Niko’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. “Oh, no, it’s not like that. They’re not even into guys. We’re just—”
“—friends,” Merritt interjected, echoing the way he’d said it to Dolly.
“Yeah,” he said.
They’d stopped at the intersection where the sidewalk split, one direction leading back to Olivia and Dev’s, the other leading to the bar.
Was she imagining it, or were they standing closer than before? No, they must be, because he wasn’t much taller than she was, but now she had to lift her chin to meet his eyes.
“You sure have a lot of friends,” she said.
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I thought that was why you asked for my help.”
She nodded slowly, like she was still thinking over his offer, but once he’d floated the idea, there was no other option.
One beer, and then she was cutting herself off.
This could stay completely innocent. It had to. She had no reason to believe he’d be anything but a gentleman—no matter how much she wished he wouldn’t.
“Okay,” she said finally. “Lead the way.”
9
Off the Rails was darkand rustic, one tentative step above a dive, with wood paneling, green vinyl booths, and Christmas lights strung up year-round. A blast of heat fogged Merritt’s glasses when she stepped inside, and she paused to clean them on her sweater.
She caught up with Niko, who had snagged two stools at one end of the bar, stuffing spilling out of the split seams. At the other end, the bartender—Jo, presumably—was busy with another group. Niko turned to her.
“What are you drinking?”
She shrugged. “Beer’s fine. Whatever you’re having.”
His brow creased. “I thought you said you didn’t drink.”
“I said I don’treallydrink.”
Alcohol had always been an auxiliary vice, so over the last year or two, she’d relaxed from complete abstinence to the occasional beer or glass of wine with dinner. She’d discussed it atlength with her therapist first, who’d agreed that, while she should permanently steer clear of all powders and any pill stronger than a Benadryl, her internal and external circumstances had shifted enough for her to explore whether she could have a healthier relationship with other substances. Moderation was easier now that she no longer had any desire to “party”; plus, her age—not to mention her low-dose mood stabilizer—had wiped out her tolerance. And hard liquor, as a rule, was a hard no.
Niko gave her a bemused half smile. “You’re going to have to explain what that means after we order.”
He leaned over to get Jo’s attention, a dark curl slipping over his eye. Merritt’s hand flexed at her side, fighting the urge to reach up and brush it back. She settled for tucking a strand of her own behind her ear.
He turned back to look at her just then, like he wanted to reassure himself she was still there, and the way his eyes followed the path of her fingers from her temple to her cheekbone to her jaw made her shiver.
This was a bad idea.
Jo finally made their way over to them, and even if Niko hadn’t told her, Merritt would’ve known they were a fan immediately from the way their eyes locked on Merritt’s, half-thrilled, half-petrified. They were cute as a button—ginger and heavily freckled, androgynous, definitely in diapers when Merritt’s first album had come out. Depending on her mood, that type of fan made her feel either flattered or old. Right now, she was in a good mood.
Niko didn’t bother making a two-way introduction. “Merritt, this is my other roommate, Jo.”
It gave Merritt an odd feeling, knowing they’d probably talked about her when she wasn’t around. That shouldn’t havefazed her; people had been discussing her for years—loudly, publicly, tactlessly, people she’d never met and never would. But with Niko it felt different.
Jo grinned at her, a little too widely. “What can I get you?”
Merritt glanced at Niko, wondering if he’d speak for both of them since she’d given him permission to, but he just looked back. “What do you have on tap?” she asked Jo.
Jo’s smile stayed fixed, their expression going blank. “Uh…” they said, glancing at the row of levers behind them. “Oh! Do you like stouts? We just got a new one from the brewery this afternoon.”
“That sounds perfect,” said Merritt, who had no opinion on stouts but was gratified by the way Jo beamed in response.
