He lowered his head. “I flashed my weapon, that’s all.”
The real question was why no one called the cops. California didn’t permit open carry.Oh. That fake police badge on his belt, next to his shoulder holster. Shaking my head, I aimed for the exit. I didn’t belong here. Hadn’t signed up for this. A nightclub. The noise, the strobe lights, the couples pressed together.
As I brushed past pulsing bodies, Borya followed. Now, I knew my Shadow’s name. In the last week, he’d become a security blanket. Yesterday, he’d stiff-armed paparazzi a tad harder than necessary, so I swung for a couple of vodka shots for us at my family’s lounge, The Red Door. Not that I had to pay.Really, Tash. Now your bodyguard is your drinking buddy?
I fought off the rising ache in my chest and tugged my phone from my crossbody purse to text Jordyn that I couldn’t make it tonight. Then a familiar face strolled inside.
Simona.
Her expression soured as she took in the writhing bodies. Her top lip curled.Yep. The touches had the same effect on me minutes ago when I’d rushed into the ladies’ room to call Lachlan.
“This is not Taco Tuesday,” she gritted, hands in the pockets of her sleek black pantsuit.
“I know … I’ll?—”
“First,”—she rounded on Borya—“youdid notsee me.”
Again, his head lowered.
“Hey,” I growled. “He’s my bodyguard, not yours. And he won’t say anything to your dad about seeing you tonight.”
Borya nodded.
“You’re here!” Jordyn sauntered over in a dress short enough to make a nun faint, balancing three shots.
Simona snatched one before I could blink and knocked it back. Well, of course, she’d drink.
I tilted my head. “Jordyn, what happened to Taco Tuesdays—i.e., a restaurant, a hole in the wall? Hell, even anabuelitaselling tamales from a cooler at Wal-Mart?”
“They’ve got tacos, I think.” Jordyn pointed to the far corner, then shoved a shot in my hands. I held it toward Borya. He shook his head. We could be drinking buddies at home or at The Red Door. Elsewhere, he needed to stay sharp.
“Bottoms up, Natasha,” Jordyn said. “Stop being a party pooper. This is for you.”
With a sigh, I followed her to a table near the edge of the dusty club, the bass thumping against my ribcage.
“Who’s buying these drinks?” Justice asked, her voice sultry, smooth—like Jill Scott. And honestly, she resembled my momma’s favorite singer too.
Willow raised her palms as Jordyn settled next to her. “Don’t look at me, I birthed a sports team.”
Quietly, I slunk into the other side of the pleather booth by Justice. Simona sat at the end.
“I got it,” Jordyn called over the music, flicking her chin toward a Mexican in a cowboy hat. “Or at least, that man does. If the servers bring ‘em to the table, andnothim, we’re good. We also should walk out together.”
Jesus, be a fence!
“Should’ve gone to The Red Door,” Simona muttered at my side. “I’ll get next round.”
With what money?I bit my tongue from saying she refused to spend Uncle Simeon’s cash. My lip quivered as I watched a man twirl his woman around the floor.
As if sensing the ache behind my silence, Willow flicked a tortilla chip at me. “You haven’t forgiven Lach yet?”
Okay.Straight to the point.
“Forgiven him?” Jordyn snorted. “It’s time for her to test the waters.”
Justice patted my shoulder. “Don’t listen to her. She got her happily ever after already. If not for Jamie, she’d be …”
“Bitter.” Jordyn winked. “I’d be Mary J Blige and Rose Royce rolled into one, singingI’m Going Down, with a bottle of tequila in each hand. So don’t listen to me.”
