“Yes,” he said. “I came up here instead.”
“And told me like a good boy.”
He nodded furiously. “Yes. Exactly. That’s exactly what I did.”
I gripped his chin in my hand. “And I love you for it.”
He breathed a sigh of relief, echoing Charlie and Paul behind me. “He wouldn’t do anything, Helena,” Vince said seriously. “Not like that. Not to you.”
And I could almost believe that. Except Darren and I weren’t together, not for real, anyway. But Paul and Vince didn’t know that and I was sure Charlie was probably berating me silently, wondering how it was I could lie to my best friends so easily. I didn’t know if they could understand that sometimes you had to do impossible things for love.
My love of this bar.
Not my love of Darren.
Because I didn’t love him.
“Helena?” Vince asked, and I realized I was still standing far too close to my best friend’s boyfriend, his face in my hand.
“Sorry.” I smiled at him and stepped away. “I was just plotting things.”
“Uh-oh,” Paul said. “That’s never good.”
He looked remarkably contrite when I fixed my glare on him.
“I trust Darren,” I said. “He’s going to have groupies wherever he goes, I’m sure. It’s what happens when you have a chest like his.”
“Amen,” Charlie said.
“That’s it?” Paul asked dubiously.
“Of course,” I said. “What else could there be?”
“Um, bloodshed, for one. Sandy, you once threatened to light a guy on fire when he spilled his drink on your shoes.”
“They were Manolo Blahnik pumps,” I retorted. “That sniveling cretin should have burned.”
“Exactly,” Paul said. “So forgive me if I don’t quite believe you that you’re ending it with I trust Darren because of his moobs.”
“I don’t sound like that!”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re missing the point.”
“And what is your point exactly?”
Charlie stepped in, probably because he saw that we were getting bitchy with each other. And that was never a good thing. “I think what he’s trying to say is that bail is set really high for murder.”
I grinned at them. “Only if you get caught.” And then I was out the door and down the stairs much faster than a man dressed in a unitard and wearing thigh-high boots over fishnets had any right to. Paul and Vince were scrambling behind me, probably sure I was going to serve smashed twink to the rest of the club, but honestly. I had much more class than that.
Pureed twink sounded better. It would most likely go down smoother, anyway.
The cl
ub was loud when I opened the door at the bottom of the stairs. To my right was the entrance, two bouncers—Greg and Mojo—glaring menacingly as they checked the IDs of everyone that came through the door. Mojo winked at me when he heard the door open before returning to his usual scowl that was supposed to intimidate anyone and everyone who tried to enter Jack It. I would have been impressed if I didn’t know that he was a power bottom who liked to knit scarves that Greg always wore, even though they were hideous. They’d been together for just over a decade, having met here out on the dance floor. It was really rather sweet, despite the scarves.
People clamored for my attention and I smiled at them, not really stopping to chat, eyes darting as I looked for the homo jocks. It was early still, and I wasn’t scheduled to start the show for another half hour. Plenty of time to decide if Darren needed to be taken down a notch or two. Surely he wasn’t stupid enough to try something while I was full-on Helena. No one would be that stupid.
Izaac saw me coming and poured two shots, sliding them across the bar.