I want to stay out here, with you.”
As I did, he coiled a lock of my hair around his finger. “Pretty.”
I unwound the curl. “This isn’t going to happen. You’re drunk.”
He grinned. “Just a little.”
“You’re not going to remember this tomorrow.”
“I thought we had a bonding moment back at the beach.”
“We did. And that’s as far as our bond is going. I’m serious. I’m kicking you out. Go inside.”
“What about my car?”
“I’ll take it home tonight, then bring it by tomorrow afternoon.”
Scott exhaled contentedly and relaxed deeper into his seat. “I want to go inside and chill solo with Jimi Hendrix. Would you tell everyone the party’s over?”
I rolled my eyes. “You just invited sixty people over. I’m not going to go in and tell them it’s called off.”
Scott bent sideways out the door and threw up.
Ugh.
I grabbed the back of his shirt, lugged him inside the car, and gave the Mustang enough gas to roll it forward two feet. Then I engaged the foot brake and swung out. I walked around to Scott’s side and dragged him out of the car by his arms, being careful to avoid planting my foot in the contents of his emptied stomach. He flung his arm over my shoulder, and it was all I could do to keep from collapsing under his weight. “Which apartment?” I asked.
“Thirty-two. Top right.”
The top floor. Of course. Why should I expect to catch a break now?
I dragged Scott up both flights of stairs, panting hard, and staggered through the open door of his apartment, which was alive with the chaos of bodies pulsing and grinding to rap turned up so loud I could feel pieces of my brain shaking loose.
“Bedroom’s at the back,” Scott murmured in my ear.
I pushed him forward through the crowd, opened the door at the end of the hall, and dumped Scott on the bottom mattress of the bunk bed in the corner. There was a small desk in the adjacent corner, a collapsible cloth hamper, a guitar stand, and a few free weights. The walls were aged white and sparsely decorated with a movie poster for
“My room,” Scott said, catching me taking in the surroundings. He patted the mattress beside him. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Good night, Scott.”
I started to pull the door shut when he said, “Can you get me a drink? Water. I got to wash this taste out of my mouth.”
I was antsy to get out of the place but couldn’t help feeling an aggravating tug of sympathy for Scott. If I left now, he’d probably wake tomorrow in a pool of his own vomit. I might as well clean him up and get him some ibuprofen.
The apartment’s tiny U-shaped kitchen looked out on the living-room-turned-dance floor, and after squeezing through the packed-in bodies blocking the kitchen’s entrance, I opened and closed cabinets, hunting for a glass. I found a stack of white plastic cups above the sink, flipped on the tap, and held a cup under the faucet. As I was turning to carry the water back to Scott, my heart jumped. Patch stood several feet away, leaning against the cupboards opposite the refrigerator. He’d separated himself from the crowd, and his ball cap was pulled low, signaling he wasn’t interested in soliciting conversation. His stance was impatient. He glanced at his watch.
Seeing no way to avoid him, aside from climbing over the counter directly into the living room, and feeling I owed him civility—plus, weren’t we both old enough to handle this maturely?—I moistened my lips, which suddenly felt dry as sand, and walked over. “Having fun?”
The hard lines of his face softened into a smile. “I can think of at least one thing I’d rather be doing.”
If that was an innuendo, I was going to ignore it. I boosted myself onto the kitchen counter, legs dangling over the edge. “Staying the whole night?”
“If I have to stay the whole night, shoot me now.”
I spread my hands. “No gun, sorry.”
His smile was bad-boy perfection. “That’s all that’s stopping you?”
“Shooting you wouldn’t kill you,” I pointed out. “One of the downsides of being immortal.”
He nodded, a fierce smile creeping out beneath the shadow of his ball cap. “But you would if you could?”
I hesitated before answering. “I don’t hate you, Patch. Yet.”
“Hate’s not strong enough?” he guessed. “Something deeper?”
I smiled, but not enough to show teeth.
We both seemed to sense that nothing good would come of this conversation, especially not here, and Patch rescued both of us by tipping his head toward the crowd behind us. “And you? Staying long?”
I hopped down off the counter. “Nope. I’m delivering water to Scott, and mouthwash if I can find it, then I’m out of here.”
He caught my elbow. “You’d shoot me, but you’re on your way to nurse Scott’s hangover?”
“Scott didn’t break my heart.”
A couple of beats of silence fell between us, then Patch said in a low voice, “Let’s go.” The way he looked at me told me exactly what he meant. He wanted me to run away with him. To defy the archangels. To ignore that they’d eventually find Patch.
I couldn’t think about what they’d do to him without feeling trapped in ice, cold with fear, and frozen by the sheer horror of it. Patch had never told me what hell would be like. But he knew. And the fact that he wasn’t telling me painted a very vivid, very bleak picture.
I kept my eyes nailed to the living room. “I promised Scott a glass of water.”
“You’re spending a lot of time with a guy I’d call dark, and given my standard, that’s a hard-won title.”
“Takes a dark prince to know one?”
“Glad you’ve hung on to your sense of humor, but I’m serious. Be careful.”
I nodded. “I appreciate your concern, but I know what I’m doing.” I sidestepped Patch and edged through the gyrating bodies in the living room. I had to get away. It was too much standing close to him, feeling that wall of ice so thick and impenetrable. Knowing we both wanted something we couldn’t have, even though what we wanted stood an arm’s reach away.
I’d made it about halfway through the crowd when someone snagged the strap of my cami from behind. I turned back, expecting to find Patch ready to give me more of his opinion, or maybe, more terrifying, throwing caution to the wind to kiss me, but it was Scott, grinning lazily down at me. He brushed my hair off my face and leaned in, sealing my mouth with his. He tasted like mint mouthwash and freshly scrubbed teeth. I started to draw back, then realized, what did I care if Patch saw? I wasn’t doing anything he hadn’t already. I had just as much right to move on as he did. He was using Marcie to fill the void in his heart, and now it was my turn, with Scott.
I slid my hands up Scott’s chest and laced them behind his neck. He took the cue and pulled me in tighter, tracing his hands down the contour of my spine. So this was what it felt like to kiss someone else. While Patch was slow and practiced and took his time, Scott was playfully eager and a little sloppy. It was completely different and new … and not altogether bad.
“My room,” Scott whispered in my ear, lacing his fingers between mine and pulling me toward the hall.
I flicked my gaze to where I’d last seen Patch. Our eyes met. His hand was stiff, cupped at the back of his neck, as if he’d been lost in deep thought and had frozen at the sight of me kissing Scott.
Only, I didn’t feel any better after thinking it. I felt sad and low and dissatisfied. I wasn’t the kind of person who played games or relied on dirty tricks to console myself or boost my self-esteem. But there was still a certain raw pain burning inside me, and because of it, I let Scott guide me down the hall.
