Bodies press in on all sides, the heat and noise and movement making it hard to see where we’re going. Someone bumps into Gabriel from the side, and he stumbles slightly. I don’t think, just move, my hand going to his back, settling between his shoulder blades, the silk of his shirt soft and warm under my palm.
I tell myself it’s just to steer him, make sure we don’t get separated, guide him through the crowd.
Not to mark territory. Not to show every guy in this bar that Gabriel is here with me.
But my hand stays there, firm and steady, even after we clear the crowd and reach the door.
Gabriel doesn’t pull away.
We step out into the night, and the cool air cuts through the heat still sitting on my skin. I drop my hand, shoving it into my pocket, and we start walking.
I don’t know where we’re going. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. All I know is that I can still feel the heat of Gabriel’s back against my palm, and I want to put my hand there again.
6
Gabriel
We hit three more bars in the next hour. Each one is louder than the last, packed with bodies and heat and the kind of energy that makes my teeth buzz. Marshall keeps intercepting drinks. Every time a guy sends something my way, Marshall reaches over and takes it, drains half the glass before I can protest. I tell him he’s going to regret this tomorrow, and he just grins at me and says he’s doing his job as wingman.
By the third bar, guys are buying Marshall drinks too. He’s the kind of good-looking that works on everyone, regardless of who they’re into. Men want him, women want him, and Marshall seems oblivious to all of it. When the bartender slides a gin and tonic across the bar toward Marshall, I intercept it before he can touch it.
“Hey,” Marshall says, reaching for the glass.
I pull it away. “You’ve had enough.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re buzzed.” I catch the bartender’s attention and slide the drink back. “Send this back with our thanks.”
Marshall opens his mouth to argue, then closes it. He leans back against the bar and crosses his arms, and I catch the slight sway in his posture. Yeah, definitely buzzed.
“You’re no fun,” he says, but there’s no heat in it.
“I’m keeping you functional.”
We leave the third bar and step outside. The air has changed since we first arrived. The sky is darker now, clouds rolling in thick and heavy, blocking out the stars. The wind picks up, warm and restless, and I glance up at the sky.
“It’s going to rain,” I say.
Marshall follows my gaze. “Then we better find somewhere to be when it does.”
I know a club not far from here. I’ve been once before, a couple of years ago when I visited with friends. It’s bigger than the bars we’ve been to, louder, the kind of place where you lose yourself in the crowd and the music and forget everything else, and that’s what I need right now.
The first drops of rain start to fall just as the club comes into view. We break into a jog and reach the entrance just as the sky opens up. The rain comes down in sheets, drumming against the awning above the door.
The bouncer waves us through without asking for ID. The second we step inside, the noise hits me. Music so loud I feel it in my ribcage, voices shouting to be heard over the bass, the thud of feet on the dance floor. The club is packed, bodies pressed together, moving to the beat. The lights are dim, just flashes of color cutting through the darkness: blue, purple, red.
Marshall stays close behind me as we push through the crowd toward the bar. The heat is oppressive, the air thick with sweat and cologne, and alcohol. I find a gap at the bar and wedge myself in, Marshall sliding in beside me.
The bartender is a woman with short bleached hair and a tank top that shows off sleeve tattoos. She leans over the bar, takes one look at us, and switches to English without missing a beat. “What can I get you?”
“Two waters,” I shout back.
She nods and disappears, returning a minute later with two bottles. I pay and hand one to Marshall. He takes it and drinks, his eyes scanning the club. His cheeks are flushed, and his hair is slightly damp from the rain. He looks good. I look away before I can think too much about it.
“This place is insane,” Marshall says, leaning close so I can hear him.
“Yeah. It’s a lot.”
