Playing, p.83
Playing, page 83
Ding Dong Ditch. And it sounds like a fantastic idea. Run away, never face Miles, never get the crushing news that he doesn't love me.
The door opens. Damn. That means we lose the game. It's Tom, and he's halfway undressed. Jeans. No t-shirt, no shoes. There's giggling in the background. Ah, there's a half-naked woman in the kitchen. His conquest of the day.
Or Miles's conquest of the day.
My heart thuds. If it keeps beating this fast and hard, it's going to burst right out of my chest.
"Jesus, what did he do now?" Tom asks.
Kara sticks her tongue out and steps inside.
"Come in, please." He rolls his eyes. "Should I call him? I don't even know where to start."
Kara rolls her eyes. "I'm more than happy to storm up to Miles's room and drag him down here."
"Give me a minute," Tom says. He makes some kind of signal to the half-naked woman then turns back to us. His lips purse and he exhales in a dramatic sigh. "He's fucking devastated, you know."
"Just get him," I say.
"You want to tell me what this is about?"
"Meg needs to speak with Miles. Get him or I will," Kara says.
"What do they need to speak about?" Tom folds his arms.
She glares at him like he's the source of all evil in the universe. "They're in love."
Tom raises an eyebrow. He looks at me as if to ask is this shit true?
I nod. As far as I know.
He finally drops the pout. "I hope you're right. But I'm going to do this the old-fashioned way." He pulls out his phone and dials Miles.
There's the faint sound of a ring. A door opens. Footsteps.
Miles appears at the top of the stairs. "You can't walk one fucking flight, Tom?" His eyes find mine, and the irritated scowl drops off his face.
He looks nervous. Miles, the rock star sex god, is nervous because of me.
"Meg. Hey." He clutches the banister on his way down the stairs. "Everything okay?"
I open my mouth, but no sounds come out. Deep breath. "I heard your song."
His lips curl into the tiniest smile. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I press my fingers against my hips. "That one about me, too?"
He reaches the bottom of the stairs. "I haven't fallen in love with any other girls this year."
My breath catches in my throat. He said… he must mean… he must…
I'm dizzy. My legs are wobbly. "You, um, did you mean what you said?"
"Every word." He takes a step towards me. "Though, technically, I sang them."
"Technically."
Miles sends Tom the evil eye. "A little privacy, maybe?"
"Hell no." He raises his voice. "Drew, Pete, you fuckers here to see this?"
"It's okay," I say. "They can stay."
Miles is five feet away. "I usually write songs to avoid these kinds of declarations."
"You're screwed now. You have an audience and expectations."
He smirks. "If there's anything I know how to do, it's put on a show."
"All I want is the truth."
One more step. He's six inches from me. He brushes my hair behind my ear. "I love you, Meg. I had something perfect right under my nose, and it took me forever to realize it. But I realize it now."
Tom' voice booms. "YOU FUCKERS ARE MISSING OUT!"
A bedroom door slams and Pete appears at the top of the stairs. He spots Miles. "He's out of his room?"
Miles shakes his head. "They're really ruining the moment."
"No, it's perfect."
He slides his hand around my waist. "I'm not good at this relationship thing, but I want to do it with you."
"You sure?"
"Positive." He pulls me closer. "If you're willing to forgive me for being an utter idiot."
"Yeah." I lean into him. "The biggest idiot."
"I'll take that as a yes." He presses his lips into mine.
All of our other kisses were amazing. All of our other kisses set my body on fire. But this one is on another level. It's like every bit of need in him is pouring into me, like he's prying himself open for me and showing me all the ways he hurts.
The kiss breaks, and I pull back. I stare into his gorgeous eyes. "I love you, too."
And I swear to God, he melts.
The world is spinning around me. There's clapping. It's Tom, I think. Then it's Kara, and Pete. I look around the room, and Drew is there, too.
They're clapping, but it's not like this is silly. It's like they mean it.
Miles leans a little closer. "Assholes were convinced I'd die miserable and alone."
"Utter assholes."
"I'd say let's give them a free show, but I want you all to myself."
He presses his lips against mine again. It's as sweet as the first kiss of the night, but it's hotter. It's so hot, I'm pretty sure I'm going to ignite.
"Okay, I think that's my cue," Kara says. "You're taking her home tomorrow."
"Stay," Pete calls out. "We're going to have to blast a movie if we want to hear anything besides Miles screaming in ecstasy." He laughs. "Though, Meg, you're free to make as much noise as you want."
"That's my girlfriend, asshole," Miles says. "If that's okay with you."
My body fills with warmth. "Absolutely."
"You're lucky I'm preoccupied, or I'd kick your ass." Miles leads me up the stairs. "Tom, berate Pete about the loud phone sex."
"Any time." Tom sends us a salute.
We pass Drew and Pete. My cheeks burn. I mouth thank you, though I'm not sure who I'm thanking. Everyone, I guess.
They're all happy for us.
Pete winks at me. I'm pretty sure Miles sees it, but I don't think he cares.
We're going to be preoccupied for the rest of the night.
Epilogue
Miles squeezes my hand. "You ready?"
Deep breath. Almost. Yeah. I think I am. No, I absolutely am. I nod. "Yes."
"Do the honors." He takes my hand and places it on the computer mouse.
Eyes open. The cursor hovers over "Submit Application." Okay. I can do this. I press my finger down until the mouse clicks.
Submitting…
Thank you for submitting to Harvard Medical School. Check your email for a submission confirmation.
I let out something suspiciously close to a scream. "Oh my God." I throw my arms around Miles and kiss him like the goddamn ship is going down.
His body relaxes into mine. He digs his hands into my hair and pulls our lips apart. "Honey, you have six of these to go. I can't take the blue balls if you do this every time."
"Too bad."
"Your parents will hear."
"Too bad for them."
"Oh yeah?" He slides his hand under my wool skirt and runs his fingers over the seam of my tights. "Better get these off."
"Okay, point taken." I navigate to the next page. Yale. Aim high, right? We spent the morning filling these out. Now there's nothing left to do but submit them.
I squeeze Miles with one hand and with the other...
Click!
Submitting...
Thank you for submitting to Yale Medical School.
Miles presses his lips into my neck. "You're such a little nerd."
"Jealous?"
"Hey! I'm a rock star. Have some respect." He finds the top of my tights and tugs them down ever so gently. "Or else I'll force you to respect me."
"We have five to go."
"You can go while you come."
"Okay, I don't want my parents to hear," I say. "They were very hospitable accepting a last-minute guest. And a depraved rock star no less."
"Your parents love me more than you do."
I kiss him on the forehead. "That's not possible."
It's the day after Christmas, and Miles has been here, in my parents' Newport Beach place, for a week. Things between me and my parents were strained at first, but I had a heart-to-heart with Mom and Dad. We sat at the dining-room table until midnight, crying and laughing, and trading stories about Rosie and how much we missed her. Mom even put one of the family pictures back up.
"Well, we both know you'll never manage to be quiet," he says.
"So you'll have to live with blue balls."
"No, I'll have to invent some kind of catastrophe so your parents are called to the hospital and we have the place to ourselves."
"They're going out to dinner tonight," I say.
"That's hours away."
He slides his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. My ass is presses against his erection. Yes, it would feel amazing to fuck Miles again, but I'm a little preoccupied.
"In due time," I say. "You're supposed to be supporting me."
He grabs the mouse and navigates to the next page. UCSF. "You want me to do the honors?"
"Yes, please."
Click.
Submitting…
Thank you for submitting to UCSF!
"Why are you leaving tomorrow?" I ask. "Does Sinful Serenade really need its singer that badly?"
"Desperately." He runs his hands over my shoulders. "Why don't you come with me?"
Next application. Stanford. Click. Submitting… Done.
"I can't," I say. "I have school. And work."
"You're off work until your semester starts. It's an international tour. Our first international tour. You can be a part of history." He presses his lips to my neck. "And it ends the second day of school."
Next application. UCLA. Click. Submitting… Done.
"You want to take me to Tokyo and Osaka and Madrid and London?" I ask.
"And Paris and Berlin and a few other cities I don't remember." He turns me around so we're face to face. "Come. We can hang out backstage every night and tour fantastic cities every day."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive." He rubs my shoulders. "I want you to come. And to tour with me."
A million excuses pop into my brain, but none of them matter. Traveling the world with my hot rock-star boyfriend—I'd be a fool to say no.
"Okay," I say.
"That's it—okay?"
"Hell to the yes! Better?"
"Much."
I turn back around so I'm facing the computer. One more application. The one I was dreading for a million years.
UCI.
I don't know where I'll be this time next year, but wherever I am, I won't be running from anything.
Click. Submitting… Done.
Miles sucks on my earlobe. "You know we have to celebrate."
"When my parents leave."
"Now." He pulls my tights to my knees. "And when your parents leave."
I can live with that.
Have You Read Sinful Serenade?
Keep your bad boy fix going with the rest of the Sinful Serenade series. All books are available on Amazon (in KU, for purchase, and as audiobooks). Turn the page for an extended sample from Strum Your Heart Out, a red-hot friends to lovers romance, featuring brooding guitarist Drew and his feisty BFF/roommate Kara. It’s everything you loved about Playing with a rock star twist.
Sinful Serenade
Sing Your Heart Out - Miles
Strum Your Heart Out - Drew
Rock Your Heart Out - Tom
Play Your Heart Out - Pete
Sinful Ever After – series sequel
Strum Your Heart Out
Chapter One
Get Strum Your Heart Out Now
A buxom fan saunters in my direction. But she's not interested in me. I am invisible to her.
Her eyes are on Drew. She smiles. She shoves her hand in his face like I'm not here. "Oh my gosh. You must be Drew Denton. I'm such a big fan."
He shakes her hand, no signs of interest on his face. "I am."
She drags her fake red fingernails over Drew's forearm and thrusts her chest at him. "I love Sinful Serenade," she slurs. "You're soooooo good with your hands."
The worst thing about having a rock star guitarist for a best friend is hearing that line over and over and over.
Drew's lips curl into a smile. A smug expression creeps onto his face. "That's what I'm told."
And there's the second worst thing—hearing him give that same flirty response to every fan who is too rude to acknowledge the girl sitting next to him. Is it that obvious we're just friends or is she too desperate to care?
"Do you think... oh, gosh. Could you sign my, um..." She giggles. "My chest?"
His eyes dart to said chest. It's hard to blame him when her top is cut down to her belly button. No judgment. I've worn far sluttier things. Hell, my current getup could go toe to toe with this girl's in a who is showing the most boob competition.
A girl has to do what she can to get what she wants.
Apparently, this girl wants Drew's attention on her cans.
It's working. His eyes are wide. His mouth is open. He's staring like he's thinking about burying his face between her boobs.
Not that it bothers me or anything. Not like I want him to look at me that way. Not anything like that.
I adjust my bustier top for maximum cleavage potential and push myself up from my seat. Drew looks at me for a second, then his attention goes right back to the fangirl.
She drags those red fingernails up his biceps. "How do you stay so... fit on tour?"
He smiles. "On the floor."
She gasps like she's not at all familiar with the concept of push-ups. He smiles, all cocky and smug and totally cool.
He never flirts like this.
Never.
It shouldn't bother me. He's my friend and he can flirt with anyone he wants.
Doesn't mean I have to watch it.
I make my way to the dance floor, through the horde of twenty-something beautiful people here for the scene and not the music.
It's a pulsating, throbbing, electronic thing. Perfect. I step onto the vinyl. Eyes closed. Arms over my head. I shift my hips back and forth. No fancy moves. Just instinct.
The fangirl's hyena laugh cuts through the room. I must be imagining things. There's no way she's louder than the music.
Drew is still talking to her. Not so much flirting but certainly staring at her cans.
This tension builds in between my shoulder blades. It's all wrong. My body is loose and free when I dance. Tension is not part of the equation. And Drew is my friend. He's flirting with a floozy. So what? He's a rock star. He probably flirts with lots of floozies.
He probably fucks them too.
My nostrils flare. I shake my head and press my eyelids together. No. I refuse to feel this right now. I refuse to feel anything except the music.
I throw myself into dancing. The world melts away, one piece at a time. The rest of the club. The hyena laugh. Drew's wide-eyed, lust-filled smile as the fangirl mauls him.
It's not even on my mind.
I move closer to the speakers. They drown out every other thought inside my brain. I'm only a vessel for the music. My hips move of their own accord. My chest shifts. My arms sway.
I'm free.
And then there are hands on my hips. Strong hands. A guy's hands. It's a normal part of clubbing. Usually one I enjoy.
But this feels off. I take a step forward to break free of the hands, so it's nothing but me and the music. Better. That tension between my shoulder blades relaxes. I drift into bliss...
The damn hands are back! I turn to face this guy. He's tall. Broad. He looks like a TV actor—handsome but not out-of-this-world hot. Any other night, I'd welcome him as a dance partner.
I throw my arms above my head and match his movements. He's a good dancer—perfectly in time with the rhythm. It's not all together awful.
He takes a step toward me, so he's pressed up against me. Those hands go to my hips again. No more bliss. I'm utterly on edge, tense and strained in all the wrong places.
"Excuse me." I make my way to the bar, some area free of guys with too few manners to ask permission.
The guy follows me. "Can I buy you a drink?"
"No thank you."
"Come on. It will be fun." He grabs my wrist. The left. Right above my silver watch.
I pull my hand into my chest. Manners be damned, next time he does that, I'm slapping him.
I offer my most polite smile and shake my head. "No thank you. I'm here with someone."
"Who?"
Fine. I hate using this line, but it's the only thing that works on guys like this. "My boyfriend."
The guy takes a long, hard look at me. At my cleavage, mostly. That awkward, awful tension builds between my shoulder blades again.
What the hell? This is supposed to feel good. A hot guy is checking me out. A hot guy wants to press his body up against mine in time with the music.
"Your boyfriend lets you go out like that?" he asks.
"Believe it or not, I have this funny thing called free will." I step backward. "And I don't let guys tell me what to wear."
"Your boyfriend sounds like a pussy."
"I'll let him know your feelings." Okay. The bar thing isn't working. Time for the nuclear option. I make my way to the women's restroom.
The guy follows. "I only want to talk."
"And I don't."
I take a quick step, but, even with my heels, I've got short legs and this guy is all kinds of tall. He's faster than I am.
He grabs my wrist. The right. I shake it off. No slapping necessary. Yet.
"You don't have to be so rude," he says.
Obviously, I do, because he's not taking the hint. I turn so I'm facing the asshole. Anger flares in my gut. I manage to hold my tongue. There are merits to telling this guy what he can do with that grabby hand, but it seems silly to cause a scene. It's easier to slip away with a careful excuse. No conflict necessary.
"Excuse me, ladies' room," I say.
He reaches for me again. Left wrist this time. Okay, that's it. I pull my hand free and go to slap him.
Someone stops me. His hand closes around my tricep. There's something right about it. Something magical.
It's Drew. Drew's hand is tight around my arm. Drew is touching me.
He looks at the asshole guy. "Can I help you?"
The guy looks at me with disbelief. "This is your boyfriend?"
I throw Drew a please play along look. "Yes. And we're very busy tonight."
The door opens. Damn. That means we lose the game. It's Tom, and he's halfway undressed. Jeans. No t-shirt, no shoes. There's giggling in the background. Ah, there's a half-naked woman in the kitchen. His conquest of the day.
Or Miles's conquest of the day.
My heart thuds. If it keeps beating this fast and hard, it's going to burst right out of my chest.
"Jesus, what did he do now?" Tom asks.
Kara sticks her tongue out and steps inside.
"Come in, please." He rolls his eyes. "Should I call him? I don't even know where to start."
Kara rolls her eyes. "I'm more than happy to storm up to Miles's room and drag him down here."
"Give me a minute," Tom says. He makes some kind of signal to the half-naked woman then turns back to us. His lips purse and he exhales in a dramatic sigh. "He's fucking devastated, you know."
"Just get him," I say.
"You want to tell me what this is about?"
"Meg needs to speak with Miles. Get him or I will," Kara says.
"What do they need to speak about?" Tom folds his arms.
She glares at him like he's the source of all evil in the universe. "They're in love."
Tom raises an eyebrow. He looks at me as if to ask is this shit true?
I nod. As far as I know.
He finally drops the pout. "I hope you're right. But I'm going to do this the old-fashioned way." He pulls out his phone and dials Miles.
There's the faint sound of a ring. A door opens. Footsteps.
Miles appears at the top of the stairs. "You can't walk one fucking flight, Tom?" His eyes find mine, and the irritated scowl drops off his face.
He looks nervous. Miles, the rock star sex god, is nervous because of me.
"Meg. Hey." He clutches the banister on his way down the stairs. "Everything okay?"
I open my mouth, but no sounds come out. Deep breath. "I heard your song."
His lips curl into the tiniest smile. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I press my fingers against my hips. "That one about me, too?"
He reaches the bottom of the stairs. "I haven't fallen in love with any other girls this year."
My breath catches in my throat. He said… he must mean… he must…
I'm dizzy. My legs are wobbly. "You, um, did you mean what you said?"
"Every word." He takes a step towards me. "Though, technically, I sang them."
"Technically."
Miles sends Tom the evil eye. "A little privacy, maybe?"
"Hell no." He raises his voice. "Drew, Pete, you fuckers here to see this?"
"It's okay," I say. "They can stay."
Miles is five feet away. "I usually write songs to avoid these kinds of declarations."
"You're screwed now. You have an audience and expectations."
He smirks. "If there's anything I know how to do, it's put on a show."
"All I want is the truth."
One more step. He's six inches from me. He brushes my hair behind my ear. "I love you, Meg. I had something perfect right under my nose, and it took me forever to realize it. But I realize it now."
Tom' voice booms. "YOU FUCKERS ARE MISSING OUT!"
A bedroom door slams and Pete appears at the top of the stairs. He spots Miles. "He's out of his room?"
Miles shakes his head. "They're really ruining the moment."
"No, it's perfect."
He slides his hand around my waist. "I'm not good at this relationship thing, but I want to do it with you."
"You sure?"
"Positive." He pulls me closer. "If you're willing to forgive me for being an utter idiot."
"Yeah." I lean into him. "The biggest idiot."
"I'll take that as a yes." He presses his lips into mine.
All of our other kisses were amazing. All of our other kisses set my body on fire. But this one is on another level. It's like every bit of need in him is pouring into me, like he's prying himself open for me and showing me all the ways he hurts.
The kiss breaks, and I pull back. I stare into his gorgeous eyes. "I love you, too."
And I swear to God, he melts.
The world is spinning around me. There's clapping. It's Tom, I think. Then it's Kara, and Pete. I look around the room, and Drew is there, too.
They're clapping, but it's not like this is silly. It's like they mean it.
Miles leans a little closer. "Assholes were convinced I'd die miserable and alone."
"Utter assholes."
"I'd say let's give them a free show, but I want you all to myself."
He presses his lips against mine again. It's as sweet as the first kiss of the night, but it's hotter. It's so hot, I'm pretty sure I'm going to ignite.
"Okay, I think that's my cue," Kara says. "You're taking her home tomorrow."
"Stay," Pete calls out. "We're going to have to blast a movie if we want to hear anything besides Miles screaming in ecstasy." He laughs. "Though, Meg, you're free to make as much noise as you want."
"That's my girlfriend, asshole," Miles says. "If that's okay with you."
My body fills with warmth. "Absolutely."
"You're lucky I'm preoccupied, or I'd kick your ass." Miles leads me up the stairs. "Tom, berate Pete about the loud phone sex."
"Any time." Tom sends us a salute.
We pass Drew and Pete. My cheeks burn. I mouth thank you, though I'm not sure who I'm thanking. Everyone, I guess.
They're all happy for us.
Pete winks at me. I'm pretty sure Miles sees it, but I don't think he cares.
We're going to be preoccupied for the rest of the night.
Epilogue
Miles squeezes my hand. "You ready?"
Deep breath. Almost. Yeah. I think I am. No, I absolutely am. I nod. "Yes."
"Do the honors." He takes my hand and places it on the computer mouse.
Eyes open. The cursor hovers over "Submit Application." Okay. I can do this. I press my finger down until the mouse clicks.
Submitting…
Thank you for submitting to Harvard Medical School. Check your email for a submission confirmation.
I let out something suspiciously close to a scream. "Oh my God." I throw my arms around Miles and kiss him like the goddamn ship is going down.
His body relaxes into mine. He digs his hands into my hair and pulls our lips apart. "Honey, you have six of these to go. I can't take the blue balls if you do this every time."
"Too bad."
"Your parents will hear."
"Too bad for them."
"Oh yeah?" He slides his hand under my wool skirt and runs his fingers over the seam of my tights. "Better get these off."
"Okay, point taken." I navigate to the next page. Yale. Aim high, right? We spent the morning filling these out. Now there's nothing left to do but submit them.
I squeeze Miles with one hand and with the other...
Click!
Submitting...
Thank you for submitting to Yale Medical School.
Miles presses his lips into my neck. "You're such a little nerd."
"Jealous?"
"Hey! I'm a rock star. Have some respect." He finds the top of my tights and tugs them down ever so gently. "Or else I'll force you to respect me."
"We have five to go."
"You can go while you come."
"Okay, I don't want my parents to hear," I say. "They were very hospitable accepting a last-minute guest. And a depraved rock star no less."
"Your parents love me more than you do."
I kiss him on the forehead. "That's not possible."
It's the day after Christmas, and Miles has been here, in my parents' Newport Beach place, for a week. Things between me and my parents were strained at first, but I had a heart-to-heart with Mom and Dad. We sat at the dining-room table until midnight, crying and laughing, and trading stories about Rosie and how much we missed her. Mom even put one of the family pictures back up.
"Well, we both know you'll never manage to be quiet," he says.
"So you'll have to live with blue balls."
"No, I'll have to invent some kind of catastrophe so your parents are called to the hospital and we have the place to ourselves."
"They're going out to dinner tonight," I say.
"That's hours away."
He slides his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. My ass is presses against his erection. Yes, it would feel amazing to fuck Miles again, but I'm a little preoccupied.
"In due time," I say. "You're supposed to be supporting me."
He grabs the mouse and navigates to the next page. UCSF. "You want me to do the honors?"
"Yes, please."
Click.
Submitting…
Thank you for submitting to UCSF!
"Why are you leaving tomorrow?" I ask. "Does Sinful Serenade really need its singer that badly?"
"Desperately." He runs his hands over my shoulders. "Why don't you come with me?"
Next application. Stanford. Click. Submitting… Done.
"I can't," I say. "I have school. And work."
"You're off work until your semester starts. It's an international tour. Our first international tour. You can be a part of history." He presses his lips to my neck. "And it ends the second day of school."
Next application. UCLA. Click. Submitting… Done.
"You want to take me to Tokyo and Osaka and Madrid and London?" I ask.
"And Paris and Berlin and a few other cities I don't remember." He turns me around so we're face to face. "Come. We can hang out backstage every night and tour fantastic cities every day."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive." He rubs my shoulders. "I want you to come. And to tour with me."
A million excuses pop into my brain, but none of them matter. Traveling the world with my hot rock-star boyfriend—I'd be a fool to say no.
"Okay," I say.
"That's it—okay?"
"Hell to the yes! Better?"
"Much."
I turn back around so I'm facing the computer. One more application. The one I was dreading for a million years.
UCI.
I don't know where I'll be this time next year, but wherever I am, I won't be running from anything.
Click. Submitting… Done.
Miles sucks on my earlobe. "You know we have to celebrate."
"When my parents leave."
"Now." He pulls my tights to my knees. "And when your parents leave."
I can live with that.
Have You Read Sinful Serenade?
Keep your bad boy fix going with the rest of the Sinful Serenade series. All books are available on Amazon (in KU, for purchase, and as audiobooks). Turn the page for an extended sample from Strum Your Heart Out, a red-hot friends to lovers romance, featuring brooding guitarist Drew and his feisty BFF/roommate Kara. It’s everything you loved about Playing with a rock star twist.
Sinful Serenade
Sing Your Heart Out - Miles
Strum Your Heart Out - Drew
Rock Your Heart Out - Tom
Play Your Heart Out - Pete
Sinful Ever After – series sequel
Strum Your Heart Out
Chapter One
Get Strum Your Heart Out Now
A buxom fan saunters in my direction. But she's not interested in me. I am invisible to her.
Her eyes are on Drew. She smiles. She shoves her hand in his face like I'm not here. "Oh my gosh. You must be Drew Denton. I'm such a big fan."
He shakes her hand, no signs of interest on his face. "I am."
She drags her fake red fingernails over Drew's forearm and thrusts her chest at him. "I love Sinful Serenade," she slurs. "You're soooooo good with your hands."
The worst thing about having a rock star guitarist for a best friend is hearing that line over and over and over.
Drew's lips curl into a smile. A smug expression creeps onto his face. "That's what I'm told."
And there's the second worst thing—hearing him give that same flirty response to every fan who is too rude to acknowledge the girl sitting next to him. Is it that obvious we're just friends or is she too desperate to care?
"Do you think... oh, gosh. Could you sign my, um..." She giggles. "My chest?"
His eyes dart to said chest. It's hard to blame him when her top is cut down to her belly button. No judgment. I've worn far sluttier things. Hell, my current getup could go toe to toe with this girl's in a who is showing the most boob competition.
A girl has to do what she can to get what she wants.
Apparently, this girl wants Drew's attention on her cans.
It's working. His eyes are wide. His mouth is open. He's staring like he's thinking about burying his face between her boobs.
Not that it bothers me or anything. Not like I want him to look at me that way. Not anything like that.
I adjust my bustier top for maximum cleavage potential and push myself up from my seat. Drew looks at me for a second, then his attention goes right back to the fangirl.
She drags those red fingernails up his biceps. "How do you stay so... fit on tour?"
He smiles. "On the floor."
She gasps like she's not at all familiar with the concept of push-ups. He smiles, all cocky and smug and totally cool.
He never flirts like this.
Never.
It shouldn't bother me. He's my friend and he can flirt with anyone he wants.
Doesn't mean I have to watch it.
I make my way to the dance floor, through the horde of twenty-something beautiful people here for the scene and not the music.
It's a pulsating, throbbing, electronic thing. Perfect. I step onto the vinyl. Eyes closed. Arms over my head. I shift my hips back and forth. No fancy moves. Just instinct.
The fangirl's hyena laugh cuts through the room. I must be imagining things. There's no way she's louder than the music.
Drew is still talking to her. Not so much flirting but certainly staring at her cans.
This tension builds in between my shoulder blades. It's all wrong. My body is loose and free when I dance. Tension is not part of the equation. And Drew is my friend. He's flirting with a floozy. So what? He's a rock star. He probably flirts with lots of floozies.
He probably fucks them too.
My nostrils flare. I shake my head and press my eyelids together. No. I refuse to feel this right now. I refuse to feel anything except the music.
I throw myself into dancing. The world melts away, one piece at a time. The rest of the club. The hyena laugh. Drew's wide-eyed, lust-filled smile as the fangirl mauls him.
It's not even on my mind.
I move closer to the speakers. They drown out every other thought inside my brain. I'm only a vessel for the music. My hips move of their own accord. My chest shifts. My arms sway.
I'm free.
And then there are hands on my hips. Strong hands. A guy's hands. It's a normal part of clubbing. Usually one I enjoy.
But this feels off. I take a step forward to break free of the hands, so it's nothing but me and the music. Better. That tension between my shoulder blades relaxes. I drift into bliss...
The damn hands are back! I turn to face this guy. He's tall. Broad. He looks like a TV actor—handsome but not out-of-this-world hot. Any other night, I'd welcome him as a dance partner.
I throw my arms above my head and match his movements. He's a good dancer—perfectly in time with the rhythm. It's not all together awful.
He takes a step toward me, so he's pressed up against me. Those hands go to my hips again. No more bliss. I'm utterly on edge, tense and strained in all the wrong places.
"Excuse me." I make my way to the bar, some area free of guys with too few manners to ask permission.
The guy follows me. "Can I buy you a drink?"
"No thank you."
"Come on. It will be fun." He grabs my wrist. The left. Right above my silver watch.
I pull my hand into my chest. Manners be damned, next time he does that, I'm slapping him.
I offer my most polite smile and shake my head. "No thank you. I'm here with someone."
"Who?"
Fine. I hate using this line, but it's the only thing that works on guys like this. "My boyfriend."
The guy takes a long, hard look at me. At my cleavage, mostly. That awkward, awful tension builds between my shoulder blades again.
What the hell? This is supposed to feel good. A hot guy is checking me out. A hot guy wants to press his body up against mine in time with the music.
"Your boyfriend lets you go out like that?" he asks.
"Believe it or not, I have this funny thing called free will." I step backward. "And I don't let guys tell me what to wear."
"Your boyfriend sounds like a pussy."
"I'll let him know your feelings." Okay. The bar thing isn't working. Time for the nuclear option. I make my way to the women's restroom.
The guy follows. "I only want to talk."
"And I don't."
I take a quick step, but, even with my heels, I've got short legs and this guy is all kinds of tall. He's faster than I am.
He grabs my wrist. The right. I shake it off. No slapping necessary. Yet.
"You don't have to be so rude," he says.
Obviously, I do, because he's not taking the hint. I turn so I'm facing the asshole. Anger flares in my gut. I manage to hold my tongue. There are merits to telling this guy what he can do with that grabby hand, but it seems silly to cause a scene. It's easier to slip away with a careful excuse. No conflict necessary.
"Excuse me, ladies' room," I say.
He reaches for me again. Left wrist this time. Okay, that's it. I pull my hand free and go to slap him.
Someone stops me. His hand closes around my tricep. There's something right about it. Something magical.
It's Drew. Drew's hand is tight around my arm. Drew is touching me.
He looks at the asshole guy. "Can I help you?"
The guy looks at me with disbelief. "This is your boyfriend?"
I throw Drew a please play along look. "Yes. And we're very busy tonight."
