Page 42 of Revive

We reach the door, and he looks at me just before he pulls it open. Vulnerable, his eyes slowly let their guard down. “Thank you for staying.”

“Don’t make me regret it, okay?”

* * *

Excitedwhen we walked in hand in hand, his friends made sure to never leave us alone, chatting and offering us drinks every chance they get; making it impossible for Drix and I to discuss anything from earlier.

If they weren’t so nice, I’d be irritated, but only a bitch would be mad at people trying to make her feel welcome and comfortable.

Not wanting to drink too much, just in case we do end up speaking later, I take small sips of wine, in between huge glasses of water. Hendrix sits close, closer than in the restaurant, and close enough to touch me. Whether it’s his arm around my shoulders, or his hand grazing my thigh, a weight has been lifted, and the difference is unmissable.

I’m not one for games. It requires energy I don’t have, so instead of keeping him at a distance, I revel in the simplicity of his company. Every touch is like a white flag, and every time I willingly surrender.

Conversation is light, everyone glad to unwind, and escape the weekly grind. I learn Stacey and Chris got together a little after Jagger and Emerson, and they’ll be moving in together soon. I find out Evan is going to propose to Kat, he’s just waiting for the right moment. And my favourite part is hearing them talk about Hendrix. Whether they’re all giving each other shit, or they’re telling me how great he is, I realise I’m in the presence of someone who might just be worth the heartache.

As the night progresses, the lights in the bar get darker, and the music gets louder. Changing from the after-dinner crowd to the all-nighter crowd, I decide I’m ready to go home. Not wanting to interrupt Hendrix’s conversation with Chris and Evan, I dig my phone out of my bag and text him.

Me: You ready to drive me home?

From the corner of my eye, I wait for him to see the text. He doesn’t even look up at me, while he types back, and the charade makes me giddy.

Hendrix: I’ve been ready since you strutted in with that side split showing off your gorgeous legs.

I can’t help but smile, remembering exactly how I felt as I walked toward the table with his gaze penetrating through me.

Me: Come on, Sexy. Let’s go before I change my mind.

“You little minx.” Stacey flicks my exposed knee, immediately getting my attention. “Were you just sexting, Drix?”

Grinning like a fool, I shake my head. “No, I just asked if he was ready to go.”

“To go, and have sex, you mean.”

“Who’s having sex?” He towers over us, his eyes dancing with desire as he directs the question to me.

“Not us,” I say, shocking only Kat and Stacey.

Drix, just laughs, and tips his head toward the exit. “Ready?”

I do the rounds, with Hendrix’s hand on the small of my back. Together we say goodbye and they all tell me how happy they are Drix and I came out, and how they hope we’ll all do it again some time. It doesn't go unnoticed that it seems to be the first time in a long time Drix has been out with his work friends, or how happy it's made them. I add it to my list of things we can talk about.

Once and for all, I’m decidedly determined to solve the mystery that is Hendrix Michaels.

We get to the car and I groan at the thought of having to lift myself up to get in. “Seriously, Drix. If I'm going to ever dress up to go somewhere with you again, we're taking my car.”

He comes up beside me and opens the door. Pressing himself up behind me, one hand latches onto my waist, the other holds my hand. Allowing him to help me with my balance, smoothly I raise one leg and lift myself up. His hand glides down the curve of my hip, resting right under my arse as he pushes me the rest of the way.

Casually I settle in the seat, as he watches me with a smug look across his face. “If we take your car, then I can't do that.” He winks. “And I really like doing that.”

He closes the door, and I roll my eyes at him, as he walks around the front of the car. When he gets in, he’s still smirking, proud of his efforts.

“Where’s your phone?” he asks as the car wakes up, rumbling beneath us.

“In my bag.”

“Sync it up.” He presses the screen a few times, and the words ‘Connect to Taylah’s iPhone’ flash on the screen.

“What’s that about?” I point to my name in front of us.

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