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eyes lock and my heart literally stops, then surges double-time, a flood of warmth pulsing down my limbs. Mira follows his gaze, hers narrowing. My body tenses, caught between heated anger from Mira and a different heated intensity from Lewis.
    He says one last thing to Mira, then strides off in the opposite direction.
    Mira looks after him, her chest rising and falling. Anger, hurt, it’s there on her face.
    I have more questions, like why Nessa was surprised to see Lewis and Mira arguing, and what could have caused it—prying questions that seem of utmost importance—but Mira’s approaching, her glare boring a hole in me.
    Her lips twitch in a semblance of a smile. “Hi, Nessa.”
    “Everything okay?” Nessa asks hesitantly.
    “Yeah, sure. Lewis is just being stubborn. He’ll come around.” She gives me a calculated glance and tiny prickles sting my back. “I’ll switch out of my uniform and meet you in twenty.”
    Cali and I exchange a look. After witnessing Lewis and Mira fighting, and then feeling the heat of Mira’s negative vibes, I’m so not looking forward to tonight.
     
    The minute we enter the Blue club, all eyes turn to Mira with her glossy dark brown hair in even waves, showcasing her striking features. In a short red dress, she leads us to a booth off to the side of the dance floor. A waitress I don’t know, but wearing a uniform I’m personally familiar with, approaches.
    “Margarita on the rocks.” Mira flips her hair flirtatiously over a shoulder. Male heads rotate like she waved a flag.
    “Patron,” Cali says.
    I glance up, surprised. Cali doesn’t bring out the big guns unless she’s looking to get hammered.
    Nessa and I order Sierras.
    EDM vibrates the air, the dance floor filled with girls in short, tight dresses and the guys maneuvering to feel them up. One guy bites his lower lip as if he’s really getting into the music, or the girl whose ass he’s grinding on, her black tube dress scrunched up to within an inch of her crotch. I’m internally laughing and cringing, when I notice the dark orb several feet above their heads. I’ve never liked the fact that the casino watches us. Totally creepy.
    Mira’s beauty pays off in short order as a round of Purple Hooters slides across the table, followed by something called a Buckshot. A guy at the bar, in a tailored leather shirt that probably cost as much as my car, salutes Mira. She flashes him a smile, but doesn’t wave him over.
    Cali is the first to drain her shots and order more, passing me another as well. I take it gladly, feeling like I could use it.
    Several rounds later, my ass slips down the seat of our booth like the pleather has been greased—or shit, we’re at Blue; this could be real leather. I scratch the surface with my nail, the material a dark blur. Elbowing my way upright, my shoulders cant to the side.
    Huh. I might actually be drunk.
    Have I ever been smashed before? College wasn’t the drunkfest for me that it is for most co-eds. I mean, I drank. A lot. But most of the time I walked around with a light buzz even if I’d drunk my friends under the table. My awe-inspiring tolerance, built from years of my mother’s influence, dates back to my tweens.
    Cali takes off to dance, sneaking a drunk pic of me with her phone. She sticks out her tongue.
    Biiitch.
    I sit up to steal the iPhone from her, only the room wavers like a funhouse. Better not stand.
    Mira hates me and I probably shouldn’t engage her, but my cares died a few shots ago. “I don’t get it.” I’m slurring? Wow, wasted. “How are you getting men to send you drinks?”
    The way Mira works men over is a mystery. My mom is confident and beautiful, but I never liked how she jumped from one guy to the next. But Mira I can’t help but admire. She has these guys dangling from a cord and she’s not even doing anything. I’ve lost count of the orders sent our way. Shit, I didn’t even know men still bought women drinks. Impressive.
    Mira looks