"Wait—who gave you permission to drive?" Axl's voice cut over the club noise. Janessa laughed, leaning against the hood of her rental like it was a stage prop. "I did. I'm fine, Axl. I'm drunk and alive. Big difference." "You're not leaving in that state." He stepped in front of her, arms folded, grin crashing into seriousness. "Pru, help me," Janessa called to Hazel, who was digging in her purse for lipstick and trying not to laugh. "Pru says you're not leaving either," Hazel said, solemn and ridiculous at the same time. A man in a blazer sidled up, eyes doing that slow appraisal people do when they spot a small, loud party. "You heading out? Need a ride?" "No, thanks," Janessa slurred. "I've got a very tall friend who doubles as a human Uber." The man laughed. "Is that yours? He looks—" Axl moved like he didn't need to. He didn't say anything to the man. He reached across Janessa, wrapped both arms under her knees and back, and lifted. People actually stopped talking for a beat. Janessa squeaked. "Put me down!" she protested, fingers raking at his shirt. "No." He carried her without drama, like lifting a sleeping kid. He didn't let her go to argue. "You're ridiculous," she huffed, half-laugh, half-protest. "I can walk." "Then show me. Walk." He set down an arm and kept one under the small of her back. He kept