“You tell me,” Simon says, his smile razor-sharp.
Without another word, Andrea turns on her heel and exits through the side door.
Simon glares after her, still clearly angry. His ire is more endearing when it isn’t directed towards Cody—but de-escalation is probably smart. Curious eyes still peer from the crowd.
“No need to be angry,” Cody says, leaning closer and speaking quietly. “I’m not here to make friends.”
“You don’t get to decide whether I’m angry!” Simon’s brow furrows. Anger looks too appealing on him. “Just like a childbarely a fifth of my age doesn’t get to insult my guests. You’re with me, and I want you here, and that’s what matters.”
Unavoidable math dances through Cody’s head. “I’m one sixteenth your age. What does that make me?”
“Insufferable,” Simon answers without missing a beat.
Cody bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh. “We should find a booth. People are staring.”
“I’ll show them something to stare at,” Simon mutters darkly. He extends an imperious hand. “Dance with me.”
Cody must have misheard. The music, the crowd, the blended scent of wine and bottled blood tugging his sense of danger. But his ears are too keen, his attention on Simon too sharp to misunderstand.
“I’m on the clock,” Cody says, falling back on the easiest response.
“So?” Simon wiggles his hand, which is ridiculous. Then he licks his lips, which isn’t. “You’re my bodyguard. Guard my body.”
Red light spills over Simon’s bare arm. The line of his clavicle. What would it be like dancing against Simon’s cold, undead body? Cody is tempted to find out. Which is yet another reason to shut this down.
The foremost being that Simon doesn’t mean it seriously. He wants attention. He wants to make a scene. Cody has proven that the bratty antics won’t drive him away.
Atwood Security policy is a distant third reason in Cody’s swimming mind.
“That’s not appropriate,” Cody says stiffly, hiding behind protocol.
Simon tenses, then relaxes into a smile Cody can barely see through. “Myapologies.”
“I can’t be distracted,” Cody explains.
Simon perks up. “Am I distracting, Mr. Weston?”
There isn’t an answer that won’t get Cody into trouble. “You’re a fucking brat, Mr. Caley.”
Simon beams with terrible glee, and yeah. Distracting is the least of it. Cody suddenly, desperately wants to know what kind of dancer Simon would be. What have the centuries crafted him into? Calculated, frenetic, intimate, or free?
Movement hooks Cody’s attention. He steps forward on instinct, then back in recognition.
“The boss is ready,” Andrea says, still glaring daggers at Cody.
Simon’s good mood holds. “Lead the way.”
The crowd is light, but Cody instinctively touches Simon’s shoulder to keep him close. A mistake. He isn’t supposed to touch Simon.
But Simon leans closer.
Chapter 13
Simon
A giddy pair of humans pass them on the stairs. One man, one woman, with matching limps. Obviously not a threat, but that makes them more suspicious. Simon is on edge tonight.
There are just so many humans at the Broken Cross. Simon’s stomach twists with a thirst no bottled blood can quench.
