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“Huh?”
“Your car. Can I drive myself home in it? Apparently, taxis don’t exist around here, and you have to prebook an Uber.”
“Amelia, dear older sister, do you have a car?”
“You know I don’t have a car.”
Clark takes a hit of nicotine and inhales it deeply, dropping his head back and blowing the smoke into the air, sparing me. “Idoknow, which is how I know you don’t have any insurance.”
“I can’t drive on your insurance?”
“No. And I still wouldn’t let you, even if you had your own insurance, because you’d only be covered for fire and theft, so if some idiot drove into my shiny new Range Rover, I’d be rather fucked off.”
I pout. “You don’t trust me.”
He laughs. “I trust you with my life. You’re the most reliable, sensible woman I know. It’s the other road users I don’t trust.”
“Please?” I beg.
“The answer is no.”
Damn it, he’s obviously notthatdrunk. “Then what am I supposed to do?”
“Have some bloody fun, Amelia.” He takes one last puff and stubs out his cigarette, hooking an arm around my neck. “Why’d you want to leave so bad?”
“I don’t.”
“Come on, let your little brother buy you a drink.” Pushing his lips to my cheek, he smothers me.
“Fine.” It’s not like I have a choice. I quickly text Abbie to let her know I’m stranded. “I’ll have a Chablis.”
Clark leads me back inside, where the frenzy on the dance floor continues, the track still pumping. I find myself scanning constantly, every muscle tense. Clark says something. I can’t hear him, but when he pats one of the stools at the bar, I get it. I slip onto the green cushioned seat, the backrest shaped like a shell, the legs gold. Beautiful bottles of expensive liquor and fancy glasses decorate the middle of the oval.
“I saw you talking to Spector earlier.” Clark’s half yelling, half slurring, waggling his eyebrows. “Want to share?”
“There’s nothing to share,” I reply, frowning. Is the music getting louder? “Everyone suspected she’s retiring, and now it’s confirmed she’s slowing down.”
“So what did she say?” he shouts back.
“She told me to consider a mentor.”
“I’ll mentor you.”
I try not to appear offended. “Why, thank you,” I say on a smile he won’t misread. “But fuck off.”
Clark laughs and pushes my wine toward me, leaning on the bar. I see his mouth move but can’t hear him.
“What?” I ask, moving closer.
“I said, I’m only saying this to you because I’m half-drunk!”
“Only half?”
“Nick’s the most boring bloke I’ve ever met.”
I laugh into my glass. “You’re telling me now?”
“What?” he yells.