Misfits Like Us (Like Us #11)(61)

Tom offers me his shot when the tray is brought out, but my uneasy stomach is saying no to any more liquor.

“No thanks,” I whisper.

I glance towards the door again, trying to will Korey to enter.

Please.

Enter.

An older man with graying hair slips inside next. My stomach sinks. But then the door swings open one more time after him, and I recognize the chestnut brown hair. The tattooed arm. The faded Van Halen tee and ripped denim jeans, even in the fancy club.

Donnelly has arrived.

He’s not alone.

Next to him is his date.

I recognize her too, and my heart stops.

Oscar must see what I see because he says, “Why the fuck is Donnelly with my sister?”





17





PAUL DONNELLY





What is Luna doing here?

I try not to stumble backwards seeing her, but the gut-punch steals my breath. Joana skids to a stunned stop with me, in equal shock.

“Donnelly,” she whispers sharply, her uncertain eyes on me and the table of people staring back at us. “You didn’t say Cobalts would be here.”

“I didn’t think they would be.”

No one told me Eliot, Tom, and Luna were having their triple date at The Green Room too. I’m not angry about the lack of a heads-up. Just that my whole plan to bring Joana as a date is unraveling into something I didn’t intend.

I quickly avert my gaze from Luna.

Jo intakes a breath. “We came this far. Have to go for the KO.”

“Pro-tips from the pro-boxer,” I say into a slanted smile, trying to push past the tension in my muscles.

“You bet.” She pats my shoulder hard. “Act like you’re a killer in the ring.” Joana is still wearing boxer braids. I picked her up after her televised fight that she won, and in the backseat, she changed into a sage, flowy dress—all sparkly and shit. And she spent most of the ride putting on makeup to hide the bruises and cuts on her face. “Kill, kill, kill,” she whispers into each step as we head to my friends and her brother, and I should play up the part: me dating Jo.

I planned to sling my arm around her shoulders.

But I can’t move my stiff joints.

Joana slides an arm around my waist, hooking her fingers into my waistband near my pelvis, and Oscar rocks back in horror.

“Jo,” Oscar nearly shouts.

“Cute dress,” Frog calls from a couch of on-duty bodyguards, sitting nearby in the lounge.

Joana finds the source of the voice and sees Frog’s emerald getup. “Love yours, too.” And then back to Oscar, she says, “Hey, big bro. What’s up?”

I thought I’d come in with a smirk. Stick out my tongue, throw back a shot or two, have a pretty good night, all thing’s considered.

The unease is rippling through me, and I can’t mask it with fake anything.

Don’t look at Luna. Can’t look at Luna. Fuck me, I’m not even making eye contact with her best friends or her brother. Eliot, Tom, Maximoff—for the sake of my speeding pulse and the hammering in my temple, I pretend they aren’t here.

Farrow is mouthing, “What the fuck?” at me.

It’s not real. Me and Jo.

It’s a joke on Oscar.

I didn’t expect Luna to be here. It wasn’t supposed to hurt anyone, just lightly poke at one of my oldest friends who’d laugh about this later; I know Oscar would.

I’m hoping I’m communicating that through my eyes, and I could roll this to a stop—but how? Joana wants to screw with her brother, not actually be my date, and I wouldn’t have asked her here for real.

“What’s up?” Oscar repeats to Jo. “My baby sister has lost her motherfucking mind, that’s what’s wrong.”

“You know I’ve always thought Donnelly was hot.”

“No, I did not know that.”

“How could you not? He’s sex on a stick.” She spins into me, clutching my shirt. “Isn’t that right, sugar boo?”

“They’re fucking with me?” Oscar is asking Farrow. “Tell me they’re fucking with me.”

Like he set a challenge, Joana goes in for a kiss, and I can’t. I’ve never felt what I’m feeling—like my entire body is being shredded in half and like I could cry. As her lips edge closer, I make a smooth move to the left and whisper in her ear, “I’m not looking to kill him, Jo.”

I’m not looking to kill myself with heartache either. Been trying my best to outrun that grim reaper.

“That’s the whole goal,” she whispers back in my ear. “Where’s the fight in you?”

It’s somewhere in Luna’s hands. Her lap. My fight is gonna be with her, I know that, and I’m struggling to change that.

“Take it easy on him,” I just tell Jo under my breath. “He’s old. He’s got high cholesterol and whatnot.”

“He’s thirty-three, not a hundred.” And then she relents off my solemn gaze. “Fine,” she whispers between her teeth while trying to smile at everyone. “You don’t have to grab my ass, but you could at least act like you’ve fucked me before.” Her eyes plead with me. “I am fuckable, Donnelly.”