Pemberton takes the elevator.
I take the stairwell.
When the elevator doors open with a ping, I am there to meet her in the lobby. Our doorman, Adolf, is at his post. I say ‘post’, because this man is more suited to a military position than a reception desk. He’s a stoic figure with a straight posture and watchful eyes that see all.
I’ve come to rely on him over the past few months. Most nights he’s summoned cabs for me without a hint of judgment, producing a water bottle from his hidden stash before sending me off with quiet words. ‘Stay safe, Mr Slater.’
I should probably tip him more.
When we pass through tonight, he glances at my messy, damp hair, then at Pemberton’s tight expression, then back at me. A single eyebrow lifts very slightly. “Evening, Mr Slater. Miss Pemberton.”
Pemberton ignores him.
“Adolf.” I tap the desk twice. “Don’t wait up.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, something like a smirk. With his eyes on me, he reaches under the desk and sets a water bottle beside my hand without a word.
I should definitely tip him more.
We walk the three blocks to campus, and before long we are pushing through the crowd into The Grill.
I scan the dim interior, squinting past neon beer signs and bobbing heads for someone I know.
“There they are.” Pemberton gestures toward the lads at the back, standing around a high table.
I nod at Jax. Then I grab a fifty-dollar note from my wallet and hand it to Pemberton. “Get me a JD and Coke, beautiful?” I kiss her cheek. She’s a completely different person in public, almost charming.
Almost.
She heads for the bar, and I make my way to the lads. The Grill’s got the best atmosphere on campus, excluding The Basement Lounge. ‘Cause that place sits at the end of a narrow underground tunnel connecting the library to the café. The one time I tried going down there, my chest tightened like someone was sitting on it, sweat poured down my back, and the walls seemed to close in until everything went black. Jax found me sprawled across the entrance.
Doesn’t matter—The Grill has a good vibe. We can be rowdier here than at the other establishments, and our group gets that way sometimes. Marcus, the proprietor, seems to have patience for us, perhaps because our wallets get a workout here, or maybe because we respect his cut-off time when others don’t. He’s a dictator, though, a real tough prick. I've put in thehardyards comforting more than a few teary new barmaids. But now my days of rotating women are over.
I’m monogamous.
And all that.
Jax’s hand lands on my shoulder. His way of checking I’m not shaking or swaying too much. Been that way since he scraped me off the pavement that time outside the Basement Lounge. He just appeared, dragged me home, sat his arse down next to me on the bed, and didn’t say a word until I could breathe again.Hasn’t brought it up since. That’s Jax—all swagger and shit-talk when the boys are around, but when I catch him alone, I see the real him. Sometimes I wonder why he bothers with the act at all.
I look across at Erik—he’s a different ball game. Something about him just grates on me.Yeah,he hooked up with Pembie before we got together, which I probably shouldn’t hold against him, but I do. Sometimes when he thinks no one’s watching, this weird intensity flashes in his eyes—like flipping a switch. Still, we’ve been through enough shit together over the past years that I’d take a punch for him any day.
“Nice speech, Slater, seriously. You’re a complete idiot. ‘Watch me leave, ladies.’” Jax elbows me. “Ya bloody dickhead. What did the dean have to say about you flirting on stage?”
I chuckle. “Nothing. I just give the people what they want, Jax.” Propping my elbow on the table next to Erik, I ask, “What’s the face for, dude? Why do you look pissed off?”
His eyes flick to me. “I’m not.”
Jax clears his throat to get my attention. “His little sister is playing in a few moments… and he’sworried.” Jax cracks up laughing, but I don’t know why. I laugh at Jax laughing because it’s hard not to. “And she’s super-hot!” he adds, lifting his fists up to pretend-block any retaliation from Erik.Gotcha,protective big brother vibes.I can relate to that; I have two sisters.
I watch Erik’s jaw tighten, a muscle punching beneath the skin. His eyes narrow on the stage entrance, his fingers tightening around his beer bottle.
Yep. He is intense.
Jax keeps chuckling, already distracted by a group of girls standing behind us, but I catch the way Erik stiffens as he mutters, “She doesn’t enjoy playing with other people. I didn’t tell Marcus that.Fuck.I forgot.”
I follow his gaze.
And I'm not sure what happened to all the air or when it got so damn hot, but I’m struggling to breathe as my eyes lock on the girl who has just walked onto the little stage.
