Firebug (12 page)

All the seats were taken, so I leaned against the wall and tried to calm down. To my surprise, the wall was padded, which brought to mind more of an insane-asylum aesthetic than anything celestial. I changed position slightly so my skin wasn't touching the cloth padding. The last thing I needed was a scorched outline of me on the wall. How would I explain that one? Since I was angry, my control wouldn't be at its peak, so I took the extra precaution and adjusted my position.

Ryan joined me, his pout still in full swing. I hate it when people do that. If you want to be mad at me, fine. I probably earned it. When they go out of their way to sulk in your presence, however, then it's more about hurting you than it is about their own hurt. It's a revenge move, and I'm not a big fan of those. You know, unless I'm the one committing them. Then it's revenge all the way.

Silence was heavy between us even though the DJ was filling the air with various overly processed Eurocrap, what I consider to be the Velveeta of the music industry.

“Did you just come over here to sulk some more?” I asked when the beat slowed again.

“I'm not sulking,” he said, his brow furrowed and his arms crossed.

“The hell you aren't.”

“Well, what do you expect?” He threw up his arms, exasperated. “I take you to a restaurant to surprise you, only to find out you're, like, a VIP here and you've got another boyfriend—possibly two—on the side. Or am I the boyfriend on the side?” The glower had returned by the time he stopped talking.

“You got me. I've been sneaking off to Boston to build my harem. Your billowy pants and diamond collar are in the mail.”

He laughed despite himself. Grabbing my waist, he maneuvered me into the corner of the alcove and bent close. Suddenly the world was just Ryan and me. His lips were hot, demanding, like he was trying to reclaim me with a kiss. My body was all for it, and I automatically leaned in, my hands sliding up his back and over his neck to twist into his curls.

We stayed tangled into each other when he pulled back, resting his forehead against mine. “It's so easy when it's just me and you,” he said, rubbing my cheeks with his thumbs. “I wish we could stay in our own little bubble. Just you and me against the world. Tonight…” He stared off into the smoke on the dance floor. “It just didn't go as planned.”

“We could leave,” I said. “Get Meathead and Queen Awful and hit some other club. Start over.”

“Naw,” he said, still watching the dancers twist and move. “It wouldn't work.” I'm not sure what he saw out there, but when he looked back at me, his eyes shone in the dim light. Then I blinked, and he was back to the Ryan I was used to seeing—one big devil-may-care grin.

“Not fair to Brittany and Jeff, you know?” He rubbed my arms. “What say I get you something to drink?” Before I could answer, he was dragging me to the bar. He rolled his eyes when I told him I wanted soda, but he leaned over, yelling into the bartender's ear in order to be heard over the music.

Ryan got yet another gin and tonic. Apparently I'd be driving us home. A waitress brought us a plate of appetizers, and I tried to pass, but Ryan made such a fuss over how good they were that I had to try at least one.

My taste buds exploded, or at least they felt like it. I made the hand-wave/face-pant sign for “my mouth is on fire” and I swear my vision tunneled for a minute. I downed my soda, and Ryan handed me another one.

Between gulps, I thanked the bartender, another beautiful nameless angel whom I didn't know. He smiled politely before he went to help someone else. I continued to melt into the floor. Ryan handed me another drink, and it took several gulps before I realized it was his. All I could taste was burning. I handed back his drink, and he laughed at the scowl that came with it.

Ryan led me into the gyrating bodies of the sweaty crowd, and Velveeta music or not, I started to have fun. I did what seems to happen only when I'm in Ryan's sphere: I let go. I forgot about everything else and just concentrated on being with him. I forgot about Lock's warnings and the impending doom. In the crowd I felt safe. What could she do to us here? On that dance floor I was just another girl dancing, and it felt amazing. Like magic. The crowd pulsed and we went with it, a single organism moving to the same beat.

The magic didn't last. It never does. I guess if it stayed around forever, it wouldn't be magic, would it?

The dancing and the stress of the evening, plus the music and the smoke, began to take their toll. “Can we go? I'm not feeling very well.”

Ryan made a face. “But we just got here. C'mon, Ava. You've been trying to drag me home all night. I know you get to do this all the time, but we don't. If you make us leave, well, that's kind of selfish, don't you think?”

Selfish? Trying to be a
normal
girl out with her
normal
boyfriend was harder than I'd thought it would be. It meant I had to bite back my nasty response and be good. I also had to resist the urge to set fire to
everything.
Relax. Deep breath. Don't burn down Boston. Clearly Ryan didn't understand how poorly I was feeling.

I pulled him so close, we were almost kissing again. “It's going to be a lot less fun if I pass out and you all have to dance over my unconscious body.” Ryan sighed and reluctantly dragged me over to the corner where Brittany and Jeff were making out.

“Ava's not feeling well. She wants to go.”

“So let her go,” Brittany said, barely glancing over at me.

“We came here together,” I reminded her.

She traced Jeff's bottom lip with the tip of her index finger. “I'm sure one of those nice boys downstairs will give you a ride.” Jeff started nuzzling her neck, oblivious to everything around him. “They're probably used to it.” She waved me off. “There's a couch in the ladies' room. Why don't you go lie down or something? It will pass. Now go away. I'm busy.”

I waited for Ryan to call her selfish, but nothing happened. My stomach bubbled, and I decided to take Brittany's suggestion, even though all I wanted to do was leave. Going without them wasn't really an option. You don't leave your friends—even when you wish all their hair would fall out and they'd all be turned into hamsters and they're not really your friends anyway when you stop to think about it—alone in a Coterie bar. Especially when they don't know it's a Coterie bar.

I wove through the crowd, Ryan shouting my name behind me. He finally caught up when I was outside the restroom. I whirled on him, an action I instantly regretted. The room tilted a little on its axis.

“Why do I have to perform the nice-nice dance all night while Brittany and that brain slug she calls a boyfriend are allowed to be complete and utter bastards, I have to bite my tongue while everyone gets to call me a whore? What the hell, Ryan?”

His hands dropped to his sides, fisted in frustration. “No one called you a whore.”

“Roll back the conversation, Ryan, because you accused me earlier of having multiple secret boyfriends, and Brittany just did the same. That mouth-breather of hers is the only one who's bordered on polite the whole night, and that's just because he clearly has a rudimentary grasp of the English language
at best
. And by the way, Ezra and Lock are friends.
Friends
, not boyfriends.”

Ryan shook his head, his curls swaying back and forth. “I want to believe that. But I saw how they were with you. Especially Lock. We all have
eyes
, Ava. Maybe Brittany's just calling it like she sees it.” The anger gave way to a kicked-puppy expression. “I thought I was important to you.”

Stars and sparks, I wasn't even going to touch that last part. “I'm sorry, did I miss the section of the evening where I started making out with another guy in front of you? Was I licking faces and stripping down or something? No. The only girl panting at the table was Brittany. Not me.”

“Leave Brittany alone for once. She's my friend. Get over it.”

“Brittany is not your friend. She's an evil robot from the moon bent on making teen life hell. If you can't see that she was
this close
to ripping off her panties and throwing those manky things at
my
friends, then you're freaking delusional. And if you can bring my friends into it, why are yours off-limits? That's totally ridiculous and—”

“You think I can't see what was right in my face? I'm not stupid, Ava. You're jealous of Brittany, fine. But making fun of her to make yourself look better right now? Pathetic.” He looked furious and crushed, but to be honest I was having a hard time feeling sympathetic. Just keeping my jaw from dropping to the floor was proving difficult. Why would he think I was jealous of someone like Brittany? Ryan should have known me better than that. A tiny voice piped up in the back of my head, asking how Ryan could possibly know me better than that, seeing as he didn't know me at all, and whose fault was that? I told that voice to shut up.

I watched the lights play off his cheekbones. How could anyone that good looking be so insecure? This was new territory, and I didn't know how to navigate it. We were both hurt, but hurt or not, that didn't give him license to treat me like this.

I dug my hands into my pockets in frustration. My hands were always the first part of my body to spark when I lost my temper. I could feel the heat spilling from them as they rested against my thighs. The fire-resistant material Cade used to line my pockets is the same stuff they make firefighter suits out of, and it serves its purpose well,” but it's pretty heavy material and makes you sweat, so pockets were about all we could do. I'd need to have the spelled reinforcement stitching redone soon. I put it off once and ended up burning up a perfectly good pair of jeans. We were out at the time, so I had to hide in the truck while Cade ran into a store and bought me new pants.

Warded pockets wouldn't hold things off forever, but they bought me a few precious seconds to rein things in. I had to get control. Ryan might have the luxury of throwing a tantrum, but I did not. When I went nuclear, I could really go, well, nuclear. So I very calmly marshaled my thoughts, lining them up like little tin soldiers.

“I am not dating anyone else, nor am I sleeping with anyone here.” I pushed the words through clenched teeth. “And I'm not jealous of Brittany.”

“So you're sleeping with someone not here?”

I threw my hands up in the air, an errant spark wending its way into the fog. Ryan didn't notice. “Seriously? You know what? Fine. Either you believe me or you don't.” I jabbed my finger toward the bathroom. “I'll be in there when you figure it out and decide to apologize.”

The door swung as I pushed my way in, and I expected Ryan to follow me, even though this was a ladies-only zone. But he didn't, and I collapsed onto a stained and beat-up settee and tried not to vomit or set anything on fire.

6

S
HOOT
THE
M
OON

AT SOME POINT
, I tried to check on my companions. I made it all the way to the wall outside the bathroom. My surroundings spun and twirled, and everything felt heavy. Lights flashed, whirled, and danced like mad dervishes. I slumped against the wall. I tried to text Lock or Ezra or even call Cade, but I couldn't seem to manage to use my phone properly.

Then Lock was there, dragging me back into the bathroom, my boots skidding on the polished floors. He held me as I got noisily sick into the garbage can. Or at least mostly into the garbage can. My aim wasn't perfect. Once I was done, he pulled me back onto that nasty settee in the corner and held me cradled in his lap. I felt hot and tired, and I just wanted to go back to sleep. Lock shook me awake.

“You need to work with me here, Aves. C'mon.” He pulled back my eyelid. “Bloody hell.” I felt the world shift as Lock heaved up from the chair and carried me out of the bathroom. We couldn't leave yet. I remembered that much.

“Ryan.” It took a lot more effort to get that out than it should have. I could actually feel the word slurring as it left my lips.

“They're long gone, cupcake, and we're getting you out of here.” Lock carried me into the pounding music, the smoke and flashing lights making me even dizzier. I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open. What I needed was something to focus on, and since Lock's face was right in my view I decided to go with that. The muscles in his jaw were tight and twitching. Lock was clearly pissed. He was cute when he was pissed. I giggled. Oh, sweet monkeys in the trees, I had giggled! I am not a giggler. Then the word
giggler
made me giggle more. I was in trouble for sure.

Lock glanced down at me. “C'mon, Aves. Hold it together.”

My giggle turned into a hiccup. “No wonder Ryan thinks we're sleeping together.” I tried to sit up in his arms, but the result was more of a flail. “Ryan! I have to make sure he's all right.”

Lock's jaw tightened even more. “Like I said, look around. Long gone.”

My head apparently had a mind of its own, so it took some coaxing to get my body to do what I wanted. When I did convince it to comply, I realized that Lock was right. Though the floor was far from deserted, there weren't as many people dancing. None of the faces were familiar. “Crap on toast.”

“I'd rather not.”

I batted at his chin. “Pretty face.” Then I rested my head against his shoulder. He swore under his breath, but his arms tightened around me anyway.

The next few hours were a hazy blur. Someone pulled back my eyelids and flashed a light into my eyes. It hurt like hell. Then Ezra and Lock made me drink something that tasted like rotten leaves, and, rather unfortunately, I remember vomiting all over whatever back room I was stashed in. There's a last hazy memory of Lock tucking me in on a couch somewhere as I patted his head in thanks and then burst into more giggles at the feel of his spiky hair. I might or might not have said, “Good night, hedgehog.” Then, thankfully, I passed out.