Chapter 90

"That Poppy," Samson chuckled from behind me, loud enough to hear over the Latin jazz pumping out through the speakers.

As I glanced back at him, I'd swear his eyes twinkled. My fingers dug into my clutch.

From the mismatched leather vintage furniture to abstract silver flash art stenciled on the walls and the neon-illuminated cigar collection taking up one wall, it was a pretty cool space. The crowd was boisterous, bright eyed, and hammered. Lots of loud laughter, lots of touching.

I couldn't wait to find Poppy and Rohan and make my night complete. I tossed my coat on a chair as someone grabbed my elbow. I tensed thinking it was Rohan, but it was Drio, an uncharacteristic edginess in his stance.

"Oh good, it's you," I said, beyond caring that this was totally weird. He wasn't Samson and he wasn't Rohan and that was good enough for me.

"Whatever happens tonight," he said, "understand that-"

"My man." Samson joined us, fist bumping Drio.