Page 41 of Her Cruel Dahlias
“Whiskey and potato soup sound good?” Stormy asked, palming the coins.
“Sure.” Juniper smiled, watching Stormy walk toward the bar where Leslie poured a glass of liquor for another customer, then draped her long blonde hair over her shoulder.
Almost everyone sat with a companion except for one pretty gray-haired woman reading a book in the opposite corner, a tall silver mug beside her. A few inebriated men playing a game of cards and dice whistled at a brunette barmaid when she passed. She sent them a vulgar gesture, and they chuckled.
“So,” Cricket drawled, running a hand over her wig, “how was the stay with Stormy last night?”
Juniper’s gaze flicked to the performer once more before she said in a low voice, “She kissed me.”
“What?” Cricket’s hands slapped the table. “Were you going to mention it to me or wait until I asked?”
“I don’t think people shout it to the stars every time they get kissed, do they?” Juniper grinned.
“I’m sure some do.” Cricket laughed.
“And what about you? Have you?” Juniper arched a brow.
Stormy came back carrying four glasses of whiskey. She managed not to spill them as she set them in the middle of the table.
Cricket grabbed a glass and drank the strong liquid down. “Since I’ve awoken, there haven’t been any kisses.” She paused, thinking. “Or perhaps one. The kiss on Zephyr’s cheek during our performance.” Or two… She had given him another a few nights ago.
“Are we talking about kisses?” Stormy rubbed her hands together, her eyes drifting to Juniper.
Juniper ignored her and asked, “So, how do you feel about him?”
“We’re friends.” And yet, do friends yearn to press their lips to one another’s?
“The look in your eyes tells me differently.” Juniper held her glass up for Stormy to clink with hers.
“What look?” Zephyr’s deep voice sounded from behind her. He grabbed his glass of whiskey and tossed it back as he sank down in the chair beside her. His arm pressed to hers, and his woodsy scent surrounded her.
The young woman who was whistled at brought out the steaming bowls of soup on a serving tray. She set one in front of each of them, her gaze lingering on Zephyr, and her red-painted lips curled into a seductive smile. “I’ve seen you before,” she said.
“It’s possible?” Zephyr smirked, looking as though he was attempting to remember if she was one of the women he’d brought into his bed.
The young woman leaned on the table, her cleavage spilling out farther. “You’re the performer at the carnival.” She bit her lip. “I’ve heard about you.”
“Good things, I hope.”
“Very good things. Maybe I’ll see you later.” Her hips swished side to side when she walked away, and jealousy crawled through Cricket. Zephyr didn’t seem to notice as he lifted a spoonful of soup to his mouth.
“How about a game of cards?” one of the drunk men, with a few missing teeth, shouted toward them.
“Why not?” Stormy shrugged and pulled her chair up to the table. Cricket followed suit—it had been a while since she’d joined in on a game here.
They played for hours until night had cloaked the city, and it was decided to do only one more round. Near the end of the game, Cricket threw the die, then lifted her cards. “3, 4, 7,” she said, bluffing about her numbers.
It was between her and Zephyr for the winning hand, and he studied her, his tongue moistening his lower lip as he peered at his cards. He placed them face down in front of him. “I fold.”
“I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you lose.” Juniper giggled, pushing all the coins toward Cricket to put in her bag.
“There has to be a first time for something.” He chuckled.
“You let me win, didn’t you?” Cricket said as they walked away from the table.
“Now, why ever would I do that?” Zephyr grinned, pushing open the door and holding it for them. As they started to leave the pub, a man’s shouts pierced the air from behind the building. The four of them rounded the corner to find Leslie half-dressed beside a man with unbuttoned trousers. Leslie’s hand covered her mouth, and the man cursed as they stared down at something in the shadows.
A dead body.