Page 39 of Seven+Four

“Isn’t this Ollie’s car?” Michael asks Lori.

“There’s one in the trunk.”

“What is that doing in my trunk?” Ollie frowns.

“First of all, this is Sully’s Jeep, not yours. And second, none of you crybabies let me drive anymore, so I stashed one in each car.” He shrugs.

“How did you pull that off?” Michael asks.

“I had some external help.”

“Clover,” I guess, pulling my pants down.

“B-I-ngo!” Lori beams, until he sees Ollie. “You look like I ran over your cat.”

“You almost did it once!” Ollie barks.

“Did I? Am I supposed to remember all the animals I ran over?”

“You’re supposed to not do it,” Michael tells him.

“They were mostly sewer rats and cockroaches.”

“The latter are insects,” I tell him.

Lori pouts for a moment. “Okay. Let’s go back to the juicy conversation. Sari, I’ll make it my personal mission to find you a nice, hot bloke to help you get off tonight.”

“For the love of God,” I hear Ollie mutter.

“I’m okay, Lori,” I try. Do I want his help? Maybe I do need it since past experience didn’t go so well.

“It’s going to be easy. Maybe you won’t even need me.”

“I won’t?” I ask hopefully.

“Adorable if naive. You are too unaware of yourself, Angel. I’ll help with the screening process, alright?”

I nod, a bit confused by his words. My phone stopped vibrating. Did Raph distract Uri? Or did Uri get fed up? The last possibility upsets me. I’m such a mess.

“Rami told me about a place the other day,” Michael suddenly says, checking his phone. “It’s a bar not too far from here. I’m sending you the pin.”

“Got it.” Ollie taps on the Jeep’s navigation screen. “I need the booze to do its work. Being sober just leads to murderous thoughts,” Ollie grumbles, sending a glance to his right where Lori is happily humming what sounds like “Livin’ la Vida Loca.”

After fifteen minutes, Ollie parks the red Jeep on the street and we make our way to the bar. The wooden sign reads Wine, Cock, and Beer.

“I dig the name.” Lori winks at me and hooks his arm with mine as we go inside. It’s bigger and nicer than I expected. The lights are dimmed, giving the place a warm glow. The air is sweet and rich, compared to the outside chill. The round bar counter is in the middle of the room and people are sitting in the brown booths or gathered around the high wooden tables surrounding it. The clink of glasses and loud chatter relegate the notes of some pop song to the background.

Lori pulls me toward the bar. The sparkly, white counter—the exact same shade as my nail polish—feels cold under my fingers. The two bartenders look busy as they swiftly prepare one cocktail after another.

I undo the buttons of my coat but leave it on. The clothes Lori’s lent me are beautiful but slightly too revealing for my liking. A very short, leather skirt, black stockings and a soft sweater that leaves part of my belly and one shoulder bare.

“Tequila shots! And keep them coming,” Lori orders, and after a moment eight little glasses appear in front of us.

“Elbows up!” Ollie says, before downing his glass.

This is not my first time having shots with them. I like tequila, it gives me a nice buzz. So I follow their example, and three glasses later, my stomach starts to burn slightly.

A guy slides in next to me, but Lori raises his arm to push him away. “Come back in ten minutes. He needs to drink more.” He winks, and the guy nods and leaves but not before sending me a heated look.

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