Page 45 of Green Flag
“Where’s Nix?” Everly asked, looking around the bar. “You two are close, aren’t you?”
I shrugged. Sometimes I thought he hated me, sometimes he was the best teammate I could ask for. “He doesn’t often join us for nights out.”
She frowned, a smile of disbelief on her lips. “That’s not the Nix I know.”
The bikers and the grid girls at the surrounding tables got up, seemingly deciding to go to the next place together. I hadn’theard it, and neither had Everly. Her eyes narrowed in confusion as she looked around.
It was then I knew my night was over. My time with her too.
Maybe she didn’t want me or Cesari. Maybe her goal was Nix all along.
Cesari turned to grab his coat, but I stood and placed my hand on his chest and said in Italian, “Don’t go getting any ideas. With the state you’re in, no one is letting you into any club or bar.”
He widened his eyes, trying to get sympathy somehow.
“Let’s go back to the hotel,” I said. “I don’t even think you’ll make it to the track.”
He was swaying, the shaking of his head so erratic, it might topple him over.
Everly picked up her leather jacket and placed it over her shoulders, looking at the others as they grabbed their bags.
I was losing her.
The next time she came — Florida, by the sounds of it — it would be in two months, and she’d forget I even existed. Maybe her ex would reappear.
But Cesari was in no fit state to get himself sorted.
The Uber was already driving to our location.
In the ring next week, he sure would get it from me.
I pulled him outside, hoping it would sober him up enough to let us in the taxi. He went through phases of getting so drunk he could hardly stand.
His selective English was also dependent on the alcohol he’d had.
“You best know what this is costing me, Ces,” I grumbled in Italian.
He shrugged and nodded, signalling behind me. “Don’t think it’s costing you much.”
The group were all laughing and smoking as they came out of the bar, waving goodbye to us and heading further down the road. But as they dispersed, Everly Bacque stood in her heeled knee-high boots, not walking away but towards us.
“Home time?” she asked, pulling her jacket tight around herself. “We haven’t tried this hotel bar yet.”
My frown would not budge. “Are you not going out with the others?”
She shrugged.
Cesari stepped back to the wall, groaning before hunching over.
“Don’t you want to go out with everyone?”
“If you’re not going, no,” she said with a cocky smile.
I blinked harshly, completely unexpecting that response as the taxi I’d ordered pulled up.
“I owe you a shot of tequila,” she said nonchalantly, stepping towards the taxi but glancing back at me over her shoulder.
“Now we’re talking,” said Cesari in Italian, stumbling to the car.
