She nods, gesturing with her vape pen like Cruella de Vil. “So much longing. Like you’re standing at the precipice of something great but are unsure whether to take the plunge.”
“Yes, yes,” I agree, getting excited now. “You’re gazing out the window at your future laid before you, shining and bright. You’ve waited so long for this moment, and you’re ready to embark, but something orsomeone,” and here my eyes pass over Elliot, “is holding you back.”
“You’re good at this,” Adam says, energized by our discussion. “You make it sound so romantic, but I’m pretty sure I was thinking about how much longer till dinnertime.” He offers me another self-deprecating grin.
I nod sagely. “Yes, a starving ambition. Hunger is something you cannot teach. Simply stunning. Though not nearly as stunning as the real thing.”
A sudden blush crawls up his collar and spreads, pinking his cheeks even as his cerulean eyes remain downcast. Lovely. Elliot seizes upon the pleasant lull in our exchange to take hold of his arm possessively. “Adam, come with me. There are some very important people I want you to meet.”
“Right now?” Adam asks, obviously not wanting to leave this intimate bubble we’ve created.
“Yes, right now,” Elliot insists in his peevish way, attempting to steal the young Adonis away from me.
“I’ll be at the Golden State tomorrow evening,” I say to Adam. “On South Flower Street. Meet me for drinks?”
“Yes, sir,” Adam says, then shyly corrects himself. “I mean, Cassius.”
The sudden surge of warmth in my chest takes me by surprise. Could this be afeelingI’m experiencing? I watch Adam walk away with some disappointment and catch Elliot glaring back at me like a harpy. At my side, Lucia rubs my arm. “Careful now, precious. You don’t want to scare the pretty little fawn away.”
Chapter2
Adam
This place looks fancy. Old too. Ridiculously expensive and completely out of my league. There’s a woman in a black ball gown playing a harp and the staff all wear tuxes with actual bowties, not clip-ons. Between the oil paintings on the walls and beveled wood paneling, it’s like a cross between a museum and a hunting lodge. I thought this was a bar, but it’s more like a country club? I should have dressed nicer. I should have turned right around as soon as the doorman gave me a snooty once-over. Now the guy behind the desk has his nose turned up like I smell bad. I hope I don’t smell bad.
“Your name, sir?” he says.
“Adam Bailey. I’m here to see Cassius…” Shit, what was his last name? Some bird, I think. Swift? Or was it Sparrow?
“Cassius Peacock?” the man asks, brows raised in disbelief, which tells me Cassius must be someone important. Or a regular at least.
“Yes, him.”
He gives a snort of disapproval and looks me over once more. “One moment, sir,” he says and disappears through a wooden archway into what I figure is the bar. Or is it a lounge? They have so many names for things out here. I need to chill. I’m psyching myself out.
While I wait, I resist the urge to check my Instagram to see how many likes my selfie from this morning has gotten. I took it after my run when I was a little sweaty still, since people seem to like that. I found a big, beautiful flower bush to pose in front of. Hopefully that will help sell it. I should probably take another one before too long, maybe while I’m here, but then again, maybe not. This is a fancy sort of place, and I don’t want to look silly or kill the vibe with my obsessive selfie taking.
My stomach growls, and I ignore that too. I skipped lunch to allow for the empty calories of whatever’s being served here. I’m underage but maybe in a place like this it doesn’t matter? I shouldn’t have too much to drink anyway, or I might say something stupid. Feeling a little light-headed, I adjust my collar and zone out while watching the harpist’s fingers crawl across the strings like a spider’s legs.
The desk man returns a little while later with a suit jacket and tie. “We normally don’t allow denim, but we’ll make an exception with it being your first time as our guest,” he says, thrusting the clothing into my hands.
“You want me to wear these?” I wonder who they belong to.
“If you’d like to enter the lounge, sir, yes.”
It’s called a lounge then. At least I’ve got that much down. I glance around for a mirror. I’m terrible at tying ties.
“There is a restroom inside the lounge. However, in order to enter…” He motions again to the jacket. I slip it on, then loop the tie around my collar.
“This good enough for now?” I ask. He gives me a look of extreme displeasure and waves his hand for me to enter.
Man, if I thought the entrance was nice, it’s nothing compared to the inside. The furniture is all leather, there’s about a million bottles behind the bar—all top shelf liquor—and the draperies are velvet and thick, like something out of an old theater. So many chandeliers glittering overhead that it makes me dizzy. It’s flipping fancy!
“Adam.” Cassius waves me over to where he’s sitting with a few others, a glass tumbler already in hand. With his pitch-black hair, magnetizing gaze, and impeccable clothing, he is the picture of elegance—a grown-ass adult where I still feel like a dumb kid. I’d meant to make a beeline for the bathroom, but now it’s too late because I’ve been spotted. I head over to their small group and Cassius stands to greet me, kissing my cheek in that classy way of his. He notices the tie slung around my neck and immediately sets to fixing it for me. What a relief.
“I do apologize for the dress code,” he says so that only I can hear. His voice is a soothing rumble that instantly calms me. “They are a bit old-fashioned here.”
“Are these yours?” I ask because he’s without his sports coat and tie. I thought they belonged to the club, to be used whenever bums like me come along.
