Page 25 of The Fallen
Don’t get me wrong, I will wear some eyeliner and maybe a little lip gloss now and then, but I know my anxiety won’t let me leave the room if I put on anything eye-catching with this getup on. So, I sit and let Meagan give me a hair makeover while Astrid picks out accessories that I know I don’t own. Finally, after a million years, three complete accessory redos, and a ton of tweaking they clap their hands and exclaim that I’m presentable.
I stare at myself in the mirror, trying to decide if I even like the look. My usually boring brown hair is in a messy, spiky style that looks both professionally done and like I just woke up and scrubbed my head with a staticky towel. It looks…good.
And even my black-rimmed glasses don’t detract from it.
“We finally ready?” Charlie asks as I step out of my room, bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement.
I glance down at myself, equal parts delighted and nervous. I look amazing, but I never would have put this outfit together on my own.
“Good, about time we. . . ” Ben’s voice stops.
I look up and spot him frozen in the living room, staring at me with wide eyes. I swallow, the nervousness of wearing these clothes coming back full force as he takes me in. I want to run into my bedroom and cover up, but I can’t move.
He blinks his brown eyes and physically shakes himself out of his trance before his gaze comes up to meet mine. “You look good,” he says softly before he clears his throat and looks away.
Warmth floods my body, my cheeks heating up with a blush as I look down at my shoes.
I don’t get much of a chance to say anything to him as Astrid pushes me out the door, the others following closely behind. Fifteen minutes later we’re stepping out of our Uber at Midtown-Westport, the two-story brick building that houses Missie B’s in front of us. The sidewalk separating us from the club is teeming with people, either milling around or passing by on their way to their destinations.
Taking a deep breath, I grit my teeth and follow behind the group as we thread our way inside. Tonight, there’s no cover charge, which I’m thankful for. The music thumps from the speakers, the vocals of the song sounding off until I realize it’s karaoke night. The crowd is going wild, encouraging the singer as he does a questionable rendition of Billy Idol’s “White Wedding.”
A headache is already beginning to form, but I force a smile when Ben grins over his shoulder at me. In an unspoken discussion, we head upstairs. Ben and I take a detour to one of the bars while the others aim for the dance floor.
Waiting for our drinks, Ben leans against me. His breath hits the back of my neck. “You aren’t going to dance—” He shouts into my ear. — “are you?”
I shake my head emphatically, almost slinging my glasses off my face. No way am I dancing in public. I’m a white boy with white boy dance skills. That means absolutely no rhythm anda very real possibility of someone mistaking my dancing for an epileptic seizure.
Laughing, he hooks an arm around my shoulders and I have to fight down a shudder, mentally telling my dick not to get excited at the contact. He leans in again, his chin resting on my shoulder as we watch the other three sway together on the dance floor. Charlie is firmly between Meagan and Astrid.
My mood is damped a bit when I spot Jacob on the side lines, but that can’t be right. He’d never be caught dead in a club like this. But it’s definitely him and he’s looking in our direction with a scowl on his face.
Creepy!
“What if I asked you to dance?” I go still, my heart racing as I turn my head just enough to look at him. His brown eyes are watching the dancers, but there’s a tightening at the corners of his lips. Is he nervous for my answer or is he regretting asking at all? Is he just being nice and trying to get me out of my shell or does he really want to dance with me?
Why?
He’s straight, at least, that’s the vibe he always gives off. And the string of women with broken hearts he’s left in his wake definitely confirms he’s straight.
So why is he asking to dance?
Before I can bombard him with questions, the bartender is back with our beers. Ben leans away from me, snagging one of the bottles, then takes a drink. I can’t help but stare as he drinks, his Adam’s apple bobbing the length of that long throat. I just want to nibble on it.
Nope.Not going there, though it’s too late for my dick. Just the idea of doing that has already got the damn thing chubbing up and my pants are so tight that not only can I not hide my growing erection, but I can’t adjust, either.
Ugh, I’m going to end up a eunuch after tonight.
I grab my beer and chug half of it with one breath. When I finally lower the glass, Ben is watching me, a smirk on his lips. “You sure about that dance?”
My heart starts pounding again, but damn it, why can’t I dance with him if he’s offering? “Um. . . just let me use the bathroom really quick,” I manage to squeak out before I turn and bolt away.
The hallway is empty, and I take a deep breath. Is the near panic attack because of the possibility of dancing in public or because it’s Ben asking? Either way, I need to get out there before Ben decides to come back here to check on me. Talk about a mood killer to find your love interest in the midst of a panic attack in a hallway.
Decision made, I turn to make my way back to Ben. A thump behind me gets my attention but before I can look, darkness envelops me.
CHAPTER 2
The scent of sandalwood incense drags me back to the waking world and I immediately regret the decision. My neck feels like it’s made of stone and the pounding at my temples proves I made more than one bad decision last night. Not to mention my mouth tastes like an ashtray.
