Thembeing Remy and Win. I glance over my shoulder into the crowd, barely making out Remy’s golden brown waves in a sea of dancing drunks. Off to the side, Win glares, tattooed arms crossed over his chest.
“Hitting on him was sort of working,” Melody muses.
I snort. “If by working, you mean Rem plotting your murder, then yeah, totally.”
She snickers. “He’s lucky I don’t fuck with people’s exes.”
“Mel, you’re lesbian.”
Ashrug. “I’d brave dick for a face that pretty.”
My brow arches. “You wouldn’t know what to do with a dick.”
She throws her head back with a laugh. Even as I laugh with her, a pit in my stomach forms. Because I want to be that carefree. That relaxed.
Sighing, her hand finds the small of my back. “You should head home. Take a bath. Try those edibles I gave you.”
“I’ll live.”
Her hand falls away. She’s learned not to push me to take care of myself— it’s a lost cause.
“Fine. So do I finally get to meet Cade, then?”
I swirl the ice cubes in my drink around with the tiny black straw. Drunk Andrea cried to her about Cade and Seba more times than I’d like to admit. But having Cade meet Melody— the girl I hooked up with while he was off getting treatment— makes the alcohol I’ve been chugging all evening rise back up my esophagus.
“I think so.”
He hasn’t responded to my text. Maybe something came up at home. The pile of worries grows by the minute. (It’s more of a mountain at this point.) Did he get triggered? Did he have an episode? Is he hearing his mom’s voice again?
My phone buzzes.
Speak of the devil.
Cade:
Be there soon. Sorry in advance. It was the only way.
“What’s that face for?” Melody asks cautiously.
I’m still scrutinizing the whack-ass message when another comes in.
Cade:
Promise not to break up with me.
Now I’m panicking. I pocket my phone and glance at the entrance.
Then do a double-take.
“Oh fuckingfuckme,” I groan, signaling the bartender for two more shots. I’m gonna need them. Because escorting my boyfriend into the club is none other than Sebastian Holt in a backwards hat, casual button down shirt, jeans and boots, looking good enough to eat and drawing the hungry eyes of everyone in this damn building.
I hate him so fucking much.
“Mel?”
“Yeah?”
“I need your help.”
