8
Green lights pulsed, shooting streaks across the counter where drinks slid down the glossy surface like hockey pucks. Women and men huddled around the high tables and took to the dance floor.
The Sunday night crowd filled the place to the brim and Mateo held tightly to Abigail’s hand to keep her from getting trampled by the people dancing to music that sounded like mush.
It had been a bad decision to bring her here. He should have taken the time to drop her home, but shaving minutes off his patient’s life wouldn’t be a good exchange. Mateo glanced back to gauge Abigail’s expression.
She seemed calm enough, though the bewildered grooves above her eyebrows spoke to just how confused she was. It felt surreal to have her here, to touch her, to breathe her fragrance, but he didn’t have ti
