“You’re obsessed with me.”
“Yeah,” I admit, letting my fingers brush his wrist just once before pulling away. “I am.”
And fuck, the smile that lights up his face makes it all worth it. Even this ridiculous drink he’s holding that’s somehow turning bluer by the second.
Elias reaches into the radioactive swirl of his drink and plucks the second cherry off the little sword. His fingers are sticky with syrup, and he twirls the stem like he thinks it’ll distract me from the glint in his eyes. It doesn’t.
He lifts it and holds it out. “To us,” he says, soft but cocky. “To birthdays. To legal corruption.”
I raise an eyebrow. He moves the cherry closer and I lean in to bite it clean from his fingers, eyes never leaving his, tongue slow as I drag it off the stem and chew once—hard enough to make sure he hears it.
Elias’s mouth falls open, pupils blown wide as his breath stutters, caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan. And then he’s squirming in his seat like someone turned the music up inside his spine. He shifts his legs, adjusts his waistband, and has the audacity to glare at me.
“You okay, pup?” I murmur, sipping my whiskey, unbothered.
“No,” he hisses. “That wasn’t fair.”
“Life isn’t fair. But I am.”
“Your definition of fair involves edging me for three days and calling it a lesson.”
“You loved every second.”
His mouth opens like he’s going to deny it. But instead, he just groans and slumps forward onto the bar, muttering into his arms, “I need ten more cherries or I’m gonna die.”
I chuckle low in my throat and press one hand against the back of his neck, just enough to ground him. His skin is warm, flushed as he melts into the touch, whining quietly.
Cole explodes into view, a tray of neon-colored shots in one hand, his other arm flung around Shane like he dragged the poor bastard with him for moral support. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CURLS!” he roars, nearly knocking Elias off his stool. The tray wobbles, Shane yells, and the bartender flinches—all in one chaotic, synchronized mess.
Elias jolts upright with a yelp, nearly elbows his drink into his own lap, and grabs the counter like it’ll stop the chaos from landing directly in his pants. “Jesus Christ, Cole…what is that, antifreeze?”
“Whatever it is, it’s glowing and you’re drinking it!” Cole shouts with glee, slamming the tray down. “Birthday rules, baby!”
“It’s radioactive,” Elias mutters, poking the nearest shot glass. “If I grow a second dick, I’m blaming you.”
Shane leans in, peering at the liquid. “That one’s mine,” he says, snatching the brightest green. “If anyone’s mutating tonight, it’s me.”
“I am surrounded by toddlers,” I mutter, nursing my whiskey while they descend into madness. Elias takes a breath, shrugs, and downs the glowing red shot in one brutal toss-back. His eyes water, his face scrunches—then he explodes. “OH MY GOD IT BURNS.”
Cole howls with laughter. Shane slams his and immediately starts coughing like he inhaled napalm. And I just stare as Elias’s hand slaps down on my thigh, gripping tight like he needs anchoring. “You good, pup?”
He blinks. “What day is it?”
“Still your birthday.”
“Okay.” He nods. “I want cake. And your dick. Maybe at the same time.”
I drain my whiskey in one slow, satisfied sip and say nothing.
Elias is a menace. One second he’s giggling against the bar, cheeks flushed, curls sticking to his forehead, sipping something blue out of a pineapple—a pineapple—and the next thing I know, he's up on a table with Cole, shirt riding up, arms in the air, screaming lyrics.
Fans are circling like sharks. Phones are out. Someone’s chanting his name. Cole is halfway to crowd-surfing. Elias is…grinding.
I’m at the back of the club, with my second whiskey, pretending this is normal. Like I didn’t tell him to behave. Or didn’t warn him he’d regret it if he got drunk on his birthdayin public with cameras around. Like I’m not two seconds from dragging his ass down and bending him over the closest surface.
Viktor slides in beside me, arms crossed, face stone-still as he watches Cole shout “SHOW US YOUR TITS” into the void. Elias nearly faceplants.
I throw Viktor a look. One brow lifts.
