The PAN by Jenny Hickman

Author:Jenny Hickman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Midnight Tide Publishing

The dingy, neon glow in the narrow bar reflected Deacon’s mood. If Vivienne had stayed awake, he would’ve been there instead. But it felt creepy to stick around after she’d passed out on the sofa. Plus, he had wanted to get out before Emily got home.

Ethan waved him over to where he and Nicola waited next to one of the high-top tables. As if he hadn’t seen Ethan’s hideous orange turkey sweater from the doorway. “Where the hell have you been?” he asked, slurring his words already.

“My socks were wet, and I needed to swing by my place to get new ones.”

“You and your damned socks.” He rolled his eyes and took another drink of his whiskey and soda. After asking Deacon for his order, he squeezed beside a middle-aged woman waiting at the bar.

Nicola punched him in the arm. Hard. “I saw you leave earlier. You’d better not be doing what I think you’re doing.” Her hair was down for once, twisted in curls over her bright red top.

She knew him better than most—which wasn’t always a good thing.

“I fail to see how it’s any of your concern,” he said, rubbing his sore shoulder. The woman was freakishly strong.

“I know you, Dash. And I know you’re going to do the same shit you always do. I’m not going to stand by and—”

Ethan turned around and shoved a glass of scotch into his hand. “You’re a drink behind. Bottoms up.”

The first sip burned, but then his throat went numb and the rest slipped down like water. He slammed the empty glass on the table and ordered another.

“That’s my boy!” Ethan cheered, finishing his drink as well. “I’m gonna feel shitt-ay tomorrow. But not nearly as bad as you. What time is your flight?”

“Half seven.”

“I’ll probably be just getting to bed,” he laughed, pulling Nicola by the belt loops on her jeans, “if I’m lucky.”

“If you keep drinking at that pace,” she mumbled, “you’re not getting lucky at all.”

Joe waved at them from behind the bar, another round ready and waiting. Ethan collected their drinks, clinked his glass against Deacon’s, and muttered some convoluted toast about turkeys and airplanes that didn’t make a bit of sense.

Nicola cleared her throat, catching Deacon’s attention over her bulbous glass of pink gin and strawberries. “Any plans while you’re in London?”

“The usual, I suppose.” Be miserable for a month and then come home.

She narrowed her eyes and hummed.

“Do you have something to say to me, Nicola?”

“Yeah. I think you’re being shady as hell and it pisses me off. I like Vivienne and—”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really? So you don’t plan on seeing Gwen when you get to London?”

He hadn’t given Gwen a second thought in weeks. He’d seen the messages on his phone that she’d sent earlier, but hadn’t felt like responding. Was he going to see her? He didn’t honestly know.

“That’s what I thought,” Nicola snorted.

The door opened and a snowy cyclone spun through the entrance. When Deacon saw who had come in, he swore into his drink.

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