Cops swinging by around midnight.
It takes all of ten seconds for the reply to come through. Two words.
Last call.
That’s it. No explanation, no wasted letters. Just orders.
I slip the phone back into my pocket, roll my shoulders, and head inside.
The Crest feels louder now, like the air is thicker, the heat heavier. I slip back behind the bar, Kyle already flushed from trying to keep up. I clap him on the shoulder, send him off to the back, and grab the mic we use when we want to cut through the noise.
I raise it to my mouth, the feedback squealing just enough to make people flinch. “Alright, listen up! Last call.”
A chorus of groans, boos, complaints. “It’s too early!” someone yells from the back. “Come on, Jamie!” another whines.
I grin, leaning over the counter, voice smooth. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. Patrol’s swinging by tonight, and unless you want to get cuffed for underage drinking, I suggest you finish your drinks and get your asses out of here.”
More groans, but people start shuffling, gathering their stuff. The regulars know better than to push it.
Miles looks up at me, one brow raised. “Last call already?”
“Yeah,” I say, setting the mic down. “Cops are sniffing around. Better to shut it down now than deal with a raid later.”
“You guys should just renew your license, so you don’t have to deal with the pigs.”
I lean in so he is the only one who can hear me. “You and I know that that liquor license is the least of our problems. I’m pretty sure half of the people here would be caught with something illegal in their pockets. If they actually raided us, most of us would end up behind bars.”
“Yeah.” He nods slowly, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. His movements are deliberate, controlled, but I can see the exhaustion dragging at him.
“You heading out?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says, standing, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”
“You okay?” The question slips out before I can stop it, softer than I meant, edged with something like concern.
He pauses, looks at me, and for a second I think he might actually tell me what is chewing him alive tonight. But then he just nods once. “Yeah.”
And that’s the end of it. He slips out the door, leaving me with unanswered questions and a bar full of drunks.
Ten minutes later, the place is clearing. The cheerleaders are giggling, clinging to each other as they stumble out into the night. Bella blows me a kiss.
The new girl lingers just a step behind the others, red dress catching the light, sneakers scuffing against the floor. She glances back, and for a heartbeat her eyes lock with mine.
Green. Bright. Burning.
Fuck.
She is pretty. Too pretty. The kind of pretty that makes you forget how to breathe, makes you forget warnings and rules and common sense.
And as she disappears through the door, I realize Miles might be right.
She looks like trouble.
The kind I cannot stop myself from wanting.
8
Miles
