Page 234 of Rock Me All Night
17
We have dinner in Hollywood. The place is too loud and dark for much conversation. Truth be told, there's not much room in my head for conversation. My thoughts are in the gutter. Every last one of them.
My favorite club is three blocks away. We walk like a couple: arms around each other's waists, barely any space between us.
Even in my fuck-me heels, I'm several inches shorter than Drew. I force myself to take long steps to keep up.
It's a tiny little place. Fits a hundred people, maybe, and it's used for rock shows as often as it's used for all-out raves. Tonight is a rave, thank goodness. I want to get lost in the dark and the music and the feeling of Drew's hands on my hips.
Drew nods to the bouncer like he knows the guy. We cut in line and walk into the club.
Even in the entrance hallway, the music is pounding. It sinks all the way to my bones. My hips sway as I walk. It's pure reflex. Utterly out of my control.
We step into the main room. The lights are blue and white and the dance floor is packed to the brim with people lost in the rhythm.
I squeeze Drew's hand and pull him onto the dance floor. He slides his hands around my hips and brings my body into his.
Either the guy dances more often than he lets on or he's a natural.
I hook my arms behind his neck and look deep into his eyes. There's something there—something so much more than friendship or attraction or his obnoxious-yet-sweet need to protect me.
His hands go to my ass and he holds me tighter. No coyness. No games. Nothing but the purest, sweetest want.
Everything except the beat drifts away until I'm only aware of the sensations in my body. The strain of my thighs. The stretch of my chest. The warmth of Drew's body against mine. His hands digging into the fabric of my dress. The ache between my legs building until I want to scream.
He drags his hands down my hips and thighs. His fingertips skim the edge of my skirt. I pant. I grab onto his shoulders as tightly as I can. Half of me wants to strip right here on the dance floor... anything that gets his hands on my body. The other half wants to run screaming. Drew discovering my scars in a loud, sweaty club has catastrophe written all over it.
I take a step back, breaking his grip. I'm cold all over and the ache inside me is so much more desperate.
His expression flashes with concern. Then it's back to that awful confused look, the same one he had in the kitchen when everything almost went to shit.
I offer my bestI'm not at all freaked out about you seeing my scarssmile. "Let's get drinks."
He presses his palm flat against my back as he leads me to the bar. His hand slides around my hips and over my ass.
I bite my lip to keep from panting. It's loud and crowded here. The light is strange. After two drinks, it's possible Drew won't notice the scars.
It's possible I'll be able to avoid this for another month. A week. Hell, even a day as someone other than the poor damaged girl would be fantastic.
I search Drew's expression for any signs to how he'll react, but all I see is desire.
He leans over the bar and signals the bartender. He turns to me. "Paloma?"
I nod.
He orders for us. Paloma and a tequila on the rocks.
Drew turns back to me, his eyes are wide with excitement.
I bite my lip. I can't tell him now. Not here. Not yet. Maybe after a drink or two or three. Maybe after I'm sure he won't run away.
He makes eye contact. "You're going to drive me out of my fucking mind if you keep looking at me like that."
My tongue slides over my lips. "Like what?"
"Like you have to tell me something awful."
Drew slaps two twenties on the bar. "Keep the change." He hands me my drink and presses his palm into the small of my back. His eyes get serious. "Tell me it's not something awful."
