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“Never better!” I answer, an almost maniacal giggle bubbling up from my throat.
I continue pushing through the crowd, Greyson’s hand a steady warmth on my back as he supervises my mission to stay upright. The coolness of the polished wooden bar feels wonderful against the blazing heat of my skin, and I have to resist the urge to lay my cheek on it while we wait for a bartender’s attention.
“So,” Greyson starts, after I’ve bellowed our drinks order over the pulsing beat. “Any ideas for an alternate sponsor?”
I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers and thumb. “Can we not talk about it right now? I told you I wanted to not think for one evening.”
“Sorry, sorry,” he hurriedly responds, holding up his hands like I’ve raised a weapon in his direction. “I just hate seeing you miserable. You know I’m always here if you need anything, right?”
I lift my head, offering him a grateful smile. “I know. You’re a good friend, Grey. Maybe I’ll bounce some ideas off you next week if you have the time.” I twist back to the bar, pulling out my card to pay for our drinks, suddenly very aware of Greyson’s hand still resting on the small of my back. Before I can open my mouth to question him on it, a masked server appears to our side, depositing a fully laden tray of empty glasses on the bar.
Time seems to slow as the precarious cargo nudges the fresh pint sat in front of Greyson, tipping it sideways until the glass topples over completely. I leap out of the way with a yelp, narrowly avoiding the spray of frothy lager. Greyson isn’t so lucky as he reflexively snaps his hand out to catch the glass before it rolls to the floor. The narrow save leaves him right in the splash zone.
“Damn, sorry, dude,” the server mumbles from behind his zombie mask. “Let me get you a rag or something.”
Greyson can only gape at the dark wet patch that’s seeping into his crotch before snapping his gaze up to see the server disappearing into the crowd. Try as I might, I can’t hold back the snorting cackle that bursts from my lips at his baffled expression, not to mention the sorry state of his pants.
“Oh, you think this is funny, do you?” he demands, trying to maintain a stern expression but failing miserably as he huffs his own embarrassed laugh. He shakes his head. “Well, I’m glad my misfortune entertains you.”
“Aw, sorry, Grey. Let me get you another drink.” I bite my lip to stifle another bout of giggles.
“Nah, don’t worry about it. I think I’m gonna call it a night, wet jeans are the worst.” He sighs, looking down again at his soaked crotch before turning to presumably seek out the vanished server. “Get home safe, okay?”
“Will do,” I chirp, giving him an awkward hug while trying to avoid any of the mess seeping into my own clothes. As I watch him leave, I realize the room is starting to spin, the masked faces of staff and patrons alike blurring into a nightmarish kaleidoscope. If I were being smart right now, I’d leave too. But fuck being smart, I figure I have space for at least another two pints before I stumble home. Well, I’ll have that room, right after I empty my straining bladder.
I holler at Luke to come and relieve me of everyone else’s drinks and then clumsily maneuver my way through the dancing masses and towards the restroom. The night is still young, and I’m not yet drunk enough to completely wipe Dominic’s smirking face from my mind.
4
DOMINIC
An Hour Earlier…
The embarrassingly kitsch bar is heaving when I slip inside just a few minutes after Shiloh, and the sea of masks and drunken losers provide excellent cover while I keep an eye on my scantily clad little sister.
I have no excuse to be here. I know what I’m doing is verging on unhinged. But having spent too many monotonous hours parked in a sheltered space down the street from her house, all I can think is that I was a little out of my mind with boredom by the time she strode out of her door. Wrapped in that daring little black outfit and fishnets, it felt like she was practically begging for me to follow.
As soon as the door of The Cauldron swings shut behind me, I swipe up a discarded mask from a nearby table and pull it on. I’ve already abandoned my coat, blazer, and shirt in my car, certain I’ll blend in easier in just a T-shirt and slacks.
Fuck knows what I’d say if she caught me here, in a shitty rubber mask of all things.
My eyes lock onto Shiloh almost immediately, tucked away in a corner with what I presume is her little gaggle of small townfriends. I skirt the room, slowly making my way closer until I can lean against a wooden pillar that stands just behind their table.
My frown steadily deepens until there’s a slight ache forming between my brows as she regales her sob story about what a horrible person I am to her rapt audience. The venom dripping from her every word ignites something primal within me.
Why the hell would she paint me as such a soulless villain in her life story, as if I didn’t endure my own suffering during ouroh-so-sunnychildhood?
But also, there’s a twisted sense of satisfaction brimming with my irritation. It’s clear that I’ve gotten under my little Shy Girl’s skin. In fact, it seems I burrowed under there many years ago and haven’t left.
The anger steadily fades to amusement as she continues on her tirade, her friends nodding in sycophantic agreement. What a sad little clique, drowning their insecurities in cheap beer and indignation at the world that’s too big and scary for them. I almost feel sorry for them.
Almost.
Shiloh can rant and rave all she wants, but she has no idea whatrealtorment feels like. Perhaps it’s time she learned? After all, I consider myself something of a specialist in the field, and what kind of older brother would I be if I didn’t teach my little sis some harsh truths?
I keep to my shadowy corner, the blackened cogs turning in my mind while I watch Shiloh dance with her friends and get more sloppily drunk by the minute. It’s not until one of the guys lays his hands on her that I feel compelled to abandon my post as a silent bystander.
Tracking their movements through the tiny holes in my mask, I almost lose sight of Shiloh and her overly familiar friend as they make their way toward the bar. For some inexplicablereason, the casual hand he’s placed on the small of her back has me choking back a boiling rage.
