Page 67 of Spilled Coffee

Fuck him.Logan didn’t get to be his conscience, not anymore.

Devon caught Ethan’s expression and chuckled softly. “So, you gonna find yourself a pretty plaything?” His words were almost teasing as his hand slid down to rest on Ethan’s backside with a light squeeze. “Or… maybe you’re looking for something different tonight?”

Ethan stiffened. “Just here for the drinks,” he said coolly, deliberately putting some space between them.

Devon threw up both hands in mock surrender and laughed. “Whatever you say, brah.” But there was an edge to his smile. “Night’s young—we’ll see.”

Lucy’s loomed ahead like a beast crouched in wait. Pulsating neon lights flickered erratically against the pavement.

Brick let out a triumphant whoop that turned heads, even from across the lot, then threw an arm around Devon’s shoulder and gestured grandly toward the club with an exaggerated flourish. “Here we go, boys—party central!”

His enthusiasm was infectious, and even Ethan couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of excitement stir somewhere deep down.

The entrance was chaos with a long line of bodies pressed together in a writhing mass as they jockeyed for position near the bouncer—a hulking figure with arms like tree trunks and a scar bisecting his upper lip that gave him an almost permanent snarl.

Brick barreled to the front of the line, using his sheer size to part the crowd like Moses while Devon followed close behind, flashing an easy grin that seemed to charm everyone in their path.

The bouncer—who Ethan guessed was either military or an ex-Team guy—barely glanced at their IDs as he fist-bumped them both and waved them through.

Inside, strobe lights sliced through darkness like razor blades, and the music was so loud it was less heard than felt—vibrations rattling ribs and teeth alike. The air was heavy with sweat, perfume, and spilled liquor mingling into one heady cocktail of debauchery.

Brick spotted the girls by the bar, dressed to kill in tight dresses that shimmered under shifting lights like liquid metal, and elbowed Devon in excitement. “Told you they’d be here,” he crowed triumphantly before pointing them out with no subtlety whatsoever.

Ethan followed his gaze silently for a moment before nodding absently. “Guess it really is your lucky night,” he said with little conviction.

Devon leaned in close enough so only Ethan could hear. “What about you?” His voice was low, his fingers insistent as he brushed them against Ethan’s arm, lingering just long enough to make their presence known. “You gonna join Brick’s party? Or stick with mine?”

Ethan stepped up to the bar, not away from Devon exactly, but not toward him either. “I’m gonna grab a drink,” he replied without looking back. “See where the night goes.”

Devon trailed after him like an ever-present shadow that dogged every step Ethan took. “Sounds like a plan,” he murmured, his tone making it clear this wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

Ethan ordered a beer, the cold bottle a relief against his palm. He brought the bottle to his lips and took a long pull. The bitter liquid filled his mouth and slid down his throat.

The taste was sharp but familiar, and he embraced the way it numbed the edges of his thoughts.

Around him, chaos reigned. Brick was as loud and unapologetic as ever, gravitating towards a group of women at the bar, he flashed an easy grin that seemed to charm—or maybe annoy—in equal measure.

Devon hovered on the periphery, his broad shoulders tense, his eyes flicking around the room as if mapping every exit.

The music pounded relentlessly, a bass-heavy rhythm that wormed its way into Ethan’s skull until it matched the thud of his pulse. While Logan’s words continued to swirl in his mind, more a ghost of a warning than an actual memory. And yet here he was, handling Devon just fine. He wasn’t some rookie who needed someone to hold his hand. And he certainly didn’t need Logan swooping in to save him.

Cussler’s decision to scrub the mission had been a godsend. Ethan welcomed the extra rack time to sleep off his hangover, but more than that, it spared him days trapped in close quarters with Logan. After their night together, and the wall Logan had thrown up, the idea of a mission with him felt unbearable.

Devon leaned in, murmuring something about shots, and Ethan felt his gut twist. His grip tightened around the beer until his knuckles went white. There was something that set off alarm bells Ethan couldn’t quite ignore. “Shots?” He repeated, raising an eyebrow and forcing a smile he didn’t quite feel. “Are you trying to kill me or what?”

“Oh, c’mon, man,” Devon said, clapping Ethan on the back with enough force to make him lurch forward slightly. “One shot won’t kill you. Hell, I’ve seen you put away worse.”

“Yeah,” Ethan swallowed the nausea clawing its way up his throat. “And look where that got me.” But Devon either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore it.

They descended into the club, down sticky steps onto the packed dance floor below. Bodies pressed in from every side: strangers grinding together in time with the music, arms flailingwildly under flashing lights that painted their faces like some surreal battlefield.

Brick led the charge with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball, elbows out and shoulders squared as he carved a path to the bar at the back.

Ethan followed reluctantly. Spiting Logan felt like a good idea back at the bar when everything seemed simpler, but now… Now he felt like he was walking in quicksand.

The booth was an oasis amidst the chaos: red leather glossy beneath the flickering lights. Devon was at Ethan’s side, steering him toward an empty seat. “Sit,” he said, not quite an order, but close enough that Ethan complied without argument.

“I’ll grab some drinks,” Brick hollered before disappearing into the crowd.

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