Page 27 of Life of the Party

Then, I felt something else. In my mouth was a sudden, terrible, horrible taste. I made a face and put my hand over my lips as I slid back into the booth.

Grey noticed my grimace as I sat next to him. “Does it taste like hairspray?”

I nodded in disgust, my hand still over my mouth.

“Try to swallow it. It’s just the coke. Back drip.” He explained.

“Lovely.”

“Want some more?”

“Yes.”

Of course I did. I didn’t want that feeling to ever end.

Grey and I sat, almost completely by ourselves as the others dispersed, some to go dance, some to get drinks. I leaned comfortably against him and we shared another mirror or two. His arm rested loosely around my waist, his hand warm. He smelled so good.

“Do we have to get you back anytime…curfew or anything?” He asked, his voice a deep rumble in my ear. I lit my eightieth smoke and blew it out in a laugh.

“Hardly. My mom works nights; my dad’s away. They’ll never notice I’m gone.”

“Well, maybe I’ll just keep you, then.”

“Sounds good to me.” I agreed.

I was content to sit with Grey beside me, but nothing could stop the uncontrollable chatter that poured from my lips. From our lips. Thankfully, Grey had done his share of cocaine too, and we talked, and talked, our words not coming fast enough for the thoughts that drove them.

“Tell me more about your band being signed. How did it happen? What does it mean?” I leaned forward and took a drink, my mouth bitterly dry.

He chuckled at my ignorance, “Basically, we have a contract with a record company. They put out the CD and set up a tour and do the marketing and everything. We just sit back, and make music.” He grinned widely. “Which is really the best part.”

“How do you do it? I mean, how do you write the songs?”

“Zack and I write them. The melodies just come to me. Sometimes, I’ll wake up in the middle of the night, and I just have it, and have to get it down. Zack helps a ton, he can think of wicked parts for guitars and layering and stuff.”

“That’s amazing.”

“I write the lyrics, too. Sometimes it’s hard, but most the time they just write themselves, like certain melodies were made for certain words, certain moods.”

“Wait.” I put my drink down and stared at Grey, baffled. “So, not only do you write the music and play the music and sing the songs, you write the lyrics too? How is that possible?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, humbly. “It’s just, easy for me. A lot of the time I can say things in songs that I…can’t say otherwise. Like an outlet, I guess.”

“Wow. How long have you been playing?”

“I started guitar when I was…seven, I think? If you think I’m crazy, Zack can play every instrument we have on stage. He even plays the saxophone and shit.”

“That’s so impressive.” I shook my head seriously. “I mean it. You guys are very talented. Soon, you’ll be so famous you won’t remember the rest of us.”

“I doubt that.” Grey chuckled. “Some of you are pretty unforgettable.”

He looked at me when he said that, his blue eyes twinkling, his lips curved handsomely. I gave him a glorious smile.

“Oh yeah?” My voice was a whisper. He nodded, and I felt his hand on my hip, hard and firm as he slowly pulled me closer. My poor heart beat like a hummingbird’s wings. With his other hand, dark and tan and warm, Grey tilted my chin up, pulling my face toward his until the inevitable moment—slow in coming—that our lips finally touched.

The kiss jolted me. The parts of me previously coke-numb were suddenly on fire. His lips pressed against mine, softly at first, then with growing intensity. He tasted amazing. I twisted in his arms so I was facing him, my hands lifted to the back of his neck, my fingers twirled in his hair.

We kissed. We kissed as we had talked—compulsively, thoroughly, irrepressibly. I pressed myself against him, delighting in the warmth of his hands on my back, my waist, stroking my arms, my neck…tangling in my hair…

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