No one answers to confirm or deny her prodding.
“Last year’s party was insane. Think we can match it?”
Once again, no one speaks.
“I honestly can’t wait.”
“You’re not invited,” Boomer says, the one person at the table with the least amount of patience.
She presses her palm to her chest as a nervous chuckle slips out. “Not invited. That can’t be right.”
“Not invited,” Boomer repeats slower this time before taking a long sip of his water rather than giving her an explanation.
She looks absolutely crestfallen, and rather than just letting her walk away with a minor hit on her ego, I feel the need to make it really sting.
“You grabbed Harley’s dick the very first time he came in here right after his wife died.”
“I was just trying to help him feel better.”
“Grabbing someone like that without permission is never okay,” Slick says.
“I was—”
“Telling him you could suck him off better than his dead wife ever could, loud enough for the entire bar to hear, was disgusting,” Boomer snaps, his water bottle crinkling under the pressure of his hands.
“There isn’t one Cerberus member who would touch you after that,” I tell her.
“I’m not interested in your fucking cult anyway,” she hisses in anger, but her voice trembles at the end, revealing just how upset she really is. Amanda storms off, nearly knocking a pitcher of beer from Aro’s hand as she passes by him.
“What happened?” Aro asks.
“Just had to let her know she’s wasting her time,” Ugly says.
Grabbing one of the pitchers, I pour myself another beer, uninterested in anything else going on around me besides getting drunk enough to forget that Sylvie Davis exists.
When I stumble out ofJake’swith Boomer’s help, I realize, I didn’t drink enough.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.
Chapter 21
Sylvie
“Are you going to explain?”
I roll my eyes before rolling my head on the back of the couch to look at my best friend.
Her gaze is locked on the drink in my hand. It happens to be my fourth, no, my fifth of the night, and although she isn’t much of a drinker herself, she normally doesn’t judge me for my personal intake.
“I’m having a good time,” I say, holding my glass in the air. “It’s a party!”
A round of cheers echo around me at my declaration, but Faith doesn’t seem impressed.
The front door opens, drawing the attention of several of the guys in the room as four women, dressed much like I am tonight in short dresses despite the temperature outside, walk into the party.
It amazes me how quickly the atmosphere changed over the last couple of hours. At nine, the club had a mini countdown for the kids. There were balloons and streamers, and everyone in the room cheered and clinked alcohol-free drinks as if it were the real thing, but after the kids were shuffled out and to their respective homes for bed, it all changed. Liquor was poured, and the music changed to a sultry beat.
Couples were dancing and grinding on each other, whispering in each other’s ears rather than holding hands and being respectful while in the presence of impressionable youngsters.