Winter Solstice in St. Nacho's (St. Nacho's #5) - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,80
some guacamole. Behind me, a new song came on and a cheer went up from a big group in the corner.
I turned to watch them—a group of college age kids—get up todance. About ten people, equally divided between men and women. They formed a knot and bounced with their arms draped over each other’s shoulders, mostly just jumping in place to the driving beat of an EDM hit I recognized but couldn’t exactly place. Some looked wasted. Others simply looked happy and tired, as if they were ready to call it a night.
I froze when I recognized Thuong among them. He must have had seriously honed situational awareness, because at the same time he glanced up and caught me watching him. The shock of recognition crossed his features, then anger visibly narrowed his eyes. He checked his phone as he crossed the room.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
My first response was defensive. “I’m drinking a beer. Is that okay with you?”
“I mean in St. Nacho’s. Jesus, are you spying on me?”
“Of course not.” How could I have known he’d be in a bar just minutes before his curfew? “I came in here to eat something. I didn’t know you were here. How could I?”
That didn’t seem to satisfy him. “You didn’t tell me you were coming. Why not?”
“You said you needed space.”
He stared at me as though he had no idea what to do. A couple of his friends came over.
“Something wrong, T?” The girl who asked was a pretty blonde beach bunny wearing a crop top and leggings with a Roxy sweatshirt. “Don’t you need to get back before nine?”
He turned to her. “Yeah. Mind giving me a lift?”
“No problem. I have to get back to study anyway.”
“Thuong,” I said. “Wait a minute.”
He turned to me without any warmth. “What?”
“I didn't plan this, but it's good to see you.” I moved closer to put things back on an even keel between us. “Really good.”
He rolled his eyes. “Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”
I brushed the hair hanging in his face behind his ear while I thought about what to say. "I'm just passing through."
“Why?"
"I came for the waters." Quoting Casablanca never hurt anybody.
"Right.” He huffed. “And you’re not going straight to Minerva to tell her you saw me in a bar.”
“That’s right. I’m not.” Did he really think I was there to snitch? “You’d better go. Have a nice night.”
He nodded then turned away. As I watched him go, I tried not to worry whether he'd been drinking. I tried not to think about how happy he’d been until he’d seen me, or how he’d reacted like a poked hedgehog and tried to roll away. I tried not to wonder about the blonde.
Was he bi?
Was Suzanne right?
Had he been playing me?
When my food came, it tasted like wood shavings except for the salsa, which delivered the smoky goodness of chipotle chilis before catching my tongue on fire. I didn’t have a second beer. I was tired enough that when I rode back to the motel it took all my concentration.
Inside my room, I yanked the bedspread and blankets away and flopped onto the bed with a whump.
Maybe I’d seriously erred in coming. What did they say about the road to hell?
Paved with good intentions.
I should have called Echo and run this past her beforehand.
Instead, I spent the night awake, worrying I’d made a huge mistake.
Chapter Twenty-Four
St. Nacho’s, Day 25
Goddamnit! Why did Luke have to show up? I know I’m starting to feel too comfortable. I shouldn’t have been at the bar. I didn’t do anything wrong, but I was already feeling guilty, and then I looked up and saw Luke staring at me from across the bar with his goddamn shush, you’re in the library face.
Why is he even here?
Just because I have a little responsibility, and I’m enjoying a little freedom, does he think he needs to supervise my whole life?
I already think about him too much.
I already spend my time wondering whether what I’m doing will make him proud, whether he’ll ever look at me like I’m a normal person instead of an addict on the brink of failure, so of course, he walks in when I’m hanging out in a goddamn bar.
I didn’t imagine the look of disappointment on his face.
I know how concerned he is for me, but he’s not my goddamn sponsor. He doesn’t get to give me shade about my choices, not even if I fuck up.