Drew sets the suitcase on the concrete. He opens the trunk of his car—somehow he got a free space right outside the building—and shoves it inside.
"I could have done that," I say.
No response. He walks back up the stairs, past me, inside the apartment. Okay, fine. Apparently, we're doing things his way.
I make my way to my room and grab my other suitcase. Drew plucks my hand off it.
"I can do it," I say.
"It's heavy."
"I'm aware." I grab onto the handle. "Aren't you supposed to protect your hands?"
"My hands are more than capable."
I try to push him out of the way, but he doesn't budge. Drew raises his eyebrow. He stares at me like he's daring me to do something.
"Please move," I say.
He shakes his head.
Fine. I try to push past him. He grabs my shoulders and holds me in place. I try again. This time, he wraps his arms around me and lifts me off my feet.
What. The. Fuck.
Drew slides one hand under my ass and holds my body against his. I press hard against his shoulders. Not enough to hurt him. Or to convince him to never do this again.
"Put me down," I say.
"Are you going to let me carry the bags?"
"No."
"There's your answer."
"What is wrong with you?" I ask. "When did you get so fucking weird?"
He takes a step forward and drops me on the bed. I land on the mattress—Nadeen's mattress—with a thud. Drew climbs on after me. He slings his knee over my thighs, so he's straddling me.
His fingertips skim the edge of my t-shirt. He leans close. Close enough to kiss me. Close enough to fuck me.
"I don't want to tickle you into submission," he says, but from the way he's smiling it's clear he does.
He runs his fingers over my stomach. It's this strange thing between I want you so bad and I'm going to tickle you until you pee your pants.
I clear my throat. "Fine."
"Thank you." He shifts off me and grabs the suitcase. "You should let other people help you."
"You should respect other people's wishes."
He's already out the door.
***
The landlord is waiting in front of the house with the keys in one hand and a takeout coffee cup in the other. She is all smiles now that Drew's money has made us worthy of her attention. Even with me in jeans and a v-neck that does little to cover my cleavage.
"Do you need any help?" she asks.
"I've got it all under control." He takes the key with indifference. "Thank you."
"I'll head back to work then. You really are a lovely couple."
Drew waits until we're out of earshot then turns to me. "We're a lovely couple."
I roll my eyes and grab my key. I copy the landlord's tone as I nod to my car. "Do you need any help?"
"Not at all."
"Great." I trudge up the concrete path. It's hard to stay irritated in front of such a nice house. There's something very soothing about the blue paint and the white trim, like a pastel version of the sky.
Still, I won't let Drew off that easily. I wait until I'm inside the house to let out a sigh of appreciation. This main room is huge. All I need is my ballet slippers and I can turn this place into my personal dance studio.
I slide out of my shoes and change from first to second position and back again. Even with a couch, a TV, and a huge dining table, there's enough space for any of my routines.
My shoulders relax. I check to make sure Drew is still outside, and I practice my turns. Quarter. Quarter. Half. Single. Double.
The door creaks open. I lean into my landing instinctively. There's no avoiding it. These steps are drilled into my brain.
Drew raises an eyebrow. "I haven't seen you dance like that since your seventh-grade ballet recital."
My feet go to first position instinctively. I smile like I have fantastic memories of my long-ago ballet recitals. I haven’t done much real dancing since I was on the high school dance squad. Mostly, I get my fix at the clubs on Saturday nights, but I miss the structure of ballet, jazz, and modern dance.
"You want me to keep some space clear?" He asks.
How the hell did he know? "That would be great."
"As long as you don't mind sharing. I need somewhere to do bodyweight exercises and I drip sweat during push-ups.."
I do everything in my power to keep a neutral expression.
He lifts the suitcase and heads up the stairs.
Drew dripping sweat in our living room. Drew dripping sweat. Must not picture Drew dripping sweat, on top of me, his body locked with mine.
Okay. Need to keep my mind occupied or it's going straight to the gutter. I head to the car and grab one of the boxes. I pass Drew on my way inside and he's smirking like he knows I'm fighting off lust with everything I've got.
I trudge up the stairs and place the box in the master bedroom. There are clothes and hangers in the suitcase and there's a perfectly good closet. It's enough to shake the lust out of my brain.
In theory.
I unzip the suitcase and start hanging dresses and blouses. Internship clothes in one corner. Stuff for class in the middle. Stuff for the clubs on the other side.
Drew steps inside the room. His eyes go to my unzipped suitcase. It's lying on the ground and—
Shit.
The last thing left in it is lingerie.
I'm not sure why I own any of it. I certainly never wore anything for anyone. There are a few bra and panty sets, bought so I could pretend to be a normal girl and not a damaged freak. At least the lacy thongs have a practical use. They don't show under my bodycon dresses. Anything else means panty lines, even under tights.
Drew smiles a wide, smug smile. "You need any help with that?"
"No, I'm fine."
He offers his hand. "Good. Then we can go."
"Where are we going?"
"Early dinner. Then there's a show. A friend's band." His gaze goes to a pink bra and panty set. "You're free to change if you want."
My cheeks flush.
"Or to skip the underwear entirely."
"Thanks for the permission."
"Anytime."
CHAPTER SEVEN
We eat at a cozy restaurant in Hollywood. The host must recognize Drew, because everyone else here is dressed to the nines. We're the only people wearing jeans and sneakers.
I order three courses and savor every bite. I'm starving and the food here is amazing. A caprese salad with sharp basil and thick tomatoes. Pasta packed with fresh shrimp and fresher vegetables. Just sweet enough flourless chocolate cake. We linger at the table with our post-dinner beverages, black tea for me, black coffee for him.
Dinner with my best friend should be effortless and casual. But it's far from that. Every time he looks at me, it's a little harder to breathe. My heartbeat picks up. My head fills with images of me and Drew naked and rolling around his bed, his nails on my skin, his lips on my neck, his cock deep inside me.
Okay. Time to catch my breath. I excuse myself to the bathroom.
My hair and makeup are about average for someone who just moved. If this concert is anything like a Sinful Serenade show, most people will be in band t-shirts and jeans, their hair and makeup carefully messy. But there will be a few dozen girls in tiny skirts and tall shoes, made up to perfection and waiting in line to flirt with their favorite band member. Or maybe even take him home.
I can fit into the former group. I part my messy hair so it looks on-purpose messy and I apply a little concealer, some thick eyeliner, a brush-on lipstick. My reflection looks less tired and more game for wherever the night takes her.
At the table, Drew is signing the check.
"I wanted to split that," I say.
He shrugs like it's not a big deal. Must be nice to shrug off a hundred dollar dinner like it's a cup of coffee.
"What happened to things being even between us?" I ask.
"They a
re." He stands and motions to the exit door. "This is because you're going to have to put up with Gavin."
I stare at him. Am I supposed to know who Gavin is?
"Singer of Dangerous Noise."
The band we're going to see. I nod, yeah, of course, like I'm cool enough to know all about Dangerous Noise. They must be decent if Drew likes them. I've never met anyone more specific or demanding than Drew is.
I follow Drew to the street. The setting sun casts an orange glow. It's beautiful and gritty all at once.
We walk a few blocks. There's no line at the club. The band isn't as popular as Sinful Serenade, but then who is?
We do not go to the main entrance. We walk through an alley, straight to the side door. There's a bouncer sitting in front of it, his attention devoted to a game on his phone.
He looks up and nods like he recognizes Drew. "Nice to see you, Mr. Denton."
"Mr. Denton is my dad. It's Drew." He nods to me. "This is my very good friend Kara. If you see anyone giving her shit, find me immediately, so I can beat him to within an inch of his life."
"You know what musicians are like."
"That's why I asked."
The bouncer shakes his head knowingly. Used to overprotective boyfriends, no doubt. Never mind the little detail that Drew and I are only friends.
The bouncer opens the door for us. We make our way through the backstage area. It's much more low-key than any other show I've ever been to. Twenty-something guys are setting up on stage. Everyone else is milling around a dressing room. No doubt milling around a bottle of alcohol.
Drew motions to the guys on stage. He steps through the curtains. His hand tightens around mine, like I'm supposed to follow him on stage. Sure, the doors aren't open yet, but I'm not going to be on a stage. I haven't been on stage since my high school dance performances.
The bright lights are familiar. Like my high school dance performances. They're the only thing I can see and they're so, so hot. Already, I'm sweating and it's only going to get worse the longer I'm around Drew.
Drew high-five hellos a tall guy with light hair. The guy turns to me.
He offers his hand. "Gavin. You must be Kara."
"I must be." I shake. "You guys opening?"
He nods. "The headliners are taking shots backstage. Sure they'd welcome the best guitarist—"
"Stop with that shit." Drew shakes his head. "As far as you know, I'm just another guy."
"Everyone knows your face. You're pretty much royalty around here." Gavin turns to me. "Don't let it go to his head."
"I couldn't."
Gavin motions for us to leave. "Doors open in fifteen. Get lost before you steal my thunder."
We head backstage. Someone from the headlining band recognizes Drew. He introduces himself and launches into this long speech about how amazing Drew's guitar skills are. It's far too technical for me to follow. I nod, uh huh, taking delight in the awkward look on Drew's face. Call me crazy, but I'm pretty sure he's blushing. The man does not like attention. He especially hates admiration.
Just when I think we're free of idolatry, another musician comes up to Drew and sings his praises. And here I thought rock stars only had to contend with rabid female fans. I scan the backstage area again. As far as I can tell, I'm the only woman here, and everyone is keeping a very wide radius. Either Drew gives off a protective aura or people here know enough about his penchant for threatening people to punches to avoid flirting.
Really, who does he think he's kidding? Like a guitarist is going to punch anyone in the face.
By the time the third fanboy is done praising Drew's musical abilities, the show is about to start. Drew rolls his eyes as his admirer leaves.
"Must be difficult hearing so much positive feedback," I say.
Drew sighs. "That guy didn't have a clue what he was talking about. It's just 'cause Sinful Serenade is famous, not that he actually appreciates our music."
"Still—"
"Do you admire me, Kendrick?" he asks.
"I don't know. We're friends. It's not really like that."
"Exactly. We're on the same level. We can communicate like real people. You don't have me up on this pedestal." His bad mood shifts into a smile. "Which must be hard, given how dead sexy I am."
"Yeah, very hard." Not thinking about Drew hard. Not at all.
The rest of Dangerous Noise makes their way on stage. There's a small chorus of cheers from the audience.
Drew takes my hand and leads me closer to the performance. We're right by the curtains. It's a perfect view of the stage. Well, the back right side of the stage. Too bad I lack interest in checking out any ass besides Drew's, because I have an eyeful of rock stars in tight jeans.
The band launches into their first song. It's not half bad. Catchy. Rhythmic. They have a great energy and they're fun.
It's impossible to see the audience with the bright lights, but their cheers are plenty loud. The next two songs only get everyone more hyped.
The singer turns toward the backstage area, like he's looking right at us. "We have a very special guest here today. One Mr. Drew Denton." He turns back to the audience. "Do you guys like Sinful Serenade?"
The crow goes wild. Way louder cheers than before.
"What you might not know is that Drew was in Dangerous Noise for a hot second. Back in the day, we shared custody of his very talented hands with Sinful Serenade. But there were a few creative and personal differences, and he left us for fame and fortune."
No doubt about it, Drew is red, though I'm not sure if it's from anger or embarrassment.
"There was this song that we couldn't agree on." Gavin looks back at us. "I hated it. Drew loved it. How about you come out and play it with us, Drew?"
The band's guitarist looks back at us, apparently unfazed by the stunt. He must know he's not as talented as the man he replaced.
Drew shakes his head. Under his breath, he mutters, "No fucking way."
I nudge him. "Do it."
He leans close enough to whisper. "The differences were more personal than creative."
"What happened?"
"My ex... Vivian. She was with Gavin before she was with me. He didn't take it too well." Drew shakes his head. "Stupid way to leave a band."
"So go make amends." I press my hand into his lower back and push him onto stage.
He looks back at me and shakes his head. "Kendrick, you're going to pay for this."
"Break a leg." I blow him a kiss. For good luck. Only for good luck.
Drew's demeanor changes the second he's on stage. No longer irritated. He's right where he belongs. A roadie runs out with a guitar, slinging it around Drew's shoulders and plugging it in.
Drew looks back to me with that same you're going to pay for this expression. Then his attention turns to the crowd.
The song starts with a guitar intro. It's amazing and spotlight-hogging. I close my eyes and soak in the music. There's a great energy and finesse to Drew's playing. The rest of the song falls away, until there's nothing in this entire club except me and Drew's hands and that guitar.
When the song ends, the crowd is screaming. Drew's posture is proud and confident. He really belongs here, on stage, lost in his music.
Gavin steps up to the mic again. "How about those hands, huh?"
The band's actual guitarist pouts.
Drew slides the guitar off his shoulders and takes a bow. The crowd goes wild, screaming and cheering and clapping. Drew waves goodbye as he walks backstage.
His eyes find mine. "Pleased with yourself?"
"It was a good song."
"The guitar part." He takes my hand. "Let's avoid any more of this by going to the front."
"What if I want to find a hot rock star boyfriend?"
"Over my dead body."
***
We spend the rest of the concert in the main area. I don't know the headlining band, but that doesn't stop me from swaying along to the music. Drew sits on a bar stool, watching me and sh
aking his head.
"You can't dance to rock music," he says.
"Then what the hell am I doing?" I step further into the crowd.
It's only a few seconds before Drew's hands are on my hips. He pulls me toward the bar. "You're not leaving my sight."
"I'm dancing."
"Not out of my sight."
Drew's overprotective attitude is not going to keep me from the one thing that relieves the tension in my body. I make my way toward the stage. He's right. No one is dancing. But that isn't going to stop me either.
I move in time with the songs. It's half-jumping, half-dancing, but I fit right in with the enthusiastic fans. Drew stays close to me, his arm tight around my waist. What the hell is that supposed to mean?
It's dark enough that no one recognizes him. Or maybe it's considered rude to ask a rock star to sign an autograph at another band's show. Either way, we make it all the way to the final song without interruption.
Everyone is cheering. It's so loud I can't hear myself think. Drew's grip tightens. He pulls me closer, his mouth mere inches from my ear. His breath sends goosebumps down my spine.
"I should say goodbye," he whispers.
It's too loud to respond with words, so I nod. We make our way backstage. Security waves us through without batting an eye. It seems Drew is known by everyone, even when he'd rather be invisible.
There must be a few dozen people here. I guess the headliners have quite the posse. Drew cuts through the crowd, his hand tight around mine. He finds Gavin in the main dressing room.
Drew stares daggers.
Gavin stares back.
Drew speaks first. "Consider us even."
No comeback. Gavin nods. And that's it. Conflict big enough to break up a band settled. Men. Who can understand them?
A fan paws at Drew. A woman. She's in a tiny dress and she's teetering like she's drunk. She laughs, a loud obnoxious laugh. Definitely drunk.
"Oh my gawsh, I love Sinful Serenade. Will you sign something for me?" she begs.
Nope. Not watching this. I go to break Drew's grip. He squeezes harder, but I fight it enough to slip away. I cut through the crowd. Time to find a nice bottle of tequila and something to mix it with. That's the only way I'll survive watching this flirting disaster without vomiting.
Strum Your Heart Out (Sinful Serenade #2) Page 5