Page 47 of Unwritten Rules
I wave Axel into the room, ignoring Sinnett’s sharp eyes on the side of my face. “Nonsense. Come in, please. We were just wrapping up the session.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I need to put some distance between me and Sinnett, for the sake of my heart.
Sinnett’s jaw tightens as he gets off the bed and stalks across the room. I track his movement, watching as he runs a hand through his hair, the muscles in his back coiled tight. Within seconds, he’s gone, taking with him the breath from my lungs.
I sag against the table as Axel takes Sinnett’s spot. Words leave his mouth, but I don’t register a single one of them.
What was that reaction from Sinnett?
And why do I feel like I said the wrong thing?
Chapter Twelve
SINNETT
The second the glass slams down onto the wooden table that is as unsteady as my heart, I’m itching to go to the bar to order another. My veins thump in time with the beat of “How Deep Is Your Love” by Calvin Harris, the alcohol swimming through them doing nothing to ease the tension rolling in my shoulders.
“Ease up there, cowboy. Save some alcohol for the rest of us,” Khai shouts over the music, the sound grating on my already fragile nerves.
My fingers flex around the glass, and I fight the urge to clench my jaw for fear of snapping a tooth. There are only so many times you can do it before it becomes a concern—one that my dentist might have a problem with.
Strobe lights blur at the corner of my vision, making the already small club feel tiny. Sweaty bodies brush past my back, eager to hit the dance floor with a drink in hand. Drops of what I can only assume is alcohol land on my back, seeping into my tense muscles. I fight the urge to grimace at the scent of cheap perfume, stale beer and smoke. What else would you expect from a club in North Sydney?
The Vixen is one of the most popular clubs in the city, and on a Saturday night, it’s almost impossible to get in after 10 PM. Maybe it’s the happy hour house spirits that bring in the crowds, or the killer DJ that plays every weekend, but it’s packed in here, making it hard for my already struggling lungs to breathe.
I’m going to need more fucking alcohol if I want to get on a level that has me feeling as light as a feather.
“Is everything okay?” Khai asks when I don’t respond. “You seem… tense. Hell, you haven’t so much as blinked at the women who have stopped by the table in the past hour to get your phone number, or, I don’t know, have a friendly conversation with you.”
“I’m fine,” I grit out, using the same two words each time my friend asks about my wellbeing. I’m sure he’s tired of hearing the same shit as much as I am of saying it. “I just needed a drink.”
“Or five,” Khai snorts, sipping his own drink. “I mean, I’m not complaining. After Zane and Nico bailed on me for a night in to play video games,fuckers, I was glad you changed your mind so I wasn’t left to my own devices. You know how I get when I’m drunk and alone.”
“Yeah, you go home with the first man or woman that locks eyes with you.”
Khai leans over to wrap his arm around my shoulders, pressing me against his side. “And since you’re here, you’ll be the only man I go home with.”
I bite back a snort. “Yeah, lucky me.”
“But who knows,” my friend says as he releases me and returns to his seat, “I might still go home with someone. The night is still young and the stars are yet to fully shine.”
I tilt my head to the side, catching sight of Khai’s shit-eating grin. “You’re a menace, you know that right?”
“And yet you still love me.”
“Love might be a strong word.”
“You know you love me, Sin. Don’t make me shout it out in front of everywhere here.”
I reach over and slap my hand over his mouth. “Don’t you dare, asshole.”
Khai grins beneath my hand, cheeks lifting. “Don’t tempt me with a good time.”
Pulling my hand from his mouth, I shove myself up from the stool. “I’m going to get another drink. Do you want one?”
“If it’s your shout then consider me thirsty.”
Leaving Khai to laugh to himself, I push my way through the crowd cast in shadows and multi-coloured strobe lights. Stray hands graze over my chest and down my arms, but I ignore the touches, my sights set on getting another drink in me to calm the storm raging in my mind.
After what felt like an eon standing at the bar, I have two drinks in hand, pushing through the crowd and praying no one pumps into my quad. The last thing I need is for some drunk idiot to ruin the steady progress I’ve been making.
