“We’d love to get out of here,” Julie announced, wrapping herself around Alex. “We’d love to see your house.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do. Nothing beats a private party.”
“This is okay with you?” Ilya murmured as they started out.
“Yes. Julie really wants to, and we’re together, so—”
“No, I don’t ask what Julie wants. I ask if you want.”
She looked at him, felt a sigh and a tingle. It mattered to him, what she wanted. “Yes. I want to go with you.”
“This is good.” He took her hand, pressed it to his heart as they wove through the crowd. “I want to be with you. And you can tell me more about Liz. I want to know everything about you.”
“Julie said boys—men—only want to talk about themselves.”
He laughed, tucked his arm around her waist. “Then how do they learn about fascinating women?”
As they got to the door, a man in a suit came up, tapped Ilya on the shoulder.
“One moment,” Ilya said to Liz as he stepped aside.
She couldn’t hear much, and that was in Russian. But she could see by her glimpse of Ilya’s profile that he wasn’t pleased with what he heard.
But she was reasonably sure his snarledchyort voz’miwas a curse. He signaled the man to wait, then guided Liz outside, where Alex and Julie waited.
“There’s something I must take care of. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. I understand.”
“Bullshit, Ilya, let somebody else handle it.”
“It’s work,” Ilya said shortly. “It shouldn’t take long—no more than an hour. You go, with Alexi and your friend. I’ll come as soon as I finish.”
“Oh, but—”
“Come on, Liz, it’ll be all right. You can wait for Ilya at Alex’s. He’s got all kinds of music—and a flat-screen TV.”
“You wait.” Ilya leaned down, kissed Elizabeth long and deep. “I’ll come soon. Drive carefully, Alexi. You have precious cargo.”
“So now I have two beautiful women.” Unwilling to lose the momentum, Alex took both girls by the arms. “Ilya takes everything seriously. I like to party. We’re too young to be serious.”
A dark SUV glided up to the curb. Alex signaled, then caught the keys the valet tossed him. He opened the door. Trapped by manners and obligation, Liz climbed in the back. She stared at the door of the club, craning her neck to keep it in view even when Alex drove away, with Julie singing along to the stereo.
* * *
It didn’t feel right. Without Ilya, the rush of excitement, anticipation, faded away, left everything flat and dull. Combined with the alcohol, riding in the backseat triggered a bout of motion sickness. Queasy, and suddenly brutally tired, she rested her head against the side window.
They didn’t need her, Elizabeth thought. Both Julie and Alex sang and laughed. He drove entirely too fast, taking corners in a way that made her stomach pitch. She would not be sick. Even as the heat flashed through her, she willed herself to breathe, slow and even. She would not humiliate herself by being sick in the backseat of Alex’s SUV.
She lowered her window a few inches, let the air blow over her face. She wanted to lie down, wanted to sleep. She’d had too much to drink, and this was yet another chemical reaction.
And not nearly as pleasant as a kiss.
She concentrated on her breathing, on the air across her face, on the houses, cars, streets. Anything but on her churning stomach and head.
As he wound along Lake Shore Drive, she thought how close they were, relatively, to her home in Lincoln Park. If she could just go home, she could lie down in the quiet, sleep off the nausea and spinning head. But when Alex pulled up at a pretty old two-story traditional, she thought at least she could get out of the car, stand on solid ground.
“Got some great views,” Alex was saying as he and Julie got out. “I thought about buying a condo, but I like my privacy. Plenty of room to party here, and nobody bitches the music’s too loud.”
