bursting with conversations. Finally, we can hear each other. Sort of.
“Can we just—?” He gestures toward the exit, and I raise my eyebrows.
“Are you trying to get me alone?”
“Yes,” he says, completely serious. “I hate crowds.”
“If you hate crowds, why did you come to prom?” I ask, but then the music picks up again. People crowd all around us, jostling us with their dancing. He looks exceptionally uncomfortable. “Fine.”
I nab the edge of his sleeve and pull him along behind me. He stiffens at first but relaxes into it when I shift our path over to the door. I let my fingers slip lower, smiling when we link our hands.
“No reentry,” the bouncer says, lifting his foot up across the aisle, and okay, there goes my plan to come back and dance, I guess. I glance behind me and see Jayla, but she’s talking and laughing with a group of cosplayers we met today. It’ll be faster to just text her when I get out in the hall.
“Got it,” I say, shifting past.
Bats drops my hand once we’re out of the room. His kind of hovers for half a second, like he doesn’t know what to do with it, before he shoves it into his pocket. I walk a little farther down the hall, but now we’re almost to the lobby, which is nearly as busy and loud as where we just left.
“This way.” He tilts his head toward a nearby hallway.
“I’m not going to your room,” I say, because away from the music and the lights, it’s becoming clear that—pushing the boundaries or not—this was not my best idea. Flirting in a relatively supervised crowded room is one thing; disappearing into a casino with a stranger in a mask is another.
“I’m not asking you to,” he says. “There’s this lounge thing around the corner. It’s usually pretty empty.”
Empty. Empty is a double-edged sword for any girl. I mean, on the one hand, it lowers the risk of my parents seeing me—let’s be honest, if they walk by right now, I’m toast—but also, I don’t know this guy. Like at all.
Maybe I’m just being paranoid or maybe this is what Jayla means when she says I’m afraid to take risks. Worse comes to worst, I could probably stab him with these shoes—which are killing my feet, by the way—plus there’s pepper spray in my clutch. Mom doesn’t let me leave home without it.
“One sec,” I say, holding up a finger. I pull out my phone and fire off a text to Jayla, letting her know I left and who I’m with, and reminding her that his sister is running the merch table.
She writes back almost immediately: OK, check in when you get where you’re going so I know.
“Ready?” I ask, sliding my phone back in my purse, and he nods, pushing off the wall he was leaning against, the one covered with a giant ad for The Geekery. I fight the urge to flip it off but can’t manage to hold back the scowl.
“Everything okay?” Bats asks, following my gaze.
“Yeah, sorry, I know that’s your boss or whatever. Gotta love our corporate overlords, right?” That’s about as polite as I can be about our enemy number one.
It was bad enough when The Geekery was just famous for running indie shops out of business, but now that they’re actively trying to take over comic lines like Vera’s too—just, yikes. I didn’t even know it was possible to hate something so much.
Plus, Vera and The Geekery’s owner-slash-CEO, Mark Everlasting—by the way, could his name be any more pretentious?—have been trading barbs every chance they get since they paneled together a few cons ago. The moderator made some comment about them repping both sides of the industry and asked if they would ever collaborate. Mark said he would definitely be open to bringing her on board, and she responded by literally laughing in his face . . . which he deserved. I mean, if Vera is the Princess Leia of the comics scene, then he’s Palpatine for sure. But yeah, her reaction went a little bit viral, and now their mutual dislike has