She nods, locs slipping from behind her ear.
“Yeah. Just… got flashbacks of carnival 2018. Thought I was gonna get trampled.”
She straightens, brushing her hair back, adjusting her shirt.
Her cheeks are flushed.
“We should probably go,” I say, eyes flicking back toward the club entrance where the shouting is escalating instead of dying down. Bad sign. “Before everyone else floods out and turns this alley into a stampede.”
She nods, still breathing a little hard. “My ride’s still inside.”
“I told you,” I remind her, “I’ll get you home.”
She folds her arms, rubbing at her shoulders like she’s just now realizing how exposed she feels out here. My jacket’s already off before I think about it. I drape it over her, tugging it closed.
She freezes. Then relaxes.
Doesn’t say thank you, but she doesn’t hand it back either. She studies my face a second longer than is reasonable.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I mutter, glancing over my shoulder as someone slams into the door from the inside. The metal rattles. “We need to move.”
“Bossy,” she says.
But she lets me take her wrist anyway, lets me steer her farther down the alley, away from the noise and the lights and whatever nonsense is still unfolding.
Her hand is cold in mine.
That bothers me.
It shouldn’t, but it does.
I’ve got to get her out of here.
“Wait,” she says, pulling gently. “That’s Tasha and Mantis. Let me tell her I got out safely.”
“Francine, you’re freezing out here.”
“I’ll be quick.”
I exhale through my nose. “Fine.”
While she heads back toward the pavement, I jog down the block, spot my car, and pull it closer to the alley entrance.
I’ve already turned the heat to the highest.
By the time I step out again, the three of them are standing close, laughing with heads tilted together and low voices.
Same shit she does with Za. Those inside jokes.
“What are you giggling about?” I ask, stopping a few feet away.
Frankie groans. “Tasha’s just being stupid.”
“Tell me,” I say.
“No.”
I shift my attention to Tasha, but she’s as stone-faced as Frankie.
