Excerpt: untitled

Will put a hand over the glass on the bar and blinked blearily at the bartender. “She really doesn’t need another drink.”

“Yes I do. Move, ‘bana-boy.” Tess leaned over and nearly fell off her stool. She laughed. “You need another one, too. You’re dry.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Drink,” she insisted. “Last one. Promise.”

Will sighed and uncovered the glass. “Two more Jaeger bombs. Please.” At least the alcohol dulled his aches. After this, he’d bring Tess home and drag himself to his apartment. And sleep until tomorrow night’s show.

He watched the bartender flick liquid into glasses with practiced ease, then glanced at the neon clock behind the bar. One in the morning. Lyle would’ve expected him home two hours ago. He’d debated calling after the show, telling him he’d be late, but he needed to prove that he wasn’t a kept man. He had to know that when he got back, there would be no shouting or accusations. Just two adults in a stable relationship, with a little rough stuff on the side.

Finished drinks materialized on the bar. Tess grabbed hers, sloshed a little. Jaeger tentacles crept through the outer ring of Red Bull like the sweet poison it was. “Let’s drink to you,” she said. “To the Truth. May your ratings . . . rate.”

“Rate?” Will raised an eyebrow. “You’re drunk, Tess. Did you know?”

“Yep! So’re you.”

“I am.” No use questioning that little factoid. He lifted his glass. “To the Truth. May it rate. Or something.”

They downed the bombs in tandem. Her glass clinked on the bar half a second before his. She grinned. “Wuss.”

“Boozer.”

“Killjoy.”

“Reprobate.”

Tess blinked. “What’s that?”

“Dunno. Can’t find my dictionary.” He pushed his empty glass forward, dug in his pocket and came up with two twenties to slap on the bar. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.”

She shook her head. “I got a better idea.”

“Better than sleep?”

“Way.” A crooked smile lit her face. “I’ve always wanted a tattoo.”

“Huh-uh. No way.” Will held up a finger. “One, you’re wasted. Two—” He stared at his hand until another finger joined the first, “—it’s one. In the morning.”

“And?”

“There’s no place open.”

“Yes, there is. The Grotto.”

“You’re crazy.” He grabbed her arm and tried to help her down from the stool. She didn’t budge. “Nobody gets in there. There’s a three-month list. Besides, there’s the eleventh commandment, y’know. Thou shalt never tattoo drunk.” He formed the words carefully, aware of his own delirious intoxication. The last bomb was hitting hard.

“Y'mean screw drunk.” Tess slid from the stool, into him. He had enough presence of mind to turn away while he winced. “It’s thou shill . . . that word. Never screw drunk.”

“Close enough. They rhyme.”

“Screw the tattoo.” She snorted laughter. “No, seriously. I can get us in. My brother’s roommate works there now. And you’re famous, remember?”

“Sure. Beating off fans with a stick, that’s me.”

“You definitely make fans beat off, stud.” She smiled, splayed a hand on his chest. “How many offers you get tonight?”

He staggered a bit. “Stop. Really, Tess, I’ve got to get home.”

“Will.” Her eyes narrowed. “You do not. That jerk doesn’t own you.”

“It’s not him.” Even as he protested, he knew it was. Lyle would be pissed. He hated the radio admirers, hated drinking, hated Tess. Hated everything that Will loved about his life. He was wrong for him on so many levels.

“Whatsa matter, William? Chains a little snug tonight?”

Something inside Will hardened. “You know me. I like it rough.” He slung his good arm around her and steered her through the crowded bar. “Let’s go see how much clout your brother’s roommate has. Maybe we can get something pierced.”