Her grin widens, dangerous.
“Not that deep down.” She shrugs. “I’m just more charming in my approach.”
I’m about to say something really stupid—like ‘come home with me’stupid—when the crowd suddenly lurches hard to the left.
Someone slams into Frankie’s shoulder.
I grab her arm instinctively, fingers locking around her wrist to steady her.
“What the?—?”
Another shove hits, rougher this time.
And just like that, I’m pissed.
At first, it’s just noise, but then something sharp cuts through it.
Glass shatters.
A bottle, maybe.
The music cuts a second too late, leaving nothing but chaos behind it.
Security tries to force their way through the crowd, but it’s already gone bad. People shove forward, tables scrape and topple, drinks spill. Someone swings at someone else. A scream slices through the air.
It’s a mess.
I don’t think, I just react.
I wrap an arm around Frankie’s waist and pull her tight against me, angling my body so I take the worst of it.
“Stay close.”
She doesn’t argue. She grabs the front of my shirt with both hands and sticks to me as I start pushing through the crowd, shoulder first, arm locked around her middle.
She’s small like two toddlers stacked in a trench coat and I’m not about to lose her in this.
So I scoop her up with one arm and sling her over my shoulder.
Easier that way.
“I know you’re fucking lying,” she yells, slapping my back. “Put medown!”
“Soon, Jelly,” I shout back over the noise. “Let me get you somewhere safe, or Zawillactually kill me.”
She smacks my shoulder again. “Quit calling meJelly!”
We push through the back entrance—thank God it’s open—and spill out into the alley behind the club.
Cool air slaps us both.
The bass is muffled now, the door rattling behind us as security tries to contain whatever’s happening inside. I put her down.
Frankie bends over, hands on her knees, breathing hard.
“Well. That escalated quickly.”
“You okay?” I ask.
