Chapter 19 #2
April laughs, playfully punching my arm, and I can’t help the smile that tugs at my own lips. We both drink in comfortable silence for a few more seconds before April speaks up again.
“Hol?”
“Yes?”
“Can I tell you something else too? But you have to promise to keep it a secret.”
“Are you pregnant?”
Her eyes go wide. “God, no!” She looks around and shifts closer, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I have drugs in my purse.”
I’m pretty sure I spit out my drink. “What?”
“Edibles,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows that are half-hidden by her bangs. “Do you want to take one with me?”
She stands and grabs her purse from behind the chair. She opens the flap, revealing a plastic baggie FULL of colorful gummy bears.
My eyes bug out. “Where the fuck did you manage to get an entire bag full of gummies?”
But before she can respond, someone grabs her from behind, spinning her around in a sudden hug.
Shrieks and laughter. She smacks her fiancé’s shoulder. “Parker! Let me down, you fool!”
Parker grins as he gently sets her back on her feet and turns her to face him, keeping his hands on her waist the entire time. “I’ve missed you, Chère.”
He kisses her and April’s cheeks turn a deep shade of pink, both of them smiling and giggling like a couple of overly hormonal college kids. When they finally pull apart, Parker repeats, his voice softer this time, “I’ve missed you, Chère. Did you miss me too?”
April’s face is bright red now. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you love it.” Parker pulls her closer, his grin widening.
I roll my eyes, taking a long sip of my martini. If this is what they’re like at the bachelorette, I dread to think what the actual wedding’s going to look like.
“Wait, where’s —” April starts to ask something, but Parker cuts her off with a swift hand gesture, the kind that says not now.
His gaze drops to the Drug Purse. “Uh…sweetheart, why do you have candy in your purse?”
“They’re edibles,” she whispers.
“And you were going to do one without me? What the hell, Chère? I thought our friendship meant something to you.”
April laughs softly and glances at me. “Hol? What color do you want?”
“I think I’m going to pass. I have a mid-day shift tomorrow.”
Parker looks at me. “Nice outfit, Hollister. Though, I’m pretty sure the horns are supposed to be red in color. And where’s the rest of your costume? The long, pointy tail and pitchfork?”
“Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing about your muzzle and leash. Did April leave them at home?”
His jaw clenches, eyes narrowing behind his small, black eye-mask. “Charming.”
I reach into my martini glass, pluck out an olive, and flick it at his face. It bounces off his cheek and I can barely hide my joy.
April quickly hands Parker a green gummy, positioning herself between us like some kind of peacekeeper. She picks a red one for herself.
“I want the red one too,” he whines.
“What difference does it make?”
“The green ones are sour.”
“No, they aren’t. Stop being a child and just eat it.”
They lightly tap the gummies together and pop them in their mouths. Parker winces. “Ugh, Chère, I told you the green ones are sour!”
“Mine’s sweet.” April giggles. “Strawberry.”
Parker turns to me. “You sure you don’t want one, Cruella? Might sweeten that dumpster-fire personality of yours.”
“Or maybe it’ll help me tolerate your fuckass presence for the rest of the night.”
“At least I don’t look like Satan’s assistant.”
“And at least I don’t cry over children’s movies. Hm, maybe I should include that in my wedding toast.”
He narrows his eyes. “It was Up, you psychopath.”
“Say ‘psychopath’ again. I dare you.”
“What you gonna do? Throw another olive at me?”
I reach for a fork from a nearby caddy.
A server appears, her voice tight. “Excuse me, is everything okay here?”
Parker lifts both hands. “Everything’s totally fine. This weird woman is about to stab me with a fork, but we’re fine.”
I jab the air in his direction. “He started it.”
The server hesitates. “Do you two know each other?”
“Not by choice,” he says.
“He’s her fiancé,” I snap, pointing at April.
April doesn’t even look up. “I’ve never met this woman in my life.”
My mouth drops open. “April.” I turn back to the pretty server. “She’s my sister,” I tell her, flatly.
April takes a casual sip of her cocktail. “Adopted.”
Parker starts coughing, trying not to laugh too hard. The server just stares at us for another beat before walking away slowly, probably deciding she doesn’t get paid enough to deal with this chaos.
April orders us a round of shots. The tequila burns my throat, but it feels nice. The happy couple makes their way to the dance floor, while I stay put to order myself another gin martini. Extra strong.
I steal a quick glance at my phone. Aside from an old text from Cami apologizing for not being able to make it to my place tonight due to a “work emergency,” my screen is empty. No new messages. Which should be a good thing. In theory, it is. But it doesn’t feel good.
A few minutes pass and the bartender returns with my drink.
Eight olives this time. I spin around on my barstool and use the penis straw to take a big sip.
The room hums with a low-frequency bassline, the vibrations coursing through my body like a gentle massage.
I take another sip, the smooth, velvety texture warming my throat.
Everything seems amplified somehow. The alcohol must be working its way through my bloodstream.
The music seems louder, the lights brighter, the laughter around me more infectious.
I close my eyes. The bassline pulses through my body, vibrating my bones and making my skin tingle —
“Nice tiara,” a voice interrupts.
My eyes snap open. I turn around and see a man leaning against the bar. Sandy beige skin, strong muscular build, dark hair. He’s wearing a deep red, open-necked suit, a cigarette smoldering between his lips.
“Are you talking to me?”
He stubs his cigarette in an ashtray and points to my headpiece. “That thing on your head. Is it broken?”
“It’s supposed to be that way.” The dim, neon lights cast dancing shadows on the walls and there's a subtle buzz in my body.
The man pauses for a moment, his brown-gray eyes scanning my face as if searching for something. My eyes glance down to his bare chest that’s adorned with a silver chain and an ax pendant. He steps closer and extends his hand. “I’m Finn, by the way. Finn Asher.”
I hesitate before deciding not to take his hand. “Ashley Miller,” I say. What? I don’t know this guy. What if he tries copping a feel? What if I trip and fall scalpel-first onto his neck? I don’t want him to know my real name.
Smiling slightly, he narrows his eyes. Almost as if he knows I’m lying. He takes his hand back. “Are you here by yourself?”
“Right now, I am.”
“Can I get you a drink?”
Brilliant. Do all men have the same default shitty script when hitting on a woman? Very well. Time to recite mine. I take a deep breath, and begin, “Why? Do you work here?”
His eyes twinkle with amusement. “In a way.” He must see the confusion on my face, because he proceeds to add, “I own the place.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Really?” I wasn’t expecting that.
Finn nods. “But don’t worry, I’m not going to get you kicked out for having a little bit of fun.”
“I’m not sure I’d call this conversation ‘fun’ just yet.”
He scoffs. “That’s cute, but I was talking about the edibles your friends took a few minutes ago. Drugs are strictly prohibited on the premises of Cythera.”
My face falls.
Finn chuckles. “Relax. I’m just bored,” he says, his eyes scanning the crowd. “Not much to do tonight. I was supposed to go on a date, but sadly she bailed on me.”
“I wonder why.” My tone reeks of sarcasm.
“Something about wanting to spend time with her husband.”
The audacity is truly appalling. “So, you got stood up by your married girlfriend and decided to come harass me?”
He’s not even looking at me anymore. He flags the bartender to order himself a drink. “Sweetheart, you have a knife attached to your bloody leg. Only a fool would choose to harass someone like you.”
My mouth half-gapes. “That’s not a real knife. It’s a prop. Goes with the tiara.”
“Uh-huh. Like how Ashley Miller is your real name?”
“Excuse me?”
“You don’t seem like an Ashley Miller to me,” he says. “So, what’s your name? Your real one this time.”
What is happening right now? “Why do you want to know my name?”
“So that I can get it tattooed on my ass.”
There’s an aura of entitlement around him. He seems to be the kind of man who’s used to getting what he wants. A textbook narcissist with a god complex. Unfortunately for him, I only have the patience and space for one of those in my life. And unfortunately for me, that position is filled.
“Are you trying to flirt with me or piss me off?”
“Did I say I was flirting with you?” Finn says. A pause. He looks at me through the corner of his eye. “Do you want me to flirt with you?”
I immediately cringe. “No.”
Finn smiles. The bartender returns with the order he never placed. Two scotch on the rocks. He slides one over to me. “Cheers.”
“I don’t drink dark liquor.”
“Wonderful.” Finn downs both drinks in one gulp each, then wipes his mouth with the edge of his sleeve. “What do you drink then?”
I chug the remainder of my martini and slam the empty glass on the marble countertop, feeling the sting of alcohol burning in my throat. “No more for me.”
Without a word, I grab my purse and stand, making my way toward the exit.
I’m not leaving, I just need some fresh air.
The door opens and the cold October air hits me like a slap to the face.
Crisp and biting, the kind that immediately cuts through any warmth left in my body.
I pull my jacket tighter around myself, the chill sinking into my bones as I walk down the steps and into the adjacent alleyway.
Taking out my phone, I scroll through my contacts, my fingers lingering on Cami’s name, about to call her —
“Phone and wallet.” The tip of a knife presses against my back and a rough, gravelly voice. “Hand them over now.”
You have got to be kidding me.