Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 220
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
I should not wish that guy were me. Not when I rejected him first. My pulse is on a NASCAR track, speeding away from me.
I order two vodka shots.
They’re in my stomach in seconds, so I ask the bartender, “Do you pour Belvedere 10 by the glass?”
She nods. “But it’s ninety bucks.”
“That’s fine. Double neat,” I tell her and open my own tab so that it’s not charged to Phoenix’s card.
When I put the glass to my lips, I see Phoenix weaving between bodies, making his way toward the bar. Fuck. I don’t know what I’m going to say to him.
I take a giant gulp of alcohol and notice the redhead loitering near the outskirts of the dance floor. He’s waiting…for Phoenix.
Like, this is what Phoenix wants, right? It’s what he said he was looking for—a release. If I can’t give it to him, then who am I to say no?
My muscles strain. Movement hurts. When Phoenix lands beside me at the bar, I don’t give him a chance to explain. I just ask, “You heading out, dude?” I’m proud of myself for sounding ultra casual.
His brows knit together. “Not yet.” He nods to the drink in my hand. “I thought you were drinking rum?”
“I like rum in mixed drinks. Vodka neat.”
He slides his fingers across the back of his neck. “Is that smart? Mixing that many drinks?” He’s probably recalling the Jell-O shots I had earlier. And I do recognize the fact that he ditched his vodka cranberry before he was even halfway through. He drinks slow.
I am a machine.
“Stomach made of steel,” I tell him. I raise my glass toward the redhead who is now eagle-eyeing the fuck out of us right now. “Your friend is waiting for you. You can go celebrate being halfway through the album with him.” The comment is an immediate regret. I didn’t mean it so petulantly. Definitely didn’t mean it like a territorial brat. I’m in a full-on grimace.
“I want to celebrate with you,” Phoenix says, his brown-blue eyes drifting around me with an airy softness he typically doesn’t exert. He’s usually all rough, enflamed edges. “Man, I shouldn’t have…” He cuts himself off, and I can’t tell if he’s about to say, kissed him or tried to kiss you. Maybe it’s both.
Maybe he regrets one more than the other.
Maybe he regrets me.
Holy fuck, I need to get out of my head. It’s not a good place to be right now. I take a bigger swig of vodka.
He twists toward me, encroaches my space to whisper-hiss, “This has been our first big break from working. I haven’t had sex in months. I can’t even remember the last time I haven’t fucked for this long. It’s not personal, Tom.”
“Nothing personal. Right.” I down another burning gulp.
“I said not personal,” he snaps.
“Same thing, dude.”
Phoenix watches me finish off the drink, and I motion to the bartender. “Another round,” I tell her.
“Hey.” Phoenix grabs my arm, capturing my attention. “You probably need to let off steam, too. Right? You won’t be with me. I get it.” Does he? His voice is hollow. “So you’ve got to be feeling too tightly wound…right?” He’s searching my eyes for confirmation, and my dumbass nods. “Let’s find you someone.”
“It’s all good. I already have someone.” I take out my phone and scroll through my contacts.
“No. Fuck.” Phoenix leans closer to me, putting a hand on my chest. I normally love how much he likes to casually touch me, but tonight, it’s having a weird effect. “Tom, stop. I meant a one-night stand. Not PJ.”
A smile ghosts my lips. He fucked up his name on purpose. I’m sure of it. “It’s RJ.”
“You don’t need to text him.” He jabs a thumb to the dance floor. “This place is packed, man. Okay? What’s your type?”
The bartender passes me my drink, and I take a smaller sip. “Complicated,” I tell him.
His jaw tics. “Well, I’m off the table, so let’s pick someone else.”
“It’s not that I don’t want you, dude. I can’t have you,” I tell him, my nerves liquifying. I feel like human sludge. “You’re my drummer. I’m telling you, it’s okay.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “Go get your world fucking rocked. You have my blessing.”
I turn back to my phone. The alcohol is starting to hit me. I just want an escape. I want to feel good. I want RJ.
Phoenix drags a hard hand over his mouth. I think he mutters a fuck before detaching from me. He goes to speak to the redhead, and with my new drink in hand, I find a quieter area at the back of the nightclub. A row of high-top tables hug a psychedelic-muraled wall, and I set my drink on the sticky granite to free my hands to text.
TOM CARRAWAY
Hang tonight? I’m at The Trench.