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But I use her words as an excuse to get out of this thing. Besides my mood, something in my gut tells me tonight won’t end well. “Well, since they’re here, this doesn’t count either, so I can just go home and go to bed, right?” I laugh, trying to make it seem like a joke.
I fail. Not only do Lily and Ashleigh scowl, but my dad’s watchful eyes narrow, and his brows dip. And just like that, all the time I spent the other evening convincing him I was okay unravels.
“No such luck, kid.” Uncle Henry stands and wraps his arm around my shoulders. He plants a kiss on my temple, then tugs my hair as if I’m still a little kid. “Liam and I are meeting up with Dane for new ink.”
I wouldmuchrather do that.
He lets go of me and grabs Ash. “And the only slutty depravity that happens better be at home, or I’ll make sure you can’t walk for a week.”
She bats her lashes at him. “Promise?”
“Ew. I just threw up in my mouth.” They laugh, but I’m not joking. “God, why did both of you have to go after my friends?”
I snap my mouth shut. I’m struggling with my filter today. Uncle H chuckles, thankfully missing my bitchiness. “Technically, they were ours first, kiddo.”
Cue the insecurities. All the ones that scream Ashleigh and Lily are only my friends because of my uncle and my dad. My lids slam shut, and I push the nonsense away, trying to remind myself that Dad and Uncle H met them first, but Lily and Ashleigh chose to be my friend. They knew their relationships weren’t dependent on me.
But my mother’s voice still niggles at my brain.
They chose me. They. Chose. Me.
When my eyes open, my dad’s blue gaze is locked on mine, worry creasing his eyes.
Jesus, I keep making everything worse. I knew I should’ve gone home.
Dad stands, kisses Lily, then grabs my hand, pulling me away from the group. He grips my face, tilting it toward his. His eyes search mine, the worrying furrowing deeper between his brows. “Talk to me.”
I place my hands over his. “I’m okay, Dad. Just having an off day.”
I can tell he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. His lips press to my forehead. “Love you, Casey bear,” he whispers, his voice cracking a bit. “My office for lunch Monday.”
“I remember.”
Then they leave, and when I rejoin my friends, I swallow hard at their matching smirks.
Time for the inquisition.
Graham
Regret. So much of it digs beneath my skin as my car pulls to the curb of the club with the neon purple sign as rain pellets the roof of the car. As if the name alone wasn’t enough to relay the message, it gives visuals of… Well, I suppose it’s supposed to look like drops of water, but given the name and the imagery, that is not where my mind went.
Then again, maybe it’s just been too long since I got laid. Iknowit has, butIcan’t help it if no one has done it for me in a while. Just imagining her face stopped working a while ago. No, now my dick wants the real thing.
After my driver/bodyguard/right-hand man comes around with an umbrella, I open the car door and step out just as my brother appears with the hood of his jacket over his head. I will never know how he can stand riding that bike in a downpour, much less do it without killing himself.
When we walk through the entrance, my disdain deepens. Disgust curls my mouth as I take in the purple and green that’s… everywhere. From the lights strobing the place to the purple and green booths and tables. The Joker must’ve been their decorator.
And it appears clothing for women is optional. Actually, it seems skin is mandatory. Not that I’m opposed to seeing the female body, but none of these women are the one I want to see.
I never should’ve agreed to let Jagger pick the place, butI thought my emo brother would choose somewhere darker, quieter—less acid trip, and more benzos. A comic book strip club masquerading as a dance club was the last thing I expected.
He jerks his head for me to follow him. We shove our way through the crowd, dodging groping hands and fending off forward women until we pause at the bar. He turns to the bartender, orders a whiskey, neat, then nods at me to place my order. I gesture for the same.
The bartender slides us our drinks, and my brother pays. He thinks he’s slick, but I see the four one-hundred-dollar bills mixed in with the two twenties. I also see the hand slide, masked as a handshake. I’m about to call his ass out, but he looks over my shoulder and nods. “Liam.”
My eyes close as stagnant air inflates my lungs while I pray for patience. A deep rumble works its way up my chest. Somehow, I choke it down just as I turn around and spot Liam and his best friend, Henry Weston, walking our way.
When he spots me, his smile morphs into a frown, probably mimicking my own. He extends his hand to Jagger while Henry reaches for mine. “I assume she called you,” Liam says to my brother, pretending I’m not standing there. I don’t care. I’d prefer he wasn’t standing here, either. At least any concerns I had about Liam being resentful toward my brother are put to rest. It’s reassuring since Jagger works under Liam at Sin Records.
