I bite my tongue and shrug, because honestly, I have no idea. “Harry is sending her niece over to pick the kid up. She’ll be here in five minutes.”
“Shavai,” Celine says. “His name is Shavai.”
The boy perks up, a half-smile spreading across his face as he stares adoringly up at Celine.Get in line, kid.I swallow my annoyance and my questions, fully aware that Ciprian is absorbing every second of this awkward situation like a sponge.
After Harry’s niece picks Shavai up, the three of us walk back into the club. Ciprian doesn’t say a word about what he saw. Instead, he orders a drink from me, tips 50 percent, then saunters over to the ATM. I watch him go, then look at Celine with my eyebrows raised.
“I know,” she whispers. “It’s getting strange, Luca. Nothing makes sense anymore, and I’m late for a date with the pole.”
She rushes away before I can respond, and I risk another groan.
“Tough night?” Alistair asks, popping up in front of the bar out of nowhere.
“Not now, dude.” I begin making his usual, ignoring how his curious gaze digs into the side of my face. “I mean it. No probing questions disguised as small talk or compliments that are thinly veiled attempts to dig up dirt. Unless you want me to add pureed tomato to your next Blood Tide, you’ll let me work without adding one more thing to my plate.” I inhale deeply and give him a look that tells him I mean business.
Alistair leans over the bar, crossing his arms. “I’m not sure if that impassioned speech was a cry for help or a death threat, but I enjoyed it regardless. Tell me, Luca, would you really serve me pureed tomato?”
I point at him with the index finger of my right hand while mixing his drink with my left. “See? That’s the exact kind of question I’m talking about. Leading as fuck.”
“Was it?” Alistair raises one eyebrow, and I notice it has a thin scar through the arch. “I fear I’ve forgotten how to make friendly conversation, then.”
I chuckle drily, the sound frayed as Celine takes the stage and draws every eye her way. Despite his late arrival on a busy night, Ciprian somehow scored a seat directly in front of the pole. He’s smiling up at her like she hung the moon and stars.
The music starts. He passes her money. She strikes a pose. He passes her money. She takes a fucking breath. He passes her more money. I narrow my eyes at him, my suspicion growing in direct proportion to the stack of cash on the stage.
“I suppose if I deny pumping you for information it would only make me more guilty in your eyes,” Alistair says, sounding genuinely disappointed as he pulls my attention from Ciprian and Celine.
I sigh. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Alistair. It’s been a...” I wave my hands, at a loss about how to navigate the conversation away from all the landmines.
“Tough night,” he repeats. I nod. Ciprian passes Celine more money, and my face twists. Alistair follows the direction of my glare. “I see the cheeky demon is back.”
“Yup,” I hiss. “And I?—”
“Fucking hate that,” Alistair finishes my thought. His annoyance feeds my jealousy.
“Yeah, part of me does hate it,” I admit. Alistair watches me thoughtfully as I finish his drink and hand it to him. “Sans tomatoes. Sorry for the threat; it won’t happen again.”
“What threat?” he asks, his lips twitching as he backs away from the bar. I shake my head, then snort as he walks to the stage and bullies someone out of the seat next to the demon. Alistair pulls out his wallet, and soon his pile of cash rivals Ciprian’s.
Their competition over her is obnoxious. Embarrassing even. But at least they aren’t cheap about it. If their pockets are this deep, Celine can treat me to lunch tomorrow. We’ll make fun of their attempts to get her attention, and maybe, just maybe, my basilisk will be pacified enough to avoid turning them both to stone.
ELEVEN
Unspoken rule of the Fringes #81:
Never let them see you sweat.
CELINE
Money piles up on the stage, and I can’t decide if I want to throw my ass back harder or smack them both in the face. If Alistair and Ciprian keep this up, I’m going to need a broom to collect my haul.
The bridge of my song hits, and I climb to the top of the pole. Flipping upside down, I grip with my legs, then untie my top. It flutters to the ground, and the audience goes wild. My lips curl up into a smile, and I let myself slowly drop.
More cash hits the stage, most of it coming from the two idiots who are currently having some kind of dick-measuring contest. They might as well whip them out. I’ll be happy to settle it for them.
I shouldn’t encourage this kind of behavior, but who am I kidding? I love it.
With about a minute left in the song, I decide to wipe thosesmug grins off their faces. My regulars know I avoid up close and personal floor work. That doesn’t mean I’m not good at it. I can bump and grind with the best of them, and tonight I want to.
