Our shots arrive and I force my attention on downing mine in one go. The edges of my awareness have become fuzzy at best, and this final shot will hopefully squash what’s starting to feel like humiliation.
Quinn grabs my hand and we weave back to the dance floor. I try to reconnect with my body and the freedom of letting myself go. But the music starts to feel too loud and my toes feel pinched in my shoes. I make it to almost midnight before I admit defeat and beg Quinn to take me home.
When we step outside, the dry, cold air stings my cheeks and bare arms and the drop in volume as the door shuts behind us sends a pulse of relief across my shoulders. At the corner, two guys stand smoking and laughing under the streetlight, and to our right, a couple are kissing against the side of a car and talking in low tones.
I lean back against the stone wall to wait for our cab. Beyond the haze of streetlights, so many bright stars in the inky night sky blink back at me. I get a sudden craving to be floating on my back in the lake while their milky glow coats my naked skin.
In a burst of squeaky hinges, The Limelight’s door swings open and Russel, Eric, and the two women step out, their banter and laughing way too loud for the quiet street.
Our cab pulls up and I’m hurrying toward it when in my peripheral vision, Russel closes in.
“Hey,” Quinn barks. “This is our ride.”
“You don’t need an SUV,” Russel replies, nodding at the dark Tahoe. Behind him, Eric and the two women are watching us. Eric’s eyes are wary while the women look amused. Or maybe they’re just high? Hell, are they all high?
“Let them have it,” I mutter. If nothing else, it’ll get them to leave.
“Hell no,” Quinn says, stepping into Russel’s space. “You can wait. It’s the least you can do, asshole.”
Russel tries to nudge past her, but she cuts him off with a hip check, then grabs my hand. We’re hurrying to the cab when a hand snakes around my bicep, jerking me to a stop.
I try to yank my arm free, but Russel tightens his grip.
Colors flash and voices ring in my ears. Eric tries to intervene and Quinn gets in his face. We’re a mess of angry words and flailing limbs while the women cheer “Fight! Fight! Fight!” like this is some spectacle.
“Come back to the hotel with me,” Russel says in my ear, then plants a sloppy kiss on my lips.
Hot anger floods my veins, snapping something loose inside me. I’m in motion before I know what the hell I’m doing.
I swing my fist, connecting with something hard. Searing pain explodes in my knuckles.
“What the fuck, Meg?” Russel grabs me around the waist and tries to drag me toward the SUV.
More shouting, this time from two firm voices. “That’s enough,” one of the newcomers shouts seconds before I’m lifted into the air by a pair of strong arms and carried back to the sidewalk.
I fight his hold, but his grip is too strong.
“Easy, slugger,” the man says, setting me on my feet.
“Let me go,” I choke out as my brain catches up to what’s just happened. My hand is throbbing. Did I really just punch Russel in the face?
“Not until you catch your breath,” the man says, keeping me pinned to his broad chest, loosening his grip enough so that I can do as he suggested. But it only makes my throat quiver and hot tears sting my nose. Fuck, I hate crying.
“Are you hurt?”
I blink up at Linden, but I have to look away just as fast because the amusement in his eyes makes me want to scream.
“I’m pressing charges!” Russel calls out behind me.
“Like hell. You’re the one who grabbed Meg!” Quinn replies.
“Let’s back up here,” another man says.
“Lemme see.” Linden’s calm voice has the effect of coaxing another full breath from my lungs. He cradles my throbbing hand.
I wince. The skin over my middle knuckle is split and smeared with blood. The others are bright red.
“Can you wiggle them?” Linden asks.
