Page 115 of Dead Set on You
Jitters make me wobble on my stilettos—Stuart Weitzman pumps that complement the red bandage dress I’m wearing.
Beside me, Gemma’s dressed in a black, flowy minidress. Gemma’s one of those women who make beauty effortless. I, on the other hand, needed Gemma’s magic touch to make me appear like I didn’t spend the last month in a hospital. Another miracle.
Gazes from curious to heated follow us as we march to the front of the line, where a security guard—Owen!—keeps the crowd at bay. Behind him, music thumps over the din of chatter. Even so, my blood thunders between my ears, and syncope might be both my best friend and my worst enemy right now.
Gemma’s shrewd eyes zone in on me, so I flash her a thumbs-up. “This is amazing!” My voice sounds like I’ve sucked in a balloon’s worth of helium. Her eyes turn to slits. “Ladies’ NightGem!” I remind her, directing her to Owen, still somewhat intimidated by his girth and tattoos.
“We’re on the list,” Gemma says, flashing her phone in front of his nose. “Personal guests of Rafael’s.”
Owen’s eyes slide from Gemma to me, and I mimic Gemma’s confident posture. A little part of me hopes he’ll think I’m awkward and turn us away.
His bald head jerks toward the door. Gemma’s cool fingers thread through my clammy ones, and she drags me into La Clandestina. It’s dim inside the bar. The massive skull glows faintly on the wall, lit from underneath. Music thrums through the space—steady and upbeat—blending with the low hum of the conversation. The place is full but not crowded, just enough to give it a pulse. And somewhere in the midst of it all … is Rafael.
I retreat a small step, Gemma’s shoulder brushing against mine, eyes boring into me. “Ladies’ Night Gem wants to know if you really want to be here,” she says over the music.
“Yes!” I say, but it comes out too enthusiastically.
“Then why aren’t we going in?”
Rafael turning me away seems like a good answer. “Taking it all in.”
“Let’s take it in from inside, because I’m not sure the line behind us appreciates being kept from the bar.” Gemma pulls me forward, leading the way as we cross the space toward an empty high-top at the same time that another group of women, looking like they’ve come from aVoguephoto shoot, encroaches on it as well.
Gemma decides we can share the table, and she’s already introducing the two of us. Before we slip into small talk and I lose my courage, I cut in, “I’m grabbing a drink. Want anything?”
“I can come with.”
“Stay and make friends. I’ll be right back.” I force a smile to reassure her thatI got this.
“A skinny marg,” Gemma concedes. I slip away before she can Mama Bear me some more.
People crowd around the bar, which makes it more difficult to reach the counter … and to discern which person might be Rafael.
I circle around until I find an empty stool, nerves pulsing along to The Weeknd on the speakers. Crystal skull candleholders line the length of the counter. La Clandestina tequila lines the shelves. And everyone seems to be enjoying themselves.
“What can I get you?” someone shouts from the other side of the bar. She smiles, her white teeth contrasting with her burgundy lips.
“Lupe!” I squeal before I can catch myself, because we never actually met. Her smile falters, and mine wavers too. “I’m Evie.” I jut my hand out to shake hers. Her eyes bounce from my face to my hands and back. I want to forget the last five seconds, but her cat eyes narrow and focus.
“Evie Pope?” I add. “Or doescabronaring a bell?”
Her features transition from confusion to recognition in the span of a blink. She throws her head back and laughs, a deep throaty laugh. Then she’s ducking underneath the bar and wrapping her arms around me in a tight hug. “Holy shiiiit! You’re here!” She pulls away, her head shaking in disbelief. “And you remember that? Damn! I mean, I thought Raffi was losing it or something, but—mierda—wow!” She pulls me into another hug.
“Yeah,” I mumble into her shoulder. She pulls away. “Congrats! On everything. It’s great!” I gesture at the space.
“Thanks. It was mostly Raffi,” she says with a wide grin. “But enough about me and him. We have so much to talk about!”
“Lupe!” someone shouts from down the bar, waving her over.
“Uh, people.” She rolls her eyes.
“Go, you’re needed. Plus we can chat another time,” I say, wondering if she’ll still want drinks if Rafael decides he wants nothing to do with me. She waffles, indecision warring in her bright eyes. “Seriously, go!”
“Okay! Can’t wait!” She smacks a kiss onto my cheek and begins to walk away before she spins on a scuffed boot. “I’m sorry about thecabronathing,” she shouts, then winks, grabbing glasses and a bottle as she heads to her guests. “Your drinks are right here!”
A drink. Something I never ordered. A little of my energy drains at the prospect of calling for another bartender or doing this entire thing without some liquid courage. Maybe I’mnotready. Maybe I should have stayed home. Maybe—
“Evie.” His husky voice makes my knees give.
