The first thing to light up was the DJ booth, in a faint white glow. Matt stood behind it, head low, brows pulled together, searching for something. More light switches maybe? Possibly some music? I didn’t really care what he was looking for because I was too busy trying to stop looking at him, stop wondering what kinds of strings he had to pull for us to be here together tonight, and stop thinking of how unfair it was that I had to feel such a strong pull to him, knowing it would only cause me to get burned in the end.
But damn, he was irresistible in that light.
Blue, flickering lights gradually illuminated the dance floor from above. I looked up to see the ceiling covered in icicle lights sprinkling brightness in a series of turquoise drops that traveled down each thin, long beam, giving the illusion of glittering rain falling from the sky.
I had seen the lights before but never like this. Each time I had come here in the past, when the club had been occupied by a thick crowd of people, pounding music, and bodies bumping, it was hard to notice details like this. But in this quiet, empty nightclub, the shimmering lights were nothing short of magical.
Next, the walls all around the dance floor lit up in blocks, each block a different shade of blue, outlined by a black border, and each block the backdrop to its own square-shaped, dark-leather, cushioned booth wrapping around a low-rise table.
The pound of bass suddenly sounded, so loudly I had to cover my ears. It vibrated throughout my body, shocking me, causing a scream to escape me. High-pitched electronic tones and beats immediately followed. All noise stopped a second later, and the nightclub went dead-quiet again.
“Sorry about that,” Matt called out, his voice reverberating against the walls. “I’ve watched this DJ thing be done. Looked easy enough, but I’ve never tried it. Until now. Let’s stick with auto-shuffle, shall we?”
I laughed, “Okay.”
“Here we go,” he said. “Happy hour music.”
A soft Kings of Leon song came on, a little loud at first, until Matt turned it down to a level that would allow us to hear each other speak. He took a look around the room, appraising it, and nodding in approval, before his gaze finally landed on me.
“Perfect,” his lips mouthed, my ears unable to hear his voice over the music and the distance between us. I wondered when, exactly, he would be closing that treacherous gap. In a room as big as this, he seemed miles away.
In an answer to my silent plea, he left the DJ area and walked off the stage, unzipping his coat and flinging it at a booth as he walked toward me. Holy shit, he wasn’t kidding about lighting. Talk about setting the mood. The blue hues were just dim enough to cast exactly the right amount of shadows on his beautiful face.
He stopped just in front of me, and my head slightly tilted back to meet his gaze. I wanted so badly for him to take me in his arms and kiss me with so much intensity that I’d forget everything except the way his touch felt, but he just stood there, staring, his eyes wandering from my lips, to my hair, to my eyes.
“So,” he said, his voice deep, “our mission tonight is to make a memory. Am I correct?”
Our mission? I smiled at how ‘military-official’ that sounded.
“That’d be out-fucking-standing, soldier,” I replied, my voice soft and inviting despite the teasing comment.
He chuckled at the remark, then became more serious as he began to unzip my coat, bit by gradual bit. “That means we’re going to have to take things slow tonight. Do you think you can handle that, Pink?”
I shook my head, biting my smile. “I don’t think I can.”
One corner of his mouth lifted up slightly. He finished unzipping my coat and stood behind me, catching it as I shrugged it off. Once he had it in his hands, he flung it to another booth. He remained behind me as his fingers brushed my hair off my neck, his breath on my skin eliciting goosebumps. One warm, wet kiss behind my ear, and I knew I was done for.
“Just try,” his raspy voice whispered. “Trust me.”
I wished I could control the way my body reacted to him. Wished I could stop my heart from palpitating. Stop my skin from burning. Stop my hands from trembling in nervous anticipation. Maybe if I could stop those things, I could suppress the ache in my chest too. The ache that screamed at me to give us a chance at something more because maybe I could someday be worthy of his love.
Someday, maybe, I could have all of him. But as much as I wanted it, I couldn’t force myself to feel ready for it yet, and part of me knew that neither could he. He would never want me the way I wanted him. For now, we’d have to settle for the parts we were willing to give to each other, and the pieces we were willing to accept. We’d exchange physical touch instead of emotional intimacy, taste instead of commitment, sensation instead of real love.
I just wished I knew how to separate the former from the latter. I wished the thought of keeping my distance from him didn’t make me want to vomit.
Unexpected moisture stung my eyes as I senselessly second-guessed my decision to remain detached. Staying disconnected in the "feelings" department would be the healthiest thing for both of us. Why did it have to be so difficult?
A wave of emotion, all rolled up into a ball of frustration, hit me hard. Unable to hold it in, I turned around and cupped his cheeks with both hands. “I do trust you. More than I should trust anyone. And that scares me to death because the moment I let my guard down, the moment I open myself up to you, will be the moment you turn on me.”
He began to say something, to deny what I’d suggested, but I put my hand over his mouth to stop him. “Please don’t tell me I’m wrong. Please don’t tell me it’ll be different with you. Because no matter what you say, I just don’t know how to believe anything else.”
We stared at each other for several moments, my hand never leaving his mouth, while I inwardly punched myself for letting that all slip out like some…psychotic…psychopath. He finally took my wrist and delicately removed my palm from his lips, bringing it to his waist. He continued to study me, at a loss for what to say, until he shook his head “no” like he had enough.
The look in his eyes instantly changed from hesitation to determination. With the change, he became ready to take control of the moment. And I would let him because it was exactly what the hot mess I had just become needed him to do.
“You don’t have to believe me. But I’m going to say it anyway because it’s the truth. You’re wrong, Chloe. It is different with us.” He mirrored my move and cupped my cheeks, his body crouching down just enough for his gaze to be at my eye level, as if doing so would somehow force the meaning of the words into my heart—and maybe even my soul. “You. Are. Wrong. Now stop breaking your own rule, dammit. We’ll figure our shit out when we talk—tomorrow. Tonight,” he gave me a contagiously hopeful hint of a smile, “let’s make a fucking memory—” He looked up toward the ceiling in thought. A split-second later, his eyes met mine again, his grin widening as he verbalized his final thought. “—Lady.”
With a glint in his eyes and a smirk on his lips he patiently waited for me to catch on. It took a moment for me to replay his words in my mind, to realize what he’d actually said, but when I did, I melted.
A fucking memory—lady.
FML.
With those last three words, he had just put me completely at ease. The acronym had become our inside joke, our code to lighten the air when it became too heavy. It had become our “safe place”. Warmth encircled my heart and spread throughout at the reminder that nothing had to be decided right now—that tonight was only about enjoying each other’s company and appreciating the time we spent together. No matter what would happen afterward, we’d always have this memory.
“Okay,” I said simply.
He stepped back and extended his hand, “How about we start with a dance?”
I took his hand, and he guided mine behind his neck, his other hand settling on the small of my back. We began to sway, lost in our own thoughts and each other’s embrace. My head rested comfortabl
y on his chest, his heat radiating to my cheek and rushing to my toes. Even as the song ended and a more upbeat song came on, we remained in position, savoring the intimacy, moving slowly but no longer in harmony with the fast-paced beat.
His fingers lifted my chin, coaxing my gaze to meet his. His eyes reflected a mixture of adoration and desire. Just when I thought he would kiss me, he broke out with, “May I interest you in a game of Dare?”
I let the surprise and disappointment that we were not currently making out cool down before answering, “You mean like Truth or Dare?”
“Well, yeah, but since we’re not talking tonight, it’ll have to be just Dare. We can play Truth another time. C’mon,” he coaxed, giving me a nudge. “Are you in?”
I hadn’t played that game since high school. It seemed kind of cheesy, but I’d roll with it. “Uh—well—it’s not really what I expected, but okay.”
“Don’t worry,” he leaned in as if other people could be listening around us. “With this game, it’s pretty easy to get exactly what you want.”
“Well, in that case, I’m in. What are the rules?”
“There are no rules,” he wiggled his brows before remembering something. “Except that the game ends when you refuse to do your dare. That’s when you lose.”
“That’s when I lose? What makes you think I’ll be the loser? What if you refuse to do your dare? Then you’re the loser. Right?”
“Not gonna happen, but for hypothetical purposes, yes. If I refuse my dare, I lose. Hypothetically.”
I rolled my eyes. “Who goes first?”
“Ladies first. Go ahead, Pink, give it to me.”
“Alright.” I slowly circled him as I thought, crossing a forearm around my waist and tapping my lips with my pointer finger. Once I was directly in front of him again, I dropped my arms to my sides and with a voice full of intent I said, “I dare you to kiss me with so much passion that you go weak in the knees.”
He did say I could get what I wanted with this game…
The corners of his lips turned up, a flash of desire emanating in his eyes. “I like how you play, Pink.”
I shrugged, wondering if guys actually got weak knees from kisses or if that was just a girl thing.
He took a step toward me, his fingers brushing my jawline just before weaving gracefully into the hair behind my ear. His touch set my skin on high alert, but it was the look in his eyes, full of intensity that had my heart beating fast and hard.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen yet,” he said as almost an afterthought, his full attention now on my lips.
I thought about the double entendre behind those words.
The kiss?
This thing that’s been building between us?
“It was never supposed to happen,” I whispered, just before his lips softly touched one side of my mouth, then the other, in an attempted innocent gesture that wouldn’t take us too far, too fast, yet one that undoubtedly brimmed with an almost unbearable amount of restraint.
The contact between us set a blaze to every last part of my skin, and when his lips grazed mine and lingered in a closed-mouth kiss that encompassed more passion and electric charge than I knew what to do with, I stepped back, dizzy with fervor, and took a deep breath in for strength.
As I closed my eyes and sighed, I released all the uncertainty I had held in. All the pent-up reluctance. All the doubt. Because with his kiss, I realized that nothing was more important than being fully present with him, right now, in this moment. Not even the impending aftermath.
He closed our distance again and brought my mouth back to his, our lips welding, tongues tasting, and bodies aching for more as our restraint waned.
“It’s happening, Chloe,” he whispered in my ear, my heart fluttering at the sound of my name on his voice. “For tonight…let’s just let it.”
Unable to speak I simply nodded, letting my eyes do the talking because with him, no matter what I said or how hard I tried to conceal my thoughts, he could read me like an open book.
He scooped me up, with one arm under my knees and the other under my back, and began to walk. I had no idea where he would take me, but I breathed a sigh of relief that finally, he had given up on his stupid “taking it slow tonight” rule and would be giving in to the magnetism we felt toward each other. My lips found his neck as he carried me across the dance floor, playfully tasting, splendidly exploring, and when I teased his earlobe with a mischievous nibble, he let out a soft moan.
“Damn, Pink, you’re not going to make this easy, are you?” he asked as he set me down on the stage, pressing his lips firmly against mine, indulging us both but only for a moment before he unlocked our feverous grip on each other and stepped back, out of breath.
He jumped onto the stage and walked away from me and toward the DJ booth. I stood up, utterly confused.
“Well, that’s a first,” I said, watching him search for something behind the booth, my frustration building by the second. I mean, how much more of this push and pull did he think I could take? “I’ve never been called ‘not easy’ before. Honestly, you’d think I’d be jumping for joy, but it feels more like a punch in the gut. I’ve never been cut loose just when things are heating up like that either.”
He found what he was looking for—a microphone—and walked back to me, brows furrowed in concern as I continued to babble on.
“Clearly, you hate me,” I said as he paused in front of me, “and you’re playing some kind of cruel trick on me because if you wanted me as much as I want you right now, you’d just fucking take me. Why aren’t you, Matt? Why do you keep stopping like that? Why aren’t you just getting me—getting us—out of your system? Do you really think that little of me that you can just keep teasing me without—”
“Listen to me,” he said firmly. I couldn’t tell by his expression if he pitied me or was pissed at me. He shook off whatever he felt, took control of himself, and brushed my hair behind my ear. “Going fast is what you’re used to, and I’m not saying that to be offensive, or cruel, or to make you feel ashamed because there is nothing shameful about it. I think it’s hot as hell that you’re strong enough to go after what you want, and if that means sex, more power to you. I get it because I’m the same way. The thing is, I want you more than I want anything right now,” he sighed. “I just don’t want to be one of many. I want to give us both something tonight that’s not going to get lost in the vault of—I don’t know—sexcapades.”
“Oh,” I said, half-shocked and fully relieved.
“And maybe,” he hesitated as if he weren’t sure he wanted to say the next thing. “Maybe I don’t want you out of my system.”
“Oh,” I repeated like a damn idiot. I didn’t know what to say. Plus, I couldn’t say anything else because it took all my energy to keep my jaw from dropping to the floor.
“You’re not like the rest, Chloe, and I won’t treat you like you are. It’s not easy to pull myself away from you because just being near you turns me on like nothing else, but I don’t just want to ‘do the deed’ with you and move on—because you mean more than that to me. I don’t want you out of my system, can’t you see that? I just—,” he growled, “fuck! Stop making me talk, and start singing, goddammit!”
He extended his hand out with the microphone in it.
“You want me to sing?” I tilted my head. He just laid it all out there like that, and now he wants me to sing? “I think you might just be the most confusing person I’ve ever met.”
“It’s your dare.” He pointed to the air, at nothing in particular. “This song is about to end. Your dare is to sing along with the next song.”
“What if I don’t know the words?” I asked, having no idea what the next song would be.
He grinned, “You’ll have to improvise.”
My stomach rose to my throat at the thought of singing in front of him. Up until now, I had restricted my vocal performances to only the bathroom whilst alone in the shower.
He dropped the
microphone into my hands, hopped off the stage and faced me from the floor below, crossing his arms and waiting with a smug smile.
“You’re going to get it for this,” I said into the microphone, cringing at the sound of my voice blaring through the speakers. “You know that, right?”
He cupped his hands around his mouth as a makeshift megaphone, and yelled, “Totally worth it, Pink!”
Some of my tension ceased when the song started, and I recognized it to be Alessia Cara’s "Here," a song that I knew and loved. I had heard it enough times to know most of the words, and it didn’t have any especially high or low notes that I’d have to attempt.
I sang awkwardly at first, but when I closed my eyes and imagined myself alone, my nerves relaxed, and I started to have fun with it. Halfway through the song, I felt comfortable enough to open my eyes. I kept them glued to the ground at first, and when I finally got the courage to raise them up to see Matt’s reaction to me, I was taken over by a euphoric feeling of freedom because not only was I thoroughly enjoying the moment, but the fascination in his eyes and captivated smile on his face told me that he liked what he saw. I may have been making a total fool of myself, but it didn’t matter because his support made me feel safe enough not to care.
I bowed when the song ended, and he stuck his fingers in his mouth to blow out an ear-piercing whistle. He clapped as I turned the microphone off and set it down on the booth, and he continued to cheer as I hopped off the stage and walked toward him.
“Wow, Pink, you’ve got a voice!” he said, brows raised.
“Everyone’s got a voice.”
“Yeah, but yours is good. Where’d you learn to sing like that?”
I laughed, “Thank you for the vote of confidence, Matt, but we both know that was mediocre at best.”
“Hell no, woman. It was phenomenal. Own it.”
I rolled my eyes, yet couldn’t help but be smitten by his endearment. “I think you’re just complimenting me so that I’ll go easy on you for your next dare.”
The Fragile Line: Part Two (The Fine Line #3) Page 5