Rhys shook his head so hard he almost toppled off the barstool.
His bloodshot eyes were fixed on my hand as he reached for it again.
‘Stop it!’ I snapped, yanking it back. ‘Don’t touch .’
He looked so damn pathetic.
He opened his mouth—to apologise, maybe—but all that slurred out was, ‘You’ve got to lisss...’
I gave him a shove. Not hard.
But he still went down like a sack of wet laundry, collapsing sideways off the stool and hitting the floor with a thud.
‘For God’s sake,’ I muttered.
He made no effort to get up. Just sat there, back against the bar, legs splayed, head drooping onto his chest.
Yvaine poked him with the tip of her high heel. ‘He’s not dead, is he?’
‘Still breathing... I think.’ I leaned down for a closer look and nearly toppled over myself.
The room swayed. Suddenly, there were two Rhyses swimming in my vision.
‘Whoa, Mira.’ Yvaine caught , steadying with an arm. ‘Told you that drink would hit hard. Should’ve taken it slower. Co on, sit down.’
She led to a sofa and sat down gently. ‘How many fingers am I holding up?’
I shook my head, trying to blink the haze away.
The room doubled again. Everything had a weird, delayed echo to it.
I wasn’t drunk, but I was definitely not sober.
‘Ti to get you ho,’ Yvaine decided.
Suddenly, Rhys snapped awake.
His upper body lurched forward as he made a grab for my ankle. ‘Mirabelle, I...’
I kicked him. The motion sent another dizzy wave through .
Rhys rolled over, then started wriggling along the floor like a worm.
Yvaine kicked his leg. ‘Move aside.’
Rhys didn’t. He sprawled out wider across the floor like a human starfish.
His hand slithered out again, reaching for my ankle. ‘You can’t leave. You can’t just walk away from like this...’
I stood up—well, more like swayed upright—and raised my foot to stomp on his hand. But the floor kept shifting under .
‘Yvaine,’ I said, blinking hard.
‘Hmm? Want to kick him for you?’
‘No. Just... are you seeing what I’m seeing?’
‘Seeing what?’
Black coat. White T-shirt. Grey trousers.
He looked just like any other bar patron, except for the face.
That face stood out anywhere.
He stepped closer.
I reached out, the motion throwing off balance.
He caught .
‘Ashton!’ Yvaine’s surprised shout confird I wasn’t hallucinating.
Ashton’s solid warmth double-confird it.
‘What’s going on?’ he demanded.
‘What are you doing here?’ Yvaine asked at the sa ti.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ I said, lagging behind.
Yvaine picked up the explanation. ‘We ca out for a drink. Just a quick one. I was going to get Mira ho right after. I know she’s got dinner plans with you. But then this guy’—she jabbed a toe at Rhys—‘rolled in drunk and miserable and started pouring out his soul. Mira wouldn’t give him the ti of day, so he lay down on the floor and tried to roadblock us.’
‘I got a text from Cassian. He told Mira’s here.’ Ashton answered Yvaine’s earlier question before turning to . ‘Can you walk?’
‘Yes,’ I said, attempting a demonstration.
Not a straight line, but definitely forward-ish.
The world was still moving through gauze. I could hear everything and see everything, just not all in the right order.
Rhys was still flopping about on the floor.
Ashton wrapped an arm around my waist and stepped over him—
And planted a foot down on Rhys’s outstretched arm.
Rhys let out a sharp yelp.
Ashton glanced at Yvaine. ‘You said she only had a quick one.’
Yvaine shrank under his inquisitorial gaze. ‘Well, yeah, two glasses, tops. But it was a rather strong blend.’
She added sheepishly, ‘I told her to go slow.’
‘I’m fine,’ I mumbled. ‘Hold up your hand. I’ll count your fingers.’
Ashton’s voice dropped another ten degrees. ‘What’s your address? I’ll drop you off.’
Yvaine backed away. ‘Nah, no need. I’m good, really. I can walk. Totally. And this place is owned by a friend. Don’t worry about , just take care of Mirabelle.’
Ashton gave a curt nod.
Everything blurred again; I was scooped off the floor.
My vision swam upwards until I was looking up at his chin, lightly dusted with stubble.
‘Mirabelle.’ Rhys groaned from the floor. ‘I need to talk to you.
Ashton walked right over him.
Rhys yelped, curled into a ball, but still managed to cling to Ashton’s ankle with one hand.
Ashton calmly stomped down on it. Ground it into the floor.
Rhys howled.
The cool evening air slapped so clarity into as we stepped out of the bar.
I blinked a few tis. Things sharpened a little.
Ashton slid into the back seat of the car, then climbed in after .
That was when I noticed he was wearing indoor slippers.
The drive was quiet.
The car felt like a tomb, only the hum of the engine filling the silence.
I wasn’t sure when I nodded off. But eventually, the awkward seat angle woke again.
I kept sliding off the leather.
So I inched closer to Ashton and dropped my head on his thigh.
It was a hard pillow, but better than sliding into the footwell.
From this angle, all I could see was his Adam’s apple and the underside of his jaw, clenched tight.
The car braked suddenly.
I almost rolled right off him, but his hand shot out and caught .
‘Drive slower,’ he barked at the driver.
‘Sorry, boss.’
I clung to his arm, waited for the nausea to roll past, then squird a bit, trying to find a more comfortable spot.
The knees were hard and digging into the back of my neck.
The thighs were solid as granite.
I shifted higher up.
His hand clamped down on my hip.
A warning: stop wriggling.
His other hand brushed my hair back from my forehead, then began gently massaging my temple.
It felt nice.
I made a pleased little hum to let him know he should keep doing that.
My eyes fluttered shut, lulled by the soothing pressure of his fingers.
I might have fallen asleep again, if not for—
‘Do you still have feelings for him?’
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