Page 27 of The Drummer

Not everything about our world is bad—it doesn’t have tobe, anyway—and it feels like she’d be the missing piece to give it meaning.

While she takes in the sights and sounds, I return to the bar. The bartender seems almost relieved I’m not as weird as he thought, until I demand a sealed bottle of champagne and two empty glasses.

I hand him a huge tip, scoop up my bounty, and go on the hunt for Callie.

She’s balanced on the one-step ledge leading into the living room. Her wide stare scours the writhing bodies on the dancefloor like she doesn’t know if she should run in disgust or join in. More guests cross all kinds of lines on the surrounding couches. Others undulate against the walls, leaving little to the imagination.

Her gaze locks on a couple practically sharing a body as they grind against each other to the hypnotic groove of the music. She chews on her lip, sending another spike of heat through me. Her innocent curiosity is a drug, and my body burns with the desire to explore the hedonistic sensations occurring around us. This growing fire inside me is going to be a huge problem.

We need a distraction.

“Here!” I call out from behind her.

She spins around with a small gasp, and I love everything about the relief and excitement in her eyes when she sees me. It’s the opposite of her initial greeting. The reservation is gone, the disappointment that I’m not Luke replaced by a glint of heated curiosity. The way her gaze travels over my face, down my button-up shirt, and back to my eyes ignites a fresh current of sparks. Her brain is where I thought it was. Where mine is. Where I hoped, and dreaded, we’d end up.

You’re in deep shit, dude. Deep, deep shit.

Before I can do or say something I’ll regret, I hold up the bottle with a grin.

“I can tell you’re cautious. You don’t trust us wild rockers,” Itease. A flash of surprise, followed by a small smile moves across her face as I lead her away from the dancers.

After popping the cork and filling the glasses, I pass her one.

“To Luke.” I lift my glass in a mock toast.

“To Luke,” she replies, taking a sip.

Her eyes go wide, and I snort a laugh at the adorable hypocrite.

“Undercover princess, my ass. You’ve never even had good champagne before!”

Her cute grin erases this entire week from hell. “A girl could get used to this,” she muses.

So could I.

Seriously, Casey. What is wrong with you?

I drain my glass to purge this weird attraction. I can’t even remember a time Iwas the one with a crush, and here I am going all eighth-grade-boy on a woman I spoke to once.

Well, twice now.

When I see her glass is empty as well, I refill it, only to immediately regret it. My days of using substances to cure myself are over.

Her look of confusion when I put the bottle and glasses I just filled on a side table is totally justified. Before she can ask, I grab her hand and lead her toward the dance floor.

“Where are we going?” she shouts.

“To dance!” I toss back.

“What? No way!”

My heart sinks in disappointment, and I’m about to let her go, when I catch her shy grin. She’s not resisting, just insecure. My suspicions are confirmed when she turns a fascinated stare on the crowd of moving bodies. It’s so obvious she wants to be out there, not observing from a corner.

Challenge. Accepted.

We’ve almost reached the dance floor when I stop cold.

Oh no. What isshedoing here?!

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