Why is he holding my hand? This isn’t a date.
I get my answer when we are escorted through a door into a mosh pit of people. There must be thousands of people trying to make their way to their seats. I almost lose Ethan ten times in the crowd, but he never once lets go of my hand. Not until we find our seats.
I turn around to take in the enormous crowd behind us. There must be hundreds of rows behind us. Thousands. I’ve never seen so many people together at one time before. And that’s when I feel it. The energy. The excitement. The pure adrenaline.
Yes. This is exactly what I needed after the day I had.
Chapter Twenty
The opening band comes out to cheers and applause.
I’ve never heard of this band before. But that’s not surprising. I still don’t listen to music all that often. I never got into it like most teens. I assume it’s because of the negative association I felt with it. My mom would always play loud music when . . . well, she played it a lot. I’ll never listen to music from the 80s or 90s. But White Poison is fine. They’ve only been around for the past four or five years, being catapulted to stardom thanks to the popularity of YouTube. They became popular by simply posting videos of themselves performing. They were offered a record contract without ever having played a live concert. Or so I was told in the limo on the way over.
It’s hard not to get caught up in the excitement, and after a few minutes I find myself swaying my hips and tapping my feet to the beat.
I find it amusing that everyone is assigned a ‘seat’ when nobody actually sits down the entire time the band is playing.
There is a break when the first band leaves the stage. Being so close to the front, we can hear a lot of banging and moving as they presumably have to set up for White Poison to make their entrance.
The crowd is still buzzing with commotion, but at least I can hear Ethan speak when he leans his head close to me. “So . . . about this centerfold thing.”
I shrug.
“I’m not sure I like the fact that millions of other men have seen you naked.”
It’s hard not to find his jealousy endearing. “I wasn’t naked. I wore a G-string. Plus, it’s a European publication. I hardly think millions of men have seen it. It’s not like I posed for Playboy or anything.”
“My goddamn brother saw it,” he pouts.
“So what?” I ask. “I’m not your girlfriend, Ethan. You have no right to an opinion on those kinds of matters.”
His hard stare burns down on me. “I still don’t like it, Charlie.”
“Then don’t ever look at it,” I say.
“Right.” He laughs. “Kind of like telling a kid not to eat the cookie in the cookie jar. If he didn’t know the cookie was in the jar, he wouldn’t ever want it. And now that you’ve told him it’s there, but that he can’t eat it, it’s all he can think about.”
“So in this scenario, you’re the kid and I’m the cookie?” I ask, amused.
He smirks at me.
“Nobody is saying you can’t eat the cookie, Ethan. Eat the fucking cookie. I’m handing it to you on a platter.”
“Are we still talking about the photo spread?” he asks.
I don’t get a chance to answer him before deafening cheers, screams and cat-calls echo through the concert hall as White Poison takes the stage.
They start out playing a popular song I recognize from the radio. It may be one of the only songs I know of theirs since I’m not the type of person who buys music.
It’s hard not to feel the pure energy around me, and before I even realize I’m doing it, I’m dancing along with the tens of thousands of other people in attendance.
The dancing. The energy. The sheer number of people in here. It’s all contributing to the heat in the massive auditorium and I feel beads of sweat start to trickle down between my breasts.
Slowly, people work their way into every available square inch to get closer to the stage. Bodies are mashed together as we become one big sea of humanity. I scoot even closer to Ethan, trying to avoid being stepped on by the large man who’s decided invading my personal space is his inalienable right. Ethan pulls me in front of him, caging me in his arms to protect me from the onslaught of fans edging closer to the stage.
The body heat we are both producing makes it even hotter, but I press myself into him anyway, loving the way his large frame envelops me.
After a few energetic songs, the band starts a slow ballad. Adam comes to the mic and says, “This one’s for you, Charlie. Make sure big brother treats you right.”
I crane my neck around and look at Ethan. He laughs and I can feel him shrug against me as if he had no idea that was going to happen.
The song is sad. The words tell a tale about a man who can’t have the woman he longs for. Surely Ethan didn’t tell him to dedicate it to me. I was with them the entire time backstage. Plus, Ethan doesn’t do relationships.
No, I imagine Adam simply did it because it’s my first concert and because he could.
The slow song has Ethan swaying his hips back and forth. And since his arms are still keeping me pressed against him, I’m swaying with him. Our bodies move in tandem, as if they are connected.
I think back to the two times they really have been connected and it makes me press myself harder into him. Suddenly, I wish all these people would disappear. I wish it was just the two of us, dancing back to front. Sweating, swaying, sighing.
His chin rests on the top of my head and his breath flows over my hair. No one has ever held me like this before. I’ve never felt more safe. More protected. More wanted.
My mind knows he’s just keeping me from getting trampled. My heart knows it doesn’t care why he’s doing this, just that he is. My body knows he must be experiencing something because of the bulge I’m feeling when he leans into me.
Maybe it’s only because of the friction we’re creating. A physical reaction that any man would have in this situation, regardless of his feelings for the woman in front of him.
I reach up and put my hands on his arms that surround me and he gasps into my hair. He grinds his erection into my lower back and I know it can’t be unintentional. I know he’s reacting to my touch just as I’m reacting to his.
One of his hands finds the sliver of bare skin between my shirt and my pants. He plants it there, holding it against my sweaty skin, his thumb caressing circles into my burning flesh. I inhale a shaky breath. I’ve all but forgotten about the ear-splitting music and the mosh pit of people surrounding us.
Even when the song changes to a faster one, we continue the private dance we started. Sweat is pooling between us, drenching the back of my shirt and the front of his. It feels like we’re skin to skin through the thin material of our soaked t-shirts.
We’re invisible to those around us. Lost in a sea of fans who only care about the five performers on stage. Lost in our own world where we only care about each other.
Emotion overcomes me and I know if I don’t tear myself from him, I could get lost forever. He feels me pull away, but his arms tighten, keeping me captive against his body. “Don’t,” he pleads the single word into my ear.
I obey his command. It’s the only command I’ve ever wanted to obey. It’s the only command I’ve ever needed to obey. And it’s the moment I succumb. It’s the moment I realize I’m head-over-fucking-heels for Ethan Stone.
We spend the rest of the concert joined this way. I’m afraid to move a muscle out of fear that he might remove his head from its perch on top of mine. He hums some of the tunes and I feel the vibrations throughout my entire body. My legs are almost numb from hours of standing in one place. But I don’t care because the rest of my body is teeming with excitement. I’m about ready to explode from our constant connection. And if his breathing, his continued caresses on my skin, his constant erection are any indication—he’s about to explode as well.
I can feel nothing but exhilaration when the concert comes to an end. I know nothing more about White P
oison than the first few songs they played. The rest of the time, my mind was otherwise occupied with all things Stone.
“Let’s get out of here!” he yells through the cheers and encore calls.
He takes my hand and plows a path through the sea of people until we reach the backstage door where a large man examines our badges before allowing us entrance.
As the band goes out for one more song, we find Chad and Nikki standing with some of the stage crew. Ethan shouts to Chad over the music, “We’re taking off, can you call the driver?”
Chad whips out his phone and taps in a text. “Nik and I will head out too. We’ve all been invited to the after party at Vibe. Wanna come?”
Vibe is one of the premier clubs in New York. You get in by invitation only. I’m sure there are a lot of people there. Rich people. Famous people. People I don’t care to have anything to do with. Plus, I’m wound up like a fucking clock. And based on the look Ethan and I are sharing, he feels exactly the same way.
“Nah, we’ll skip the party if it’s all the same to you,” Ethan says. “Can you drop us off on your way?”
“No problem.” Chad checks his phone. “The limo’s outside. We can bounce.”
The four of us make our way to the same door we came in earlier and scurry into the limousine under the protection of White Poison’s security.
The driver lowers the partition. “Where to?” he asks.
All eyes look at me. I give the driver my address and then accept the glass of champagne being handed my way.
I look down at my shirt. It’s soaked with sweat. It’s a big shirt on me, but it’s plastered to my body. “Oh, God, I need a shower.”
Ethan leans over to me and whispers, “So do I, Tate. And I’m all about water conservation.” His eyes burn into mine and the thought of us showering together almost makes me moan out loud.
Instead, I grab the champagne bottle from the ice bucket and hold it to my neck as he laughs.
Chad asks Nikki, “You need to stop at your place and get anything? We may be out pretty late.”
She guffaws. “Lord, no. It’s Laurie’s night to have the little brat.” She turns to us. “Laurie—that’s my roommate—she has a two-year-old daughter who normally lives with her dad. But Laurie gets her every Friday night. I try my best to be gone, because, fuck, that kid is annoying. I mean some people just shouldn’t reproduce, you know? I wish that child would just vanish into thin air and quit ruining my Friday nights.”
Ethan chugs his drink and then slams the glass into the cup holder. “You are such a bitch, Nikki,” he says, shaking his head in disgust. “Did you ever consider that maybe the so-called ‘brat’ acts up because her parents aren’t together? I mean, I’m sure it’s not easy having to share her time between two homes. How about a little fucking compassion?”
Chad looks at Ethan with sympathetic eyes while Nikki looks like she just ate a shit sandwich. I, on the other hand, am not quite sure what just happened here, so I just sink back into the comfy leather seat.
Chad breaks the awkward silence. “That was a pretty crappy thing to say, Nik. Why not just find a new roommate?”
“Are you kidding?” She laughs. “We have one of the best rent-controlled apartments in the city. I’m not about to let it go. Not all of us can afford to live in the Taj Mahal, you know.”
“I don’t live in the Taj Mahal,” Chad says. “In fact, I live in a modest two-bedroom in the valley.”
“Well, whatever,” Nikki responds. “You could live in the Taj Mahal if you wanted to.”
“Why would I want to live in India?”
“I didn’t say you should live there; I was just saying you could live anywhere because you’re so damn rich.”
Chad sighs. “There’s more to life than being rich, Nik.”
I notice Ethan refilling his glass again when I’ve barely touched mine.
“Maybe,” she says. “But being rich makes everything better. Rich people don’t have problems.”
I notice the three of us shaking our heads in disagreement of her statement. I’m not exactly sure why Chad and Ethan are doing it. But I’m doing it because this woman makes me want to scream. She is so goddamn superficial. Money does not equate to happiness. Just ask sixteen-year-old Piper Mitchell and her best friend Charlie Tate.
Ethan reaches into the limo bar compartment and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. He pours a couple of fingers of it into a glass and downs it.
I didn’t know he was such a big drinker. He’s obviously a good athlete and he keeps in such great shape, it kind of surprises me. Maybe he’s nervous about tonight. We’ve had sex twice before, but neither time was as intense as what happened at the concert. Every time we are together, things just get better. More emotional. Scarier.
Maybe he feels this too and needs a few drinks to calm his nerves.
The limo comes to a stop and a few seconds later, the door opens. I thank Chad for the tickets and tell him what a wonderful time I had. I bid Nikki goodbye and exit the car.
Ethan gets out behind me, whispering something to the driver. He walks me up to my building but I notice the limo does not pull away from the curb.
I’m starting to put two and two together. “You’re not coming up?”
He shakes his head in quiet confirmation.
“I don’t understand. Am I missing something here? What about the water conservation? And the grinding at the concert? And the ‘Don’t’?” Frustration spills out of me in a fiery sigh. “Is this about the argument with Nikki?” I ask. “She’s a classless bitch, Ethan. She clearly hit a nerve, but there is no reason to let her ruin our evening.”
He looks at the ground before he looks back at me. “Charlie, stop. I’m sorry. I just can’t do this. I . . . I forgot about a case I need to work on.”
“A case? Seriously?”
We stare at each other silently and I can see right through his bullshit like the clear glass shard he’s stabbing in my heart. “What the fuck, Ethan? You have to quit messing with me. Do you want me or don’t you?”
He runs two frustrated hands through his hair. “Yes,” he says. “And no.” He walks towards the wall and hits it with his open hand. “Fuck!” He grabs the back of his neck. “Go inside, Charlie. I’ll see you tomorrow at the gym.” He walks back to the limo and gets inside, but not before I hear him curse at himself one more time.
That’s it. I’m tired of his hot and cold. His up and down. His on and off. I don’t have to put up with this shit. I storm through the lobby of my building and go up to my apartment.
Then I fall on my bed and scream into my pillow. Because I’ve never been in love before. And it fucking hurts.
Chapter Twenty-one
I return an order to the kitchen for the second time today.
“You’re really not on your game today, are you Charlie?” Jarod asks.
I never get orders wrong. And the fact that I’ve screwed up two and it’s not even noon yet, pisses me off. “I guess my mind is somewhere else.”
“Does this have anything to do with that man who was in here yesterday? Or is it my asshole cousin?”
I take a minute to think about his question. I should be upset about my dad showing up. I should be upset about what my mother did to him. I should be upset that he didn’t take me with him when he left. I should be upset about so many things. But why is it that when Jarod asked the question, there was only one thing that came mind? “I’m going with asshole,” I say, walking out of the kitchen with my new order.
I spend the rest of my shift worrying about tonight. I contemplate not going to the gym. I don’t want to see him. It hurts too much to even think about him let alone have him in the same room with me. And I refuse to let him play this game anymore. But damn it, it’s my gym, too. I’m not going to let him run me out of it. If anyone should leave, it’s him.
I think back to last night at the concert. I never knew music could evoke such emotion. Maybe that was all it was. We got caught up in th
e music. The energy. It was like a drug and we were under its powerful influence. The high I got from it was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. It was perfect. Until it wasn’t. Maybe once the dust settled, he realized I wasn’t what he wanted.
Then I remember his plea when I tried to pull away. Don’t.
It was one word. One syllable. But it said so much more. And the way he held onto me; the way he touched me—it was as if he was drowning and I was his life raft. I’d never felt anything like it before. I didn’t ever want him to let go. Because even though he was the one holding on tight, I was the one who was being saved.
By the end of my shift, I make the decision that he’s not going to break me. I’ve already been broken by my father. By so many other men. I’ve been broken so much, I’m not even sure all of my pieces will fit back together. I refuse to let him hurt me. I reach down between my legs and touch the unicorn tattoo on my inner thigh, hoping it will protect me from Ethan as it tried to protect me from all the others. Only this time, it’s not my body that needs protection. It’s my heart. My soul.
I go an hour early for my swim, hoping I will be done before Ethan arrives while still being able to see Mrs. Buttermaker. And for the first time since I’ve known her, she chooses the lane directly next to me, not at the other side of the pool. Even though she doesn’t have any children of her own, she seems to have that sixth sense of a mother. Well, most mothers.
I complete my swim before she does, and I sit on the edge of the pool waiting for her to finish so we can talk. My conversations with Mrs. B have become one of the highlights of my day. She has this grandmotherly way about her. This worldly knowledge. This sophisticated wisdom that makes her one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.
She’s traveled the world and we’ve been to a lot of the same places. But she went to take in the sights, the beauty. I went to escape. And although our experiences were quite different ones, she has made me come to appreciate the places I’ve been and the things I’ve seen much more than I ever have.
Stone Rules (A Mitchell Sisters/Stone Brothers Novel) Page 13