“Time for a change-up!” Tyler says. He dons his aviator shades and hoists me out of my chair. He whispers something to Gavin and then we make a break for it, running a couple blocks south on Bowery.
“What about the others?” I ask, hustling to keep up with Tyler’s long gait.
“They’ll come. That’s what we do when people find us. Someone tweets about where we are and so we scatter, but we just regroup later.”
I laugh at the chase and we head to DBGB, a modern restaurant bar with walls covered in culinary quotes. By the time we’ve ordered another drink, Gavin and Beryl appear. Gavin’s wearing a dark, shaggy wig that looks like it belongs on a 1990s grunge band and I burst out laughing.
“Seriously? That’s the dumbest wig I’ve ever seen.”
Gavin’s ice-blue eyes wink at me. “Don’t knock it. It’ll buy us another half-hour at least, but damn, it’s scratchy.”
We order another round and Tyler, Beryl and I play our lyrics game. Tyler gets me with a The Book of Mormon reference and I draw a blank.
“New location,” Gavin announces, looking at his phone. “The others went to The Bowery Hotel and they found a good hiding spot.”
I teeter on my heels as I follow them a few blocks, floating on alcohol and laughter. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten such a head start on them with the vodka at Tyler’s place, because they’re just getting warmed up while I’m pretty sauced.
In the dark haze of The Bowery Hotel’s bar, no one recognizes Tattoo Thief immediately and I’m grateful, but I hate the fact that the last two seats are on opposite couches. Tyler sits next to Teal, who immediately snuggles up to him.
The couches are slouchy velvet and we cluster around a table where Shelly and Teal are doing shots of Patrón. Kristina sneers at them but Beryl and I go for it with the rest of the band, the sting of salt and sharp tang of lime following each tequila shot that burns down my throat.
Tyler starts spinning a laughter-filled anecdote and everyone lightens. His grin is contagious—I swear this man could create his own weather systems.
Kristina taps my knee and I force myself to stop staring at the rapidly diminishing space between Teal and Tyler. “Tomorrow, can you come over to my place?” Kristina asks Beryl and me. “We can figure out what we’re wearing for the Spider-Man premiere.”
That thought takes my mood down a notch and I frown. “I don’t have anything to wear,” I confess, hoping I don’t also have to confess that I don’t have the money to buy something new.
Kristina’s sour expression is broken by a light laugh. “That’s the point, silly. I got Marchesa to dress us all. They’ll come over with a bunch of gowns and we get to pick.”
Beryl’s eyes widen. “That feels so … Cinderella.”
Kristina rolls her eyes. “You get used to it. The dresses are a loan. But it wouldn’t look good if Tattoo Thief showed up with arm candy dressed the way we are right now.”
I stiffen at her comment, but I can’t disagree. I might look fine for a night out at a bar, but I’m nowhere near premiere-ready.
“What about…?” I incline my head toward Shelly and Teal.
Kristina shakes her head. “Jayce hasn’t decided who he’s going with yet. Anyway, they’re not part of our group.”
“Yet?” Beryl asks.
Kristina’s face darkens. “I’ve seen it too many times to count. The girls who leech on to them because they’re rock stars, not because they’re Jayce or Gavin or Tyler, don’t deserve to be a part of this.”
“And it’s your prerogative to shut them out?” I challenge Kristina—why does she get to decide who’s in and who’s out? I should be grateful that I’m included, but the alcohol makes me quarrelsome.
“Hell, yes, it is.” Her face flushes with fury. “After everything I’ve been through with Dave, and everything I’ve seen from the groupies, I have a right to say who gets to be a part of this.”
“Thanks for including us, then,” Beryl says, trying to lighten the mood.
“I didn’t have a choice.”
I raise my brow in challenge and down another shot. Maybe this explains Kristina’s perpetually pissed-off attitude. “Who chose, then?”
“Gavin only came back from Africa because of Beryl,” Kristina says, turning to her, “and I saw what you did for him. You reached him when we couldn’t, so you’re in. But you—” Kristina fixes suspicious eyes on me. “Tyler said you’re in, but you’ve already screwed us over once.”
Beryl hisses. “That’s water under the bridge, Kristina. Let it go.”
Kristina holds up her hands as if to say, It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s gotta do it. “I’m just looking out for him. He trusts too easily. He’s great at connecting with people, but when it comes to women who want him, he has no friggin’ clue.”
A shriek of laughter draws our attention and I catch Teal whispering something in Tyler’s ear. I can’t tell if his easy smile is encouraging her or just plain friendly. Inwardly, I seethe, but I refuse to make a scene. He’s not my man, and maybe he likes the attention. Jayce certainly does.
I have another drink and try to follow Beryl and Gavin’s conversation about their trip to Oregon but I feel left out, like I’m listening to someone recount the plot of a movie I haven’t seen. Kristina gravitates to Dave, pulling him into their coupley-coupled universe, while Shelly and Teal press their ample breasts against Jayce and Tyler’s arms.
I feel like a third wheel. Or rather, a ninth wheel, just an appendage to these four couples. I want Tyler to extract himself from the groupie bimbos but he seems to be having fun, so instead I pound another shot and go to the restroom.
I weave through the crowded bar, holding the backs of chairs for support because my shoes feel too tall. I nearly trip over an ancient rug where it meets the hardwood floor and I gawk at the weird taxidermy over the bar and along the walls.
I take my time in the restroom, putting my head in my hands as I sit on the toilet seat and try to get my bearings. First vodka, then cocktails, then tequila shots. My stomach lining hates me for this abuse and I feel bile rise in my throat as I think of the way Teal’s bubblegum-pink lips whispered in Tyler’s ear.
Oh yes, I am madly jealous.
And madly in—what? Like? Lust? Love?—with Tyler.
But I can’t fathom that he feels the same way. Something hanging over his head has ruined every time we’ve connected, every time we’ve gotten close.
Bad boys aren’t this complicated. Bad boys you just find, fuck and forget. But Tyler is unforgettable. He’s got an electric touch that seems to disconnect the logical parts of my brain that know what I want and how to get it.
What I want is a connection. Tonight. Right now. I want someone to shove me against a wall, pull my hair, and show me that I’m the only woman in the room that he wants.
Sweet Tyler isn’t doing any of that.
Fuck.
I sway as I exit the restroom and decide to get another drink at the bar instead of going back to the couches and the nightmare groupie twins. My eyes land on a broad-shouldered man with jet-black hair that brushes his shoulders. I crowd him as he orders a beer.
“Vodka tonic?” I call to the bartender when he glances at me. The man pivots slightly and he’s a good deal older than me, maybe thirty, with a face full of stubble and keen, appreciative eyes that linger on my cleavage.
He likes what he sees. And I like the fact that he’s looking at me as if I’m the only woman in the bar right now. In my alcoholic haze I answer the few questions he asks and let him pay for my drink.
When Jet Black puts a hand on my elbow and then my waist, I don’t resist.