Page 43 of Wild Obsession

A wicked new idea crosses my mind. I indulge it to relieve myself of the mistake I’m increasingly confident I’m going to make tonight.

Throwing an arm around Jacob’s shoulders, I lean in to say, “Hey, maybe you should get Seth a drink, huh?”

A pretty flush instantly rushes into Jacob’s brown cheeks. “He’ll be working. Don’t be an ass.”

“I’m not being an ass. The guy has worked hard keeping the groupies off you during this tour. You owe him a beer.”

“Shut up, Keannen,” Jacob says, pushing me away, but the blush doesn’t entirely fade.

I feel a little better as our pretty frontman fumbles, enough that I can leave with the band and throw myself in the shower to wash all the crap out of my hair and makeup off my face. I won’t be sad to avoid the hair and makeup chair for a while. By the time I’m clean and wearing my own clothes again, I almost feel like I can make it through this night without doing something stupid.

This isn’t entirely on me, however. Tim made the first move last time, even though I told him how I feel, told him I’m bad for him, told him I can only ruin him. If the guy wants to welcome in his own destruction, that’s not my problem. He’s an adult; he can do whatever he wants. What more am I supposed to do than push him away and tell him I can’t offer him anything better than a bathroom stallhookup? If he doesn’t get it by now, he never will.

What do I care anyway? While shaving in the mirror, I remind myself that this guy hurt me first. Hurting him in return is fair play at this point. We could have talked about this ages ago and reunited like old friends instead of bitter exes, but that’s not the path Tim chose, and I’m certainly not going to be the bigger person about it. This is an opportunity, an opportunity to have some fun, blow off steam, see how far I can push before he says no.

If Tim wants to throw himself at me until he breaks, I might as well enjoy the show.

Chapter Twenty-One

Tim

EVERYTHING FEELS SO freaking good tonight.

Our final show is still ringing in my ears when we get to the bar we’ve rented out for the evening. Crew and staff and musicians alike pile in, inundating the poor bartenders with requests. I clink my first beer of the night against Erin’s, and we knock them back while giggling so hard our drinks spill down our chins.

“You were incredible,” Julian says.

It isn’t only staff and crew here with us tonight. Julian has joined us as well, and he and Cameron are already all over each other. They have their own room, which means I’ll be alone, though I’m not sure they’d be able to keep their hands off each other even if management hadn’t graciously separated us tonight.

I drink to hide the flush rising up my neck at that thought. The things I’ve done with Keannen have opened a yawning hunger within me. Instead of becoming less reactive, the slightest thing gets me going. It’s like Keannen has introduced me to a brand new food, but only offered me a tiny, insufficient bite, and now I can’t help coming back for more.

Unbidden, my eyes scan the bar for him. People pack every corner of the venue, spilling out onto the patio. String lights stretch across the tarps set up outside and crawl across the ceilings indoors, like fireflies hovering overhead. Rows of alcohol sit on shelves above the bar, like glittering jewels strung along massive necklaces. The tables are sleek and modern and black, with black stools tucked around them. At least, I’m pretty sure there are stools somewhere in here. It’s hard to tell with so many people packed into the place.

I finally spot Keannen wedged in at the bar and toasting with one of his bandmates. Levi, I think? They clink glasses of amber liquid together, then Keannen shoots the alcohol back in one gulp. I watch the way his throat works, the way a single bead of liquid carves its way down his throat.

He sets the glass on the bartop and catches me watching at last.

I try to turn away, but I know he noticed. His eyes prickle along my back as I clutch my beer and fight the heat swelling in my belly.

He knows I want him. I’ve made that perfectly clear.I’ve also made it clear that I don’t care about the consequences. He doesn’t have to love me. He doesn’t even need to treat me all that well. I’ll take it all, at least for the duration of the tour. After that, I have no idea what happens.

I shake my head, trying to dispel the figments of a future I don’t want to contemplate. This is a night for celebration, for drinking too much and thinking too little, and I’m not going to let the impossible sour it.

I cut myself off around the time the bar starts going fuzzy around the edges. I’ve used the crowd to keep myself away from Keannen, but it isn’t a perfect system. Every once in a while, my eyes slide toward him regardless, and every time, he’s watching me.

I’ve tried talking with my bandmates. I’ve tried drinking. I’ve tried dancing. Nothing works. Eventually, I start searching for him before I can stop myself.

It coalesces into an ache deep in my gut, like an iron ball lodged in my intestines. It keeps me from ordering another drink, but it doesn’t stop my head from spinning.

“Hey, you okay?” Erin says at one point. She grabs me by the shoulder as though to steady me. Have I been stumbling?

“I’m fine,” I say. “Maybe had too much.”

“Let’s get him some water,” Cameron says.

Erin and Kelsey go looking for the water, but being left with Cameron is little better than being alone. Julian loopshis arms around Cameron’s middle, hugging him against his body like if they physically separate at any point in this entire night, they might explode.

I turn to Kelsey and Erin, returning with the water, to drag my eyes away from the ridiculously happy couple. Their honeymoon period began over a year ago and seemingly never ended. They’re as insane about each other as ever, and normally I’m super happy for them, but tonight I can’t face it. It’s a foregone conclusion that Keannen will never see me that way, and all because I left when we were kids. Sometimes I want to scream at him that it wasn’t my fault, but that’s only partially true. Leaving my school wasn’t my fault, but cutting off all contact with him is a decision I have to own. Yes, I feared my parents finding out I was in contact with him, but that excuse only works for so long. It doesn’t explain the full eight years of silence.

---