Violet shrugged. It was exactly what she’d expected, almost the same feel as the place in Seattle she’d been to just days earlier with Sam and Rafe. Even the people were the same, lots of steel spikes and chains, leather, tattoos, and piercings and gauges of all sizes and shapes. It was like a heavy metal rainbow.
“Now what?” Jay asked, staying at Violet’s other arm.
Violet looked around, feeling as helpless as she had the other night. She supposed she’d been hoping for an easy, obvious answer, but there wasn’t one. “Let’s get something to drink.”
They pushed and shoved and elbowed their way to the bar, where they ordered three Cokes and a root beer. Not surprisingly, it was Chelsea who had to be different, and she drew a strange look from the bartender.
“I’m not sure I have that,” he said when she made her request.
Cocking her head, she placed her hands on her hips. “Well, you should probably start looking then, shouldn’t you?” It sounded like a command when she said it.
The man behind the bar had hair that was long and curly and would have been almost like Violet’s if it weren’t so wild and unkempt, and if it wasn’t so bushy and dyed to a deep shade of ebony. But it was his eyebrows that made Violet pause, holding her interest. His actual eyebrows were fine—normal, from what she could see of them—but black ink had been tattooed over them, and they’d been remade so that when the ink reached the center of them it flared upward, giving the man a permanent scowl. Making him look angry, even when he laughed. Which he did, howling at Chelsea’s outrageous statement. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, giving her a mock salute and turning to go find her some root beer.
“Root beer, huh?” The guy who’d asked Chelsea the question was cute enough. He wore a beanie and nervously used his tongue to toy with the ring in his lip as he leaned against the bar beside her.
Chelsea turned away from the bartender to face the boy, who was probably about their age.
She lifted a shoulder, looking at him, bored. “Mind your own business, will ya? Besides, I’m here with someone.”
The boy shot upright and glanced uncomfortably toward Rafe, holding his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, man. No harm in trying, right?”
Rafe didn’t correct the misunderstanding; he just shrugged and threw a bill down as the bartender set a glass down in front of Chelsea. “That’s three Cokes and one root beer.”
“See?” Chelsea grinned back at the bartender, with his perma-scowl. She was no longer demanding, but practically giddy instead. “I knew you had some hiding back there.”
Violet rolled her eyes as she followed Chelsea, who’d taken the lead, through the crowd. Chelsea knew how to use her new look to draw attention, which was exactly the opposite of what you’d want in a sidekick—someone whose job by definition was to help the hero go unnoticed. Already more than a few heads were turning to watch her short skirt as it hiked higher and higher up her thighs.
Perfect.
“Hey, why do you think that guy automatically assumed Chelsea was with Rafe? Why couldn’t she’ve been with me?” Jay asked as they cut a path through the crowd.
Violet glared at him over her shoulder, but then turned ahead again, concentrating on where she was going, trying not to spill her drink as she was pushed from both sides. “Have you seen yourself? You don’t exactly look like her type. At least not tonight,” she teased. And she wasn’t lying. Jay hadn’t dressed for the occasion, not the way she and Chelsea had. Not the way Rafe pretty much always did. Jay was just Jay. If his T-shirt and jeans were good enough for school, they were good enough for this place.
Fine by her. She liked his T-shirt and jeans.
“Besides, are you sayin’ you want to be with Chelsea?” she asked slowly, mockingly.
“Are you kidding? Have you looked in a mirror tonight?” He leaned down, his words tickling her ear. “Have I mentioned how hot you look all death-metaled out? I kinda like the new Violet.”
“Yeah, well don’t get too used to this Violet,” she shot back at him. “Because this Violet could totally kick your ass.”
Jay’s arm snaked around her waist, drawing her to a stop. “Yeah, well maybe I like it rough.”
Violet giggled as she struggled out of his grasp. “Oh my god, you’re so stupid sometimes.”
They stopped at a long tall table where Chelsea had managed to squeeze in, after shouldering her way through a minuscule opening, giving them just enough space so they could set down their drinks.
Violet glanced around, but it was Jay who asked, “Now what?”
“I don’t know, exactly,” she admitted. “Maybe we should split up and scope things out.” It wasn’t a great plan, but it was the best she could come up with. Besides, the band—Safe Word—was just getting started, and Violet was dying to hear them play. Now that she recognized their music—after listening to it for hours on end—she had a new appreciation for them. She felt a little like a groupie, wanting to get a better look at them, even as she told herself it was only to see if she’d missed something the other night.
“I’ll stay here,” Chelsea announced. “To guard the table.”
Violet followed Chelsea’s gaze, which had landed on a guy standing near the other end of the lengthy table, and Violet knew exactly what Chelsea planned to “guard.”
“Awesome plan, Chels.” Violet set her glass down and left the rest of them there to decide where they would go, as she beelined toward the stage.