Page 114 of Riot Act
The club isn’t some under twenty-ones bullshit venue. It’s a full-blown nightclub, complete with bouncers who look like they’d rip your face off as soon as look at you. Wren leads us past the huge line of people waiting to get in, straight up to said bouncers. The largest of the three men holds a hand up, already shaking his head, but then Wren shows him a black card that he pulls from his wallet, he unclips the velvet rope in front of the doorway and we’re being ushered quickly past them, down a steep flight of stairs and into a cavernous underground…warehouse?
Music pulses, bouncing off the walls. A huge dance floor packed with writhing bodies greets us, and Elodie claps her hands together. “Holy shit! I’ve been wanting to dance forever!” she shouts over the driving bass line.
Next to me, Chase surveys the knot of people before us, swallowing hard. “I’m going to get a drink.”
One of the bouncers fastened bright orange paper bracelets around our wrists before cutting us loose. The bands read, ‘ID VERIFIED – OVER 21’, which means we shouldn’t have any issue at all getting served. Chase takes off, beelining for the closest bar, and I follow after her. I need alcohol more than I need to be a dick and avoid her right now. And anyway, I’ve recently discovered that being a dick and hanging around her is far more entertaining. When she looks up and finds me right there, by her shoulder, she scowls darkly, sighing out a massive breath of air. “What do you want, Pax?”
“Rum and coke. Double’d be nice.”
“No. What do youwant? You get mad at me for coming here and checking in on you, and yet I turn around and you’re right freaking behind me. There are plenty of other bars in this club. Go and get a drink at one ofthem.”
“True.” I look around, making a show of squinting at the other bars. At the people working behind them. “This chick’s got the nicest tits, though. I was thinking about getting her number.”
PRES
Oh, my fucking god. He is such a dick. The worst part is, the bartender with the giant, perky tits has already noticed him and she’s making a beeline straight for him. “You’re a fucking prick, you know that? Don’t worry. I’ll go to another bar. Maybe the guy with the ink over there will give mehisnumber.”
I shove away from the bar, forging ahead into the crowd, leaving him to flirt to his heart’s content. Crossing the dance floor isn’t so easy, though. It takes too long to navigate the welter of sweaty, writhing bodies, and I’m exhausted by the time I reach the other side of the club. The bartender looks up and sees me, grins, flashing a row of perfect white teeth, but then his smile fades. He pivots and disappears down the other end of the bar before I can even order. What thehell?
“That fucker’s ink is even lamer than your brother’s.” Pax leans against the bar next to me, elbows resting on top of the sticky, lacquered wood.
I glare at him, open-mouthed. “What…whyare you doing this?” The question comes out exasperated, and rightly so.
He looks up, as if he’s pondering his response to the question. And then: “I’m here against my will, and I have nothing better to do.”
“You guys know what you want?” The bartender is back, though looking a little wary of Pax.
“Margarita, please. Patron if you have it. Salt rim. And don’t worry about him. He doesn’t want anything.”
“Double rum and coke,” Pax barks, scowling sideways at me. Once the bartender’s gone to make our drinks, Pax rounds on me, stooping down so that our eyes are at the same level for once. “The path of least resistance doesn’t just mean the easiest route.Butthead.”
“Hah! Butthead? What are you, five?”
“Sometimes you have to simplify things when talking to dumbasses.”
“Look. I’m used to dealing with you being prickly, Pax, but this is beyond the pale. Can we just call a truce for the night? I’m sorry I was worried about you. I’m sorry I came to find you. Fuck, I’m sorry for all of it. I promise you, I’ll go back to the academy in the morning and I won’t bother you again.”
He works his jaw, glowering at me. “All right. Fine. Have fun with the bartender.”
“Iwill.”
Speaking of the bartender—he returns with our drinks just in time. Pax snatches his rum and coke up and downs it in one go, slams the empty glass back down on the bar top, gives me one last disgusted look and then bails into the crowd.
“Yeesh. Lover’s tiff?”
I look at the bartender. “What do you call anenemy’stiff?” I ask him wearily.
“I think that’s just an argument, sweetheart.”
Wren and Elodie are on the dance-floor when I find them. I wouldn’t have pegged Wren as a dancer—he seems way too serious for that—but the guy can actually move. I get Elodie’s attention and yell into her ear, letting her know that I’m going to post up and find somewhere to sit down while they dance. She tells me to stay and dance with them, but there is literally nothing worse than trying to bop to music while the couple you’re with are grinding on each other so suggestively that they could charge people to watch.
Heading down a level, I find a sunken seating area close to another bar and order myself another drink. I can see Elodie and Wren from my vantage point, just about, so I sit and watch them, sipping aggressively on my third margarita.
“This seat taken, beautiful?”
I look up at the guy gesturing to the spot next to me, doing everything in my power not to groan at the absurdity of his question. “Yeah, it’s taken.” I’m curt as hell. I bite on the end of my straw, looking off into the crowd of people on the dance floor, trying to find Elodie again.
“Really? ’Cause…” Rando dude chuckles in a way that other girls must find charming. “It doesn’t look taken to me.”
