by Lee Piper
****
Grace looked amazing. There was a light in her eyes and a sway to her hips that I had not seen in a long time. Levi was going to get the world’s biggest hug when I saw him next. And when we walked into The Ruby Room, I was not the only one who thought so either. Heads turned, gazes shifted, bodies pivoted, all because of Grace. Not that she noticed. She never did, and it was one of the attributes I loved most about her. Completely oblivious to all the stares, G led us straight to the alcohol and did not question the bartender when he ignored the guy standing next to her who had been waiting not so patiently for his bourbon. I didn’t question it either; I was just thankful to have a beer in my hands.
The truth was, I had never felt so anxious. My stomach felt like a rollercoaster from the forties. You know, the rickety wooden ones that collapsed without warning or shot the cars through the sky, bullet-like, when the wind changed direction. My chest was home to a boa constrictor which mistook my torso for a lizard, and millions of tiny needles pricked my skin for the sheer fun of watching me slowly bleed to death. Not good.
“We’re gonna fuck, tonight.”
Dominic’s dark promise kept circling my brain, one minute thrilling and the next torturing, my already confused heart. For the life of me, I did not know what to do. I mean, I knew what my body screamed at me to do—that was pretty damn obvious—but I also seriously doubted my vagina’s ability to make an informed decision. And then there was Robin to consider. Good, sweet, honest Robin.
Jesus.
I finished my first drink in record time and quickly ordered another. Grace raised a questioning eyebrow but remained silent, thank the Lord. After I’d swallowed a good portion of my second beer, we made our way over to one of the raised metal tables flanking one side of the music venue and perched ourselves precariously on some stools.
“Okay, Riley here’s the plan for tonight.”
It took every restraint I had to swallow my beer rather than spit it out my mouth, Trevi fountain style. My eyes darted around the room, hoping to God that no one was witnessing my psychological episode. After all, an imaginary therapist sprouting wisdom inside a patient’s head rarely—if ever—ended well.
“One: you’re going to accept the emotions you’re feeling as uncomfortable and perplexing, you’re going to make room for them. They’re shit, deal with it.”
I hated Fictional Doctor Powell, she was just as ruthless as the real deal.
“Two: you’re going to stop using alcohol as a numbing tool. It always ends in disaster, you know that.”
My mind flashed back to the last time I had drunk too much and my cheeks instantly burned. Dominic. Pushing me up against the wall of The Hole, rubbing his hardness into my sensitive flesh, devouring my mouth with his tongue… It sucked when she was right.
“And three: you’re going to breathe.”
“Ah—”
“Don’t interrupt me. You’re going to breathe in the moment and make a decision which you know feels right. No more questions, no more internalized debates, you’ll give yourself a migraine otherwise.”
I sighed. Fictional Doctor Powell was right, and as soon as I admitted to myself the obvious reason behind her exorbitant hourly rates, she was gone. Probably for the best; I did not want to be diagnosed with multiple personality disorder as well. So, taking a deep breath, I grudgingly accepted the rollercoaster, boa constrictor and needles. I promised myself only one more drink and forced myself back into the present.
Huh.
The Ruby Room was actually pretty huge. The night was still early as far as live music went, which was why the venue wasn’t yet packed out. However, there was a band already on stage and a handful of devoted fans standing in front of them, nodding their heads in unison to the rhythmic drumbeat.
The band itself—a five-piece I had never heard of—were decent. Their sound was heavy, loud and easily filled the cavernous space in front of them. They played on the raised stage of what used to be a theater and were blanketed either side by red velvet curtains partially masking painted black wings—I assumed they led to the green room backstage. Above the band hung exposed rigging with a lighting setup, and in front of them was the dance floor/mosh pit, interspersed with patrons laughing, drinking, and headbanging.
I loved it.
Tall, metal tables, like the ones G and I were seated at, lined both walls of the building, and behind us, tucked just to the left of the entrance, was the bar. I tried to figure out where the name of the place came from. I mean, wherever I looked, everything was black—black floor, walls, ceiling, stage. But on closer inspection, I realized the accents of the building—the splash back behind the bar, the beer coasters, restroom doors—all of them glistened ruby red.
Once again, life made sense.
Well, until I scanned the slowly swelling crowd seeking out the man responsible for my erratic heartbeat—the one that refused to calm the heck down despite fictitious Doctor Powell’s advice. Turning to Grace, I yelled over the music, “Where are the guys?”
Her eyes scanned the room, but when she could not find them, she looked back at me and shrugged.
How could she be so calm? I mean, the guy she was in love with was somewhere in this venue, for God’s sake. Why wasn’t she searching behind every last whiskey bottle for him? Weren’t her fingers itching? Weren’t her feet tapping—and not in time with the music. Weren’t her insides trying to do a fucking Houdini out her ear holes, like mine?
I shook my head. No, of course not. After all, Grace had her shit together, didn’t she? Whereas I—obviously—did not.
I swallowed the rest of my drink, determined to act like a rational human being. However, my internal scolding must have taken longer than expected because when I looked up again, the first band had packed up their equipment and the boys from Mondez were making their way on stage.
Levi was first, his stride long and sure. Dominic followed close behind, sauntering over to where his foot pedal lay just right of the stage—my ovaries squealed in delight at the sight of him. I ignored them, mostly. Finn was next, meticulously arranging his Tama drum kit until satisfied with the placement. The guy seemed completely unaware of the collective sigh which burst forth from anyone with two eyes in their head. Tyler was last, his trademark smile strangely absent, and in its place a focused, determined look. Not that it detracted from his appeal. Heck no. If anything, this new dark edge blatantly added to it tenfold.
However, my gaze drifted back to the lead guitarist. Of course it did. Clearly, my eyeballs were rebelling against logic and common sense because when they landed on him—whoa—I drew in a sharp breath. Dominic was staring at me. No, scrap that. He was beckoning me with a sultry come-hither-and-fuck-me gaze. I swear, the steel strings of his guitar miraculously freed themselves from the fret board and snaked their way toward me. They slithered around my lower back and tugged, summoning me closer, so I slid off the stool and moved.
One step.
What am I doing?
Two.
Can’t stop now.
Dominic’s eyes were even more brilliant under lights. The way they leisurely took in my chunky heels, high-waisted black shorts, white tank and leather jacket left me tingling all over. Even from where I stood in the crowd, I could see his pupils dilate and the pulse in his neck throb.
Sweet Jesus.
I couldn’t breathe.
In all honesty, it felt like someone had vacuumed all the oxygen out of The Ruby Room. We were all actually going to die if a door or window was not opened within the next five seconds. It would be like a mass sacrifice to a guitar god, we would be on TV and everything. Parents would use the footage as a dire warning against intoxicating male musicians and the power they wielded over susceptible young women. The live music industry would cease functioning as a result and it would be all Dominic’s fault.
I swallowed. The guitar strings strengthened, crackled and fizzed. Surely, the lead cable running from his guitar to the amp was an exposed li
ve wire? Surely, that was the cause of all this mess? After all, what else could have generated the millions of thrumming, surging, ricocheting currents running between us?
And still he stared.
Oh, God.
I wet my lips.
A faint, tap, tap, tap filtered its way through my subconscious. Dominic blinked, looked over at Finn and the spell was broken. A gust of wind escaped me from the loss of contact and I suddenly felt the urge to cry, but there was no time for tears. Heck, there was barely enough time to brace myself before being hit with a cyclonic barrage of sound.
Holy. Crap.
Mondez’s opening song was like a permission slip to cut loose. Completely. It demanded I forget everything other than the music surrounding me, and the hypnotic rhythm it produced. It compelled everyone in the crowd to dance, laugh, live. So we did. Grace and I rocked out to the dirty guitar riffs, we grinned like crazy to Levi’s vocal caresses, and we threw our heads back—drinking the night in—while moving to the cadenced reverberations of sticks on skins.
It was the best hour of my life.
Well, up until then at least.
I mean, beside me was my best friend, in front of me was a musical phenomenon, and surrounding us were more and more people keen to get in on the action.
Fucking brilliant.
When the final strum of the last song echoed its way through the speakers, G and I screamed like there was a combined whiskey and chocolate sale at our local shopping center. The guys smiled, waved and made their way off stage, no doubt to partake in a gigantic man-hug and congratulatory fist pump—or ten.
Grace wiped a sheen of perspiration off her face and asked, “Drink?”
I lifted the bedraggled mess of what used to be my hair and fanned the back of my neck, nodding. “Drink.”
We pushed our way through the crowd—the place was packed—finished our water and was onto our next round of drinks when Grace suddenly had her tongue down a man’s throat. I assumed it was Levi on account of the six-foot-something sexbomb he was impersonating. That guy was definitely a method actor. It must have been the music, God only knew it made me want to hump something.
Looking down at my beer, I blushed, craving a small slice of the heat and pheromones on display in front of me. Unexpectedly, I was spun around and pulled up against a wall of solid muscle.
Oh my.
The beer was taken out of my hand and I watched, entranced, as Dominic tipped his head back, draining the entire bottle. Never had theft looked so damn fine. My heartbeat spiked—oh, the depravity, I was officially jealous of a cold beverage—and I bit my lip, determined to remain mute. Once finished, Dominic leaned around me, placed it on the bar and then slipped his fingers into the back pockets of my shorts, pulling me against him. Neither my stomach nor my pussy could ignore his growing erection and I bit back a groan, just.
Dominic must have seen the want in my eyes because his grin was wicked as he glanced at Levi—still busy—leaned forward and then licked his way from my collarbone to earlobe. The moment his cool lips touched my skin, my hands were in his hair, demanding more.
With an aggressiveness that shocked me, I drew his mouth to mine, unashamedly running my tongue along the underside of his top lip. Beer. Dominic. Heaven.
With a low growl, Dominic closed whatever gap was left between us and kissed me, really kissed me. His masterful strokes were hot, deep, hungry, exactly what I craved. “Damn, Riley,” he muttered between a flurry of moist lips and tongue. “I can’t get enough.” More kissing. “Every fuckin’ time. What are you doing to me? I just—” But he paused, and then tore himself away, panting.
“Dominic?” I puffed. “What’s wrong? Why are you stopping?”
But he didn’t answer, so I groaned in frustration. The heat in his eyes gradually cooled and was then gone, while in its place sprang cool detachment.
What the fuck’s happening?
I did not like it. Not. One. Little. Bit.
Jesus Christ, Dominic, you were right here a second ago. Where did you go?
“Dominic?”
Nothing.
I reached out to touch his face, but he shook me off. Then, noticing my hurt expression, he sighed, threw one arm around my shoulders and quickly kissed the top of my head. It was like we were back in high school playing the age-old game of What the Hell Is Wrong with You? I hated it. Clearly, my rulebook was somewhere in the bottom of my locker.
“Get a fucking room already.”
I started. Even to my own ears, Dominic’s voice sounded … off.
Levi turned to look at his brother as Dominic continued. “People don’t want to have to look at that shit, we’re trying to have a good time here.” I think he was aiming for mockery, but his words definitely came out bitter.
My heart sank, with every passing second he was drifting further and further away from me.
“Now that your dick’s back in your pants, Casanova, let’s go watch Adrift play, huh?”
Thankfully, Levi did not seem too fazed by Dominic’s bipolar behavior. He just lowered Grace to the floor, took her hand and followed me as I trailed behind the storm cloud back to the mosh pit.
We stood just behind the mass of thrashing bodies hurling themselves at each other, it was intense. The music was loud, the fans screamed louder, and I looked at the stage to see who was responsible for the mayhem.
Wow.
Katrina was good.
She held the mic between both hands, her reverberant, husky voice easily carrying throughout The Ruby Room as she rocked the heck out. The girl looked amazing, and I’m talking front-cover-of-Rolling-Stone-magazine amazing. I blamed the ripped jeans, tight black tank top, and mane of wavy brown hair. Oh, and her voice, definitely that too. Up on stage, it looked like she owned the place, like this very moment was exactly what she was put on this earth for.
I sighed. If only I had found what I lived for, if only I had the guts to—
“Ouch.” Turning, I glared at the woman who stepped on my foot in what were surely steel-capped boots. She jostled past, pushing me up against Dominic in her haste. Mascara ran down her face and an aggrieved guy with a Mohawk stalked not far behind—I barely noticed. Instead, I found myself in a state of complete shock. I blinked and then looked down.
Dominic held my hand.
My eyes flicked to his face, he was staring unseeing at the stage, almost like he could not believe it either. But he didn’t let go. Despite the pounding drums, blaring guitar pickups, Katrina’s throaty voice and the blatant pandemonium directly in front of us, his fingers remained entwined with mine.
I had never felt so calm.
I smiled, my heart doing a strange arabesque-type movement. Dominic’s eyes slid to mine and a wry half-grin tugged the corner of his mouth. He shook his head slightly, warning me not to draw attention to what we were doing—like anyone would notice or care—gently squeezed my fingers and then turned his attention back to the music.
I did not hear a single note after that. Hell, I could not do anything except beg my cursed knees to do their job as his thumb rhythmically brushed the über-sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist. And when the last song of the set finally faded out, there was a light in Dominic’s eyes I had not seen since we were at the zoo. He was back. My Dominic was back. All it took was insanely heavy music and some physical contact from yours truly.
Who would have thought?
In fact, he was in such fine form that he pointedly glanced from Katrina to Levi, joking, “Cold shower anyone?”
Tearing my hand from his, I glared up at him, willing him a crumpled carcass at my bruised feet. Dominic just smirked, and I fought the sudden overwhelming urge to wipe that stupid sexy grin off his face … with sandpaper.
While Levi and Dominic went backstage to congratulate the guys from Adrift, Grace and I waited—not surprisingly—by the bar. I kept my promise to Imaginary Doctor Powell and stuck to good old-fashioned water, while G downed yet another whiskey.
&
nbsp; “You okay?”
My head shot up from the bottle in my hands. “Of course. Why?”
She stared at me for a moment before replying, “Because you’re lying.”
“No, I—” But I stopped because it was useless. G knew me better than anyone, so it was pointless pretending. The thing was, as soon as I let go of Dominic’s hand, the rollercoaster, boa constrictor, and prickly needles were back—with friends. Lots of them. In fact, they must have received a group rate or something because the full gravitational force of what Dominic and I were about to do suddenly descended upon me, plague-of-locusts style. I was a cacophony of emotional fragments, and each one of them stood in direct contrast to the other. Impatient? Yes. Excited? Sure. Horny? Definitely. But above all else, loomed fear.
I was scared shitless.
I mean, after tonight we would never be lovers again, and if I was being truly honest with myself, we would never be friends again either. There was no way I could go back to exercising with him every day knowing he had been inside me and yet was sleeping with other women. I was simply not wired that way. And yet, I could not give up the opportunity of finally being able to explore the physical connection we shared. If the two orgasms he gave me earlier were a movie preview, I wanted the whole damn feature film. For the life of me, the hour could not come fast enough. However, a large part of me never wanted it to arrive.
“Well?” Grace grabbed the drink from me—what was with people stealing my beverages—and placed it on the bar alongside her empty glass. She then turned back with a look of genuine concern, probably because I had been gazing blankly at her during my lengthy inner flummox.
“Oh, um. Look it’s—”
“Ready to go, kitten?” Levi sidled up to G and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She smiled lovingly up at him and I could not glance away if I tried. The two were adorable, well, in an icepick-to-the-heart kind of way.
Grace’s gaze met mine again. “Wanna come back to the hotel with us?”
“Eww, no thanks.”
She laughed. “I meant to share a taxi, not a fucking bed.”