Page 7 of Salvatore

“Nice to meet you. I’m Ivy.”

We exchange a quick hug, the brush of her gentle fingers over my bare back igniting tingles along my skin before I pull away.

I seriously need to get laid.

“I suggest we give Liv five more minutes, then mount a full-scale search.” I direct the intent to Allison. “I don’t like the thought of her walking around on her own.”

“I’m sure she’s fine but?—”

My cell vibrates in my clutch, and given Allison’s abrupt stop mid-sentence I assume hers does too.

I glance at my buzzing watch to read the synched message.

Liv

Sorry. I had to leave. Dad stuff. Will speak to you tomorrow.

My stomach drops.

This is so fucking unfair.

Liv couldn’t even get one night without heartache. And her dad… God, I hope Carlo is okay.

“I guess that explains it.” Allison raises her martini, throwing back the entirety of the contents.

I continue staring at my watch, the deep bass thumping around me, the thought of a Carlo health complication curdling the liquor in my gut.

“What do you want to do?” Lucia wraps an arm around Allison’s waist.

“Maybe we should go.” I gulp an unladylike mouthful of my martini, the delicious liquid coating my tongue while my imagination runs rings around thedad stuffLiv had to urgently attend to.

“Maybe. But I don’t think that’s what Carlo would want when he must’ve put in a lot of effort to organize VIP bands. I’m sure he’d prefer if we stayed.” Allison grabs my wrist with an encouraging squeeze. “Why don’t we stick around for a little while and see if we can salvage the night?”

I take another sip, unconvinced.

What if Carlo is really sick? What if Liv needs us?

“If it was anything serious she would’ve said, right?” Allison’s eyes beg. “Come on, Ive. There’s no point going home this early when all we’ll do is sit alone, worrying.”

She’s got a point, but it’s clear the saucy little minx is also just as hungry as I am to get laid.

“Okay.” I nod. “I’ll stay a little longer.”

She releases my arm with a smile, then turns to dive mouth-first into Lucia.

While the thrumming music continues the two of them make out as if tonsil hockey is a high-stakes competition, and they’re both vying for a championship title.

I chuckle to myself and pivot to the crowd, my laughter switching to a moan as my aching feet protest the possibility of more dancing.

Unless something epically fantastic happens within the next few minutes, there’ll be no reclaiming my buzz. It’s best if I tap out early. Third-wheeling isn’t my forte, and Allison doesn’t need me cramping her style.

I’m still talking myself up to leave two minutes later when Subway guy enters my line of vision, his creepyAmerica’s Most Wantedface staring directly at me as he approaches.

Shit.

He stops a few feet in front of me, chest puffed. “You know there’s specific clubs for people like them,” he yells far louder than necessary as he glowers at Allison and Lucia. “Why don’t you all fuck off and stop ruining normal people spaces?”

I stiffen while Allison breaks her tongue-lock with Lucia, their faces slackened in mortification.

---