by Frankie Rose
The lyrics confuse the crap out of me. The song ends and Morgan’s beer is untouched. Her hands look red raw from clapping so hard.
“Holy shit, Ave, they’re amazing!”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “They are.” I need more beer for this. I signal the bartender who’s watching the show himself, and I down half my drink as soon as he hands it over.
D.M.F play three more songs and I refuse to turn around the whole time. Luke’s voice sends thrills through my body and turns my blood ice cold in equal turns, making me wonder if I’m an ice queen, too. I know it’s not me he sang about in that first song, though, because he sure as hell didn’t leave me unfinished in his bed. No, that would be Casey, surely? The woman he refused to sleep with for five whole years. And yet he gave himself up to me in one evening. All I had to do was lose my father and have a nervous breakdown.
The bar area empties as close to every single patron of the club joins the crowd in front of the stage to watch D.M.F play. Before long it’s just Morgan and me propping up the bar with Papa Joe talking to the bartender. Papa looks pissed. Probably because he just realized that none of his packed out club goers are ordering drinks now that the music is playing, and he’s not making any money after all.
Morgan finally picks up her beer and starts to down it, her eyes still locked on the stage. They round out as a commotion kicks up behind us. She nearly spits her drink out altogether when the screaming suddenly gets louder. “Holy shit, Ave! He just jumped off the stage. He’s walking right over here.”
“Who?” I hiss. Stupid question, though. I know exactly who she’s talking about. My body heats up like the fucking surface of the sun as Luke gets closer, closer, closer. I’m surprised there isn’t steam coming out of my ears by the time I hear him clear his throat behind me.
“S’cuse me. You mind turning round a second?”
Hell to the no. This can’t be happening. I grip hold of the wooden bar top and suck in a deep breath, trying to form a mask of nonchalance. Yeah, right. My cheeks are crimson—there’s no way I’m hiding that. I pick up my beer, place the glass against my lips, and drink. I drink until there’s nothing left, and then I turn around.
Holy. Mother. Of. Mary.
Luke Reid is standing right in front of me with an electric guitar strapped over his chest, wearing a worn singlet that exposes the black ink spiraling all over his biceps and shoulders. His hair is all over the place, disheveled and dripping with sweat. In fact, his face and his arms are covered with a sheen of sweat that reminds me of one thing and one thing only: him on top of me; him inside me. My legs start trembling the moment a smile develops on his face.
“Ahhh, I knew it was my beautiful girl,” he growls. The way he says that is so possessive, I’m instantly turned on. “It’s very distracting playing to the one turned back in the room, y’know, Beautiful…”
The hundred or so girls standing behind him, all gawking, shoot me evil looks as the man of their dreams gives me his best fuck me grin. Not that he knows he’s doing it, though, right? That’s not Luke’s style. Or at least not a Luke I’ve ever met before, anyway. This guy is an entirely different person. And he’s so intimidating, I can’t even speak.
“I need your undivided attention please, Ms. Patterson.” Luke takes another step forward. “Give it to me.”
The oxygen won’t travel into my lungs quick enough. I clasp hold of my empty beer bottle with both hands, my body tensing. The whole room has gone silent. I can tell Morgan’s watching the exchange with an open mouth, as are a few other girls in the audience. Luke smirks, closing the remaining gap between us. He extends a hand and takes my beer bottle, leaning close enough to brush up against me as he places it on the bar to my right.
He looks away briefly to make eye contact with the bartender as he says, “Two,” holding up his index and his middle finger. I hold my breath, a mixture of panic, anger and extreme arousal warring within me while Luke accepts the two shot glasses from the bartender and throws him a twenty. Luke holds out a glass. The amber liquid is filled right to the brim, and I can already smell that it’s Jack.
“I’m not drinking that,” I whisper.
“Why not?” His ruinous smile spreads even further. “I thought you liked Jack?”
“Only when I want to black the fuck out.” I cheer myself internally, because I sound like a stone cold bitch when I say that. Luke shakes his head, still smirking.
“I don’t want you to black the fuck out, Ms. Patterson. I want you to remember this.” Luke turns and grins over his shoulder, finally acknowledging that we have a crowd of mildly put out, horny college girls watching us. “You guys think she should drink?”
“Hell yes!!”
“Yeah!”
“Drink it, bitch!”
“I’ll take it!”
The response is deafening. Back on the stage, Cole, Pete and another giant guy with a shaved head sitting behind a tricked out drum kit, all start booing. Cole leans over and talks into the mic Luke left behind. “Better do it, mystery girl. We’ll be here all night otherwise and I wouldn’t mind finishing our set so I can grab a shot of jack myself.”
“I’ll buy you as much Jack as you want, sweetheart,” Morgan calls. Cole winks at her, and I know we’re all in trouble now. Looks like she’s well and truly over Tate abandoning her and hitting all those strip clubs. Luke raises an eyebrow at me.
“Come on, Ave. One shot.”
Morgan elbows me in the ribs. “Drink the fucking shot, girl. Jeez!”
I glare at her but then reach out and take the glass from Luke. “Fine. But then we’re leaving.” I can’t seem to make myself look up at Luke to see if this bothers him. I’m too nervous and pissed off to make eye contact. Instead I begin to lift the glass to my lips. Luke’s hand shoots out to stop me.
“Not like that, Patterson.” Confusion swamps me for a second, and I do it—I look up at him. Mischief, arrogance and lust all bear down on me from his gaze, and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. Who the hell is this guy? Luke slowly guides my wrist so that I lift up the shot glass to his lips, and I suddenly understand what he wants me to do. He wants me to tip the Jack straight into his mouth. My fingertips brush the rough stubble on his jaw as he presses his full, lower lip to the glass, daring me to finish the job with his eyes. Fine. I can do this. It’s not that big a deal. I tip the glass, the amber liquid flowing into Luke’s mouth, and he never takes his eyes off me. I snatch my hand back as soon as the glass is empty, but Luke doesn’t swallow it. He rushes forward and buries his hands into my hair, pulling me to him. He shoves his guitar behind him as his body slams into mine, and then Luke is pressing his lips firmly onto mine.
The crowd starts whooping like crazy, and I freeze. For a moment I just stand there trying to figure out what the heck is happening. Luke’s fingers entwine themselves even further into my hair as his kiss deepens, and my anger finally kicks in. What the fuck does he think he’s doing? Nothing has changed between us since the other night, not really. Even though he did drive all the way to Wyoming to try and clear my father’s name. I grasp hold of his arms with both hands, trying to pull away from his grip. Nothing. I’m well and truly being kissed. I’m seconds away from kneeing him in the baby maker, shame though that would be, when Luke’s tongue brushes against my lips, his body curving towards me, and everything changes. My mouth wants Luke more than my head wants to do him serious injury. He manages to tease my lips apart with his tongue and then suddenly fire is passing between us, burning and warm and so freaking hot. He’s sharing the Jack I just gave him.
Somehow, despite my usually terrible luck, I don’t choke on the warmed alcohol. I swallow it, and Luke groans into my mouth, pressing even closer up against me. He doesn’t pull away, I doubt in that moment that I’d let him. I kiss him back.
Understatement of the century.
I kiss him like this is my first kiss and I’m minutes away from dying a virgin. I kiss him like he’s just been called up to wa
r and I may never see him again. I kiss him like he’s cared for me, looked out for me the past five years, shared his heart with me and given me everything he thinks I need. Because he kind of has. Applause fills the club, and when Luke finally pulls away, his arrogance has slipped a little. He tilts my chin up towards him with his fingertips, studying my face intensely, before he smiles again. It’s like sunshine breaking through clouds.
“Fuck, Reid, you’re giving us hard-ons up here. Get your ass back on the stage, damnit!” Pete yells. Luke backs away, still grinning, until the crowd swallows him and he makes his way back to the stage. They’re only halfway though their set and I know there’s no way I can hang around to watch it now. Not after that. Not after it feels like everything just changed. Cole is helping Luke back up to his mic when I decide I have to run. I glance and Morgan and she knows.
“You realize you’re ridiculous, don’t you?” she asks.
I nod. “Of course I do. Now get me the hell out of here.”