My eyes scan the crowd of hooligans. We come here more frequently than we probably should, but it’s one of my friends’ favorite spots. But I can admit the music is always on point, the ambiance is fantastic, and most importantly, there’s plenty of space for me to run if I need to.
“What are you drinking?” a voice asks me from my right.
And I bristle.
Because, unfortunately, it’s a familiar voice.
One I don’t often let myself acknowledge.
I turn slowly, watching as the Cobra men walk toward the bar.
But one apparently decided to deviate from that plan.
I blink.
And blink again.
“Why?” I deadpan.
Cooper shrugs. “I was going to see about getting you another one. It looks a little low.”
I look down, and although he’s right, I clutch the drink to my chest, my eyes narrowing.
Cooper bites the inside of his lip and looks around. “Look?—”
I shake my head, cutting him off. “We don’t have to talk,” I tell him cooly. “There’s nothing for us to talk about, and I’d rather just stay in our own lanes, okay?”
I watch as his face falls a little, his eyes doing that sad puppy dog thing he was always so fucking good at. His hand goes to his pocket. Another tell for when he’s uncomfortable.
It used to be one of his signs to me that he wanted to go home. That we were just going to head to his house or mine, set up a fort in the family room, pop some popcorn, and watch a stupid horror movie. One of the ones where you do more laughing than flinching, or that basically qualify as softcore porn.
The number of times we would awkwardly sit there, both of our arms crossed over our chests as we tried not to look at each other as the new couple on screen has sex right before getting murdered? I can’t even count.
But I shouldnotbe thinking about watching soft-core porn with Cooper Henry.
He stands there for a second longer than I know he wants to, and when his pretty eyes meet mine again, a finality settles in them.
And I hate it. I hate it more than anything in the world. My chest hurts as a rock settles in my throat.
I watch as his jaw ticks, his head nods, and he turns, heading toward the other boys.
“What was that?” Mila asks as she and Briar return, drinks in hand. Briar hands me a refill, and I thank her.
“What was what?” I try to brush it off.
Mila’s eyes narrow into slits. “I know you better than you think, Amara.”
Rolling my eyes, I shrug. “It was nothing. He just came over to say hi.”
“He looks like you just shot him in the shoulder,” she mutters, taking a sip of her drink as she studies my face a little too closely, the way only she does.
She’s really, really good at reading people. Freakishly so. Which is part of why almost no relationship has really lasted for her.
She always knows when they’re lying.
And, well,men lie.
CHAPTER 6
