Eventually, they spill back outside the nightclub. Ronan’s throat and palms tingle from contact, but he keeps hold of Kavinsky in case of unscheduled disaster. He hates being socially responsible cop; he belongs in the fucking lineup. Downward comparisons with Gansey do not apply here.
“Hey, fags!” Two frat guys stumble up; one throws beer at him.
Ronan beats the shit out of them. A bloody nose is enough to scare one guy off. The other one lasts a couple uppercuts, splits Ronan’s lip. Afterward, Kavinsky gives him a cigarette. Like the rest of this strange night, it hurts well.
six
Apparently the whole fucking band came to Athens, searching. The motel room is theirs for thirty minutes max.
Ronan lies beside him, texting.
Kavinsky wonders if Ronan knows how easy it would be. He'd barely have to touch him; one finger on his hip, and Kavinsky would open up his mouth and his legs for him; there's a lot you can do in half an hour. But he won't. Maybe that's what he liked about Ronan. Sordid Catholic rage bullshit aside, he's a good guy. Before, the thrill was to wreck that.
Now, this is enough. Kavinsky's heart drums, fast.
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[5 & 6/?]