The Broken Triangle (16 page)

“He would have struck out anyway.” The girl’s previously pleasant expression had shifted during their brief conversation. She stepped away from the guy’s arm and gave him a look of disgust that had Patrick feeling a little bit of sympathy for him, knowing what it was like to have that sort of loathing focused in his direction.

Then the guy opened his mouth again, and even Patrick’s fine tendrils of sympathy dissolved. “Stop fucking around and make me a gin and tonic.”

“Honey, if I felt like fucking around, trust me, you’d know it.” Patrick turned his flirt level to top volume and focused all his attention on the guy in a way that was calculated to either send straight men running or have them doubting their heterosexuality. “You do know how to dress, though. I’ll give you that.” He let his gaze travel slowly down along the man’s chest. “Wonder if you look as nice underneath the clothes?”

Predictably, the guy stammered out an excuse and fled. The redheaded girl smiled at him and said, “You did that on purpose.”

“Of course I did. Now, I can’t make you a Zombie—and I don’t know if you’d want one anyway, unless your tolerance is a lot higher than I’m guessing—but there’s stuff here for, let’s see, a Fuzzy Navel? Orange juice, peach schnapps. Yeah, that works.”

“It sounds perfect, but I can make it myself.” The girl set her little glittery clutch down on the edge of the bar and held out her hand. “I’m Marnie.”

“Patrick.”

“And you’re not the bartender? I’m not making excuses for that jerk, but that was the impression we got from Riley.”

“Well, technically I’m a bartender. Just not here.” Patrick watched as she put ice in a glass—a real glass, not a plastic cup like at most of the parties he went to—and followed it with orange juice and what looked like an accurate shot of schnapps. “Sorry I scared off your date.”

“I don’t know that guy. I think his name is Taylor. Something like that.” Marnie sipped her drink and watched him over the rim of her glass. Her eyes were a shade of green a little too bright to be real, colored contacts just like Patrick’s. “The first thing he asked was if I was single. Then he kind of latched on to me. He seemed okay at the beginning, but it didn’t take long to realize I’d have to ditch him, so thanks for the help.”

“Anytime.” Patrick saw Riley through a gap in the crowd. The son of a bitch was part of a group of four men, with Vin one of the four but somehow, subtly, excluded. Not by Riley, whose hand rested on Vin’s back in a possessive way Patrick resented, but by the other two. They were Taylor clones, as good-looking as clothes and accessories could make them, their teeth white and straight, their hair as well cut as Marnie’s. Patrick ran his tongue over his teeth, feeling the bump of an uneven eyetooth he’d never been able to afford to have fixed. He didn’t let it stop him from smiling, but he was conscious of it.

Riley’s group laughed at something, with Vin lagging behind a beat, his expression polite, a little bored. As Patrick watched, Vin lifted the glass he was holding and took several gulps from it like it was the only way he could distract himself from Riley’s insufferable friends. Okay, maybe that was just Patrick’s interpretation of the situation.

Patrick contemplated storming over and causing a scene about the bartender thing, but that was probably what Riley was counting on. Then he’d play the innocent, claiming he’d been misunderstood and he’d meant Patrick knew how to mix drinks, nothing more. No, of
course
he didn’t expect Patrick to work.
Don’t be
silly.
You’re a
guest.
Oh, you have to leave? What a pity. What a shame. Don’t let the door hit your ass—

Marnie poked him in the ribs. “Are you okay? You’re staring into space and muttering to yourself.”

“Me? I’m fine.” Patrick inhaled long and slow. “I really need a drink.”

“Well, it’s right there.”

“So it is.” Would it choke him to drink something Riley had paid for? Patrick eyed the display of bottles and decided no, it wouldn’t. Definitely a theory that needed to be tested, though. He’d gone off gin, but he whipped up a favorite of his, vodka and Cointreau with a splash of lemon soda. The liquid looked silver in the glass, matching his hair. Perfect.

He tapped his glass against Marnie’s. “Bottoms up.”

Marnie gave him a wicked smile. “Am I the first woman you’ve ever said that to? I’m flattered.”

Patrick snickered, appreciating someone with a sense of humor, unlike poor neglected, forgotten Timothy. “We’re going to get along fine.”

“Thank God,” Marnie said, with enough emphasis that Patrick knew she meant it. “My best friend bailed on this thing at the last minute, and I’d already promised to come, so here I am.” She sipped from her glass, not lowering the level much.

“So you aren’t one of Riley’s friends?” Patrick was confident in her answer, and she didn’t disappoint him.

“I wouldn’t say that. My best friend knew him in college, and he still gets invited to all these group things. Sometimes I tag along.” She pushed her hair back behind her ear, revealing a sparkling earring that must have cost a fortune if it was made of real diamonds, and it probably was. “I think Riley likes having girls around, even now that he’s defected to your side.”

“My side?” Patrick laughed without much humor. “Believe me, the only thing Riley and I have in common is our sexuality.”

“And maybe his new boyfriend? The one you can’t take your eyes off?” Okay, clearly Marnie was even smarter than she was beautiful.

“Vin? We’re just friends. We work together.” Patrick tried to make it sound casual, but she didn’t seem convinced.

“Please. You can tell him that if you need to, but you can’t fool me.” Marnie looked around, then tucked her hand through Patrick’s arm and nodded toward a corner of the room where there was empty seating. “Come on. Sit and tell me all about it.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Patrick said, but he let her take him over to the seats, and after a few sips of his drink, it wasn’t hard to start talking.

He was ten minutes into explaining how Vin wasn’t his type, really wasn’t, with the glimmer of amusement in her eyes letting him know she wasn’t buying it, when the topic of conversation came over.

No, lurched over, unsteady in a way Vin never was, the glass he held tilting as he walked.

“Patrick! Where were you? I was looking for you.”

Patrick was on his feet before Vin had finished speaking, supporting him with his hand hooked under Vin’s elbow. “What’s wrong?”

Vin shook his head, the movement exaggerated. He was pale, his mouth awry. “Don’t know. I feel weird. Everything’s fuzzy. Feel like I’ve been to the dentist. Mouth’s numb.” He screwed up his face. “Feel sick.”

“Looks like someone got a Zombie even if it wasn’t me,” Marnie commented, rising to hold Vin up from the other side.

“He doesn’t drink,” Patrick told her tersely, but even as he said it he knew she was right. Vin’s eyes looked normal, so it wasn’t drugs, and he’d been perfectly fine an hour ago, so it wasn’t likely he’d been hit with food poisoning or a virus. Patrick took the glass from Vin, sniffed it, then took a cautious sip. Coke, with the unmistakable kick of vodka lacing it. It was a big glass. If Vin had drunk it quickly, needing something to do with his hands because he felt nervous, he could’ve had a couple of shots without realizing it.

He cast an expert look over Vin, used to gauging how drunk someone was. For a nondrinker like Vin, and on an empty stomach because Riley had said there’d be food later, a couple of shots would feel like triple that amount. Vin’s system could handle it, and throwing up wouldn’t kill him, but that wasn’t the point.

Vin hadn’t chosen to drink the vodka. No way. This had been done to him. A rare, cold anger filled Patrick, anger that needed a target.

“Sit,” he said to Vin and eased him onto the love seat he’d been sharing with Marnie. “Can you get him some water? And I mean water, nothing else.”

“Sure.” With a practicality he appreciated as much as her sense of humor, she darted behind the bar after grabbing an unopened bottle of water from it and came back with an empty ice bucket, placing it in Vin’s lap. “Aim for it, not the carpet, if you feel sick.”

Vin gave her a dazed look, took the water bottle she’d uncapped for him, then nodded, his lips pinched together. Patrick sat beside him, his arm around Vin’s shoulders. “You’re going to be fine, okay? A headache tomorrow, but you’ll live. We’ll go in a minute when you’ve had some water. Small sips, that’s it.”

“Why is it every time I see you, you’re groping my boyfriend?”

Riley. Angry, not quite sober, glaring at Patrick like he had every right to be annoyed. Oh, Patrick was going to enjoy this.

“You mean your drunk boyfriend who doesn’t drink? I wonder how something like that happened. The way I see it, you either spiked his drink or had someone else do it. So what kind of boyfriend does that make you? Hmm, let’s think about that for a minute.”

Patrick glanced at Vin to check he was drinking the water Marnie had brought him, then continued. “I’m pretty sure that makes you an asshole. Because only an asshole would do something like this. Hey, people?” Raising his voice, Patrick stood to get everyone’s attention. “I wanted to make sure you all know that our host here? He thought it was a good idea to spike his boyfriend’s drink. So if you’re driving, you might all want to check yours. You know, just to be on the safe side.”

“Shut up,” Riley growled, pushing past him, and dropped to his knees in front of Vin. “Vin? Are you okay?”

“I’m sick,” Vin said. He was pale. “Feel terrible.”

“Poor baby.” Riley sounded more sympathetic than Patrick would have given him credit for. “Come on, I’ll put you to bed. You can sleep it off.”

“No way.” Patrick sat down beside Vin and put an arm around him. “No way is he staying here with you.”

“He’s my boyfriend,” Riley said. “Who the hell are you to say where he stays?”

“Someone who’ll take better care of him than the guy who got him drunk without his consent,” Patrick said hotly.

“Would you stop fucking saying that? I didn’t ‘get him drunk.’ You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Riley seemed righteously angry, which confused Patrick.

“I don’t?” For a second or two, Riley almost had Patrick convinced. But no, no way. “Whatever. I don’t believe you. And I’m not leaving him here with you no matter what you say.”

“So what, you’re going to kidnap him?” Riley snorted.

“No! I’m going to let him decide.” As soon as the words had passed Patrick’s lips, he regretted them, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to leave Vin here even if Vin told him to. “Vin? Listen to me.”

Vin turned his head; he hadn’t thrown up yet, at least. “What?”

“You’re drunk, sweetie. Did you get drunk on purpose?”

“I don’t drink.” Vin frowned at him. “You know that.”

“Did you ask Riley for a drink?”

“Sure. Coke. I had it here somewhere.” Vin glanced around. “Where did it go?”

Riley said, “Patrick probably took it. Seems like he wants to take a lot of things that aren’t his.” The look Riley shot Patrick was a challenge, but desperation lay behind it too, as if Riley could feel the situation slipping away from him. “Isn’t that right?”

“Don’t put ideas in my head,” Patrick warned him. “And don’t try to stop me from taking Vin home.”

There were people at Riley’s back now, some curious, some hostile. Marnie stepped closer to Patrick’s side, a silent ally, but Patrick could read a room, and he didn’t like the way this was going. Music was still playing, but with everyone listening to the confrontation, the room was full of an edgy, simmering energy.

“Jesus, Ri, let the little fairy fly away,” a man said, one of the ones Riley had been talking to earlier. “And if he wants to take your bit of dark meat with him, well, so what?”

“Are you going to let them talk about him like that?” Patrick demanded, disgust filling him.

Riley got to his feet, his expression strained as he glanced from his friends to Vin. “You should go. I’ll call Vin in the morning. Explain it all.”

“Yes,” a female voice chimed in. “Throw out the trash, Riley. Or do you want Marco’s dad to know you’re in bed with the man who helped put his son in prison?”

Tired of people towering over him—and the woman who’d spoken was in four-inch heels, so she was doing a good job—Patrick stood. “Who the hell are you?”

“Jenna, if you must know. Marco’s girlfriend. Was.” She sniffed, executing a hair flip that she had to have practiced in front of a mirror. “I mean, obviously I’m not now, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t have feelings for him, and it’s making me sick to my stomach seeing that man here when he’s rotting in a cell.”

Patrick’s hair was too short to toss around, but he could roll his eyes, and he did. “Oh please. He and his brain-dead friends are exactly where they deserve to be after what they did.”

“Jenna, did you spike his drink?” Riley demanded, cutting across Jenna’s indignant hiss. “You said it’d be funny to get Vin drunk. I heard you. Well? Did you?”

She shrugged, looking bored now, as if sustaining an emotion was too much effort. “Maybe my hand slipped when I was pouring myself a drink, and some vodka got in his glass. What’s the big deal? He didn’t have to drink it. He must have liked it.”

“I can’t taste anything,” Vin said. “My nose has been stuffed up since we got here.” He stared at Jenna. “You wear too much perfume.” He rubbed his nose and sneezed. “Gah. Being here makes my throat close up.”

Marnie snickered. “Oh, you’re not the only one who thinks that, honey. She bathes in the stuff. Lucky for her it’s cheap.” She touched Patrick’s arm. “Time for me to go, I think. Did you drive, Patrick? No? Well, I’ll drop you both off on my way to somewhere more interesting. Thanks for the invitation, Riley, but next time leave me off the list, hmm?”

Riley, who must have realized anything he could have said to her would make him look like a total ass, backed off immediately, though he followed them to the door, then out to the elevator. “Look, I’ll talk to her, okay?” he said to Vin as the elevator doors opened. “Make sure she apologizes.”

“Thanks,” Vin said. He added plaintively, “I wouldn’t have drunk it if I knew what was in it. I don’t drink. Why does that bother people?”