Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(55)

I try not to focus on the five-month deadline where Elena will grace the globe auditorium in Amour, and my parents will believe that I’m supposed to be there. I’m still trying to formulate another lie to keep them in Cincinnati before that happens.

Tonight, I practice the art of relaxation.

The Red Death is at maximum capacity, a long line spindling outside the door. Like every Saturday night. A perk to knowing Camila: I just slipped right on by again. Currently pop remixes blare through speakers and create a unity of grinding bodies.

I rotate my blue glow choker, the connector resting against the back of my neck. Admittedly, I hesitated on whether to take an “it’s complicated” necklace—but it’s not really that complicated, I guess. Nikolai is training me. That’s it.

I grab a shot of tequila from Camila while she mans the bar, green glow ring atop her curls. She has more colorful makeup on, pink sparkles beneath her eyes and cheeks, gold glitter on her neck and collarbones.

“I can’t believe you haven’t fucked him yet!” She shouts to me over the music. Then she leans closer, forearms on the bar. First thing she asked was my relationship status.

I can’t be the only girl who’d choose this path. “We’re just friends,” I assure her.

Camila looks disappointed, like she was ready to pass me extra celebratory shots.

“Why the hell are you pouting?” John asks his cousin. He sits on the stool next to me, fisting a beer. “And please don’t tell me you’re living vicariously through Thora’s sex life. That’s just sad. Especially since you have a boyfriend—no, not a boyfriend actually. More like a fuck face, piece of shit.” He raises his beer to her in cheers.

My eyes grow big. I met Craig at Camila’s apartment during my couch-surfing days. He seemed normal. Nice, even. He brought Camila a bouquet of roses, just because.

Though I can’t deny their intense verbal sparring matches that shook the walls at night. Maybe John knows about those.

Camila stands straighter. “It’s called empathy,” she says, sidestepping the boyfriend insult. “Something that was removed from you at birth.”

“I can empathize with people. But I choose not to because I’m the only sane person in this godforsaken country. Seriously, why should I feel bad that Thora didn’t get laid? She probably saved herself from an STD and a broken heart.” Dear God—I didn’t even think about STDs. I cringe.

“John,” Camila snaps.

He lets out a breath and rolls his eyes. “I’m just making conversation.”

“Nikolai doesn’t seem like he sleeps around a lot,” I mention. Though I’m not certain about this. Katya never talks about his previous relationships. He’s a full-on mystery there, and I feel like it’s stepping out of bounds if I even ask.

“See,” Camila says, pointing a finger at John.

“Whatever,” he mumbles. “I need another drink.” He slides his cousin the empty beer bottle, and she retrieves him a new one.

“Thora James!”

I whip my head and notice Timo approaching, his face bathed in green, red and blue from three stacked necklaces. He’s added silver glitter on his bare chest and cheeks to his usual attire: no shirt, leather jacket, and dangling cross earring. He looks like part of the club folk.

John curses under his breath the minute Timo nears. He can’t keep his mouth shut though. “The under-twenty-one club is down the street,” he tells him. “It has a big giraffe and R-Us at the end.” He gives Timo a dry look before taking a swig of beer.

Timo only smiles more. “The over-ninety club is also down the street. It’s where all these headstones are, old man. Can’t miss it.” Then he rotates to me, and he lets out a long whistle, scrutinizing me from head to toe. “Thora James, turning it on tonight.”

I’m actually dressed up this time—not in sneakers or my Phantom costume. Camila lent me a tight black dress that zips in the back and lifts up my boobs. I keep tugging the hem since it rides up as I sit on the barstool, appearing shorter.

“Better than the sweats?!” I have to shout over the loud bass.

“Most definitely!” he yells back. “My brother is going to love it!”

My stomach clenches. “That’s…” not what I planned. My voice drowns in the music. Okay, don’t fool yourself, Thora. If I can’t be honest with myself, then I am fucked.

I knew Nikolai would be here tonight, as he is every Saturday.

And yeah, I wanted to look my best. I wanted to draw a reaction from him—the kind that electrocutes my nerves and tingles my skin.

Tingles.

I’m talking about tingles in association with a guy. I internally groan. Shay would call me ridiculous. But I don’t even want to take the wish back. I’m only human.

John slices through what would’ve been an awkward moment from my open-mouthed, stupefied-self. He zeroes in on Timo again. “This area…” He motions around us. “…is for people who can legally order at the bar.” He shoos him away with the swat of his hand.

Timo’s blinding, magnetic smile never fades. “In another life, you were a fat old police officer addicted to donuts.”

Camila spits out her water from behind me, and the spray dampens my neck. “I’m sorry!” she says between fits of laughter. “That’s just…”