. I don’t dare look at the other patrons to see if they’re staring.
Micah opens his mouth to say something, but there’s a clatter behind me—more rushed apologies, then heavy, quick footfalls—and his eyes snap to over my shoulder, widening.
Nolan draws near like a lion about to pounce on his prey. The little hairs all over my body are standing straight up. My breaths coming in and out choppy and rapid-fast.
Micah’s gaze cuts to mine, round with worry, and all I can do is shake my head, tears burning the back of my eyes.
Ducking my head, I veer right, clench my fists at my sides, bolting for the swinging doors leading to the hallway where customers get their private shows.
Still hot on my heels, I’m not surprised when Raúl seems to step seemingly out of nowhere—I swear this guy can teleport—intercepting him as soon as I reach the door.
“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to—”
“Skyler,” Nolan chokes out.
I freeze, palm flat against the door, ready to push it open. My eyes slide shut. I can feel my body trembling.
Raúl’s talking again, and I’m vaguely aware of the tension rising, feeding my own anxiety.
“…what’s going on, but this area is for—”
“It’s okay,” I rasp. Turning my head over my shoulder, I meet Raúl’s gaze and quickly drop it to somewhere on his chest. “I know him. It’s okay.”
Raúl says nothing, and I can practically feel Nolan’s restraint about to snap.
So not thinking, I reach over, grabbing him by the forearm, and drag him over to me.
