Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(28)

I hesitate. “You’re angry.” He doesn’t answer. So I add, “You think I’m stupid for being here.” To try again so soon.

He takes a sip. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I think you’re brave,” he tells me. “But there’s a greater chance this city will strip whatever innocence you have left before you succeed, Thora.” He tilts his head at me. “And there’s a good chance you’ll fail. I have trouble imagining a girl like you on the brink of misery in a city that doesn’t want her. So yes, I’m angry. But not at you.”

My stomach roils. These truths are hard to hear, I’ll admit that. But I can’t leave. I lick my lips, tasting the tequila. “I can’t leave,” I say aloud, resolute on this decision. “I’m not turning back now. I’ll spend years regretting it.” I’ll go home empty-handed. With nothing but a big mistake on my chest, worn like a badge of shame.

He finishes off his second drink and slides it on the bar. “I used to be like you.”

“Brave?” I wonder.

“Idealistic.”

“What happened?” I ask, my drink cold in my hand.

“I grew up,” he tells me, a swift kick. “I have more responsibilities. There are people I can’t afford to leave behind.”

“Hey, Thora!” Camila calls out, stealing my attention. She slips to my side of the bar, but her presence only builds a strain between Nikolai and me. Like last week, her green glow necklace rests on her brown curls. Her gaze floats to the Russian guy. “Hey, sexy, don’t you have a bet to get to?”

“I’m taking a break.” And then he rests his palm on the small of my back. I cage a breath the longer he touches me out of the blue. “Thora has been telling me about her new job.” Each word sounds like liquid sex all of a sudden. He can layer on the smooth charm too well.

Camila’s lips rise, coated in purple lipstick. “Oh yeah, she’s a vixen at Phantom now.” The bride-to-be waves Camila down at the other side of the bar. She sighs heavily and focuses on me. “I need to talk to you about something important. So don’t move.” Her voice pitches a bit, and worry infiltrates my frozen state of being.

“I thought we were just celebrating my first week here.”

“That too,” she calls out as she darts away.

Nikolai studies her, way more attentive than me. His hand ascends to my shoulder, and he squeezes once, almost in comfort. “How long have you known her for?”

I shrug. “Just the week.”

“I don’t think she invited you here to celebrate.”

She does seem nervous. So Camila might’ve asked me here for another reason. That doesn’t mean it has to be a bad reason, right? I find myself chugging my drink distractedly, and I cough into my hand at the sharpness. As I go to take another sip to clear my throat, a very senseless act, Nikolai covers my glass with his hand.

Then he flags down a bartender as easily as he did the first two times. “I need a water.”

She’s quick to fill another glass, even plopping in a lemon. When she disappears, he passes it to me. I gratefully switch drinks, opting for the nonalcoholic one.

To lessen the tension, I change to a lighter topic. “Tattoo anyone special?”

“Everyone is special,” he says. I try to catch his sarcasm, but it’s hidden in his deep voice. I wonder if he’s still imagining me being sucked in Vegas’ black hole of sins and broken dreams.

“Anyone memorable then?” I wonder.

“There was the forehead tattoo...”

My jaw unhinges.

His brows shoot up. “Joking.” And a smile pulls at his lips, a charismatic one.

I must be scowling because he gives me this usual stare like you seem mad. I’ve been asked “what’s wrong?” for merely walking along campus with headphones in. I thought I looked fine, but my face sucks at conveying my emotions properly.

He tilts my chin up with two fingers, his eyes doing most of the smiling now, searching me. “What black eyes you have…”

“All the better to devour you with.” That wasn’t me. I’m not that witty. Camila is back with a bigger, wider grin than she’s worn all night. “Are you two friends?” She radiates at that possibility. And I swear she glances at my nipple, recalling that he was the one who pierced me.

Neither of us answers. We’re not exactly friends, but we’re not strangers anymore either. The music switches to a louder dance beat by Jennifer Lopez.

“This is so perfect!” Camila shouts over the song. She stretches over the bar to talk to us. “I’ve been stressing out all day, trying to find you a place to crash.”

The bottom of my stomach collapses.

What?

I struggle to ask at first, but I find my voice. “What happened to your couch?” My throat throbs. I told her that I’d be out of her place in a week and a half, the day I receive my first paycheck. She said that was fine.

“My extended family is here, and they want to stay closer to the strip. So they’re going to use my place. They surprised me with the news this morning. I’m really sorry.” Her green-shadowed eyes apologize enough. “John’s brothers are crashing at his place, so he has a full house too. I’ve called a few girlfriends, but no one is answering tonight.”