Kill the light and toss the key
We don’t need them anymore
What would we be searching for?
Every corner wears the shape of you
From my ceiling to my floor
Feels like you live inside me
And you always find me
Toward the end of the first verse, the bass comes in, soft and inevitable. Danny watches me and never plucks a string until after I take a breath, so the sound vibrates out into the crowd like it’s all coming straight out of my chest.
But there are days when this room is too small
And my heart’s got no room to beat
‘Cause with you seeing me, yeah seeing everything
Sometimes I can’t remember how to be
When I first wrote this song, I worried that Danny would be offended by that verse: by the idea that sometimes, you can’t really find out who you are until you’re completely alone. I should have known better.
When the refrain comes, Danny leans in and starts to sing with me.
But I just don’t know what I would do
Without you breathing my air
I don’t know what I could do
Without you breathing my air
His voice carries mine, just like his bass did, shading in all my edges until every note is more distinct.
I don’t look at Jacob. This moment is too raw, and nobody’s ever understood this part. How music and Danny are all tied up with me, so if he died and I went deaf, I wouldn’t just change, I would end.
Whatever I meant to say
Is on your lips before I speak
Like it’s yours to take away
But whatever you steal or break
It’s worth less than you here with me
So it’s all yours to take
As much as I don’t want to care, I can’t stand not knowing Jacob’s reaction. I finally drop my gaze to the front row, and he is rapt. There’s not a hint of jealousy in his face, though his eyes run deep with emotion. I can’t hear the street noise anymore, and the bartenders stand motionless, not a single order coming in.
No, I just don’t know what I would do
Without you breathing my air
I don’t know what I could do
Without you breathing my air
The finish spills out flawlessly, Danny’s voice and bass a texture that wraps around me and whispers over every one of the upturned faces in the audience. In the front row, Jacob’s eyes slip closed, his body poised like he’s drinking every note in through his skin. It’s the way I always listen to a new song: like it’s a poem, a code. A prayer.
The whole room comes to its feet in applause, but I don’t wave to them this time. That one wasn’t for them. It was for me, for Danny. And maybe a little bit, for Jacob. Honesty thrown down like a gauntlet he just stepped over, like he didn’t realize it was supposed to be a challenge. As if he never needed that song to be anything except what it was.
As I look out at the crowd, my body hums like a note perfectly struck and I can’t help but think of Jax’s words from yesterday. Maybe this, tonight, is how it is supposed to feel.
Because playing music alone is fun. Playing to a crowd is invigorating, their energy feeding your own. But playing to a crowd that includes someone who likes me and the music? It feels like something so lovely, I’m not sure I could ever get enough.
Chapter 13: A Cruel Kind of Beautiful
When I stomp the pedal for my bass drum at the end of our set, the sound hits me like applause. The crowd starts to hoot and scream, and it spreads throughout my whole body, creeping into that place way down deep where you always know if what you’re doing is crap, or if this time, it’s really fucking good. I ditch my drumsticks and stand up, soaking in their excitement through every inch of my skin.
Oh yeah. Me and this audience are gonna be besties. We’re gonna roll up in Barbie Princess sleeping bags on the living room floor and roast s’mores over the kitchen burners and stay up all night giggling about Justin Bieber’s abs.
Well, maybe not that last part.
I look for Jacob, and for the first time, he’s not front and center. It throws me off, like his face has become my touchstone in the insanity of this packed bar. I look over at Danny. He’s shrugged out of his bass and he tosses me a glance like, “Um, what now?” and I’ve got no freaking clue. Jax clings to his guitar, but we’ve already played two encores and you don’t get encores with bar gigs. It’d be like taking a job cleaning toilets and asking if you can bring your butler.
Danny makes the decision for all of us, coming to pull me out from behind my drums. He gives me a little twirl across the stage as we head off, and excited whistles spike up through the applause.
When we get offstage, Jax turns with a whoop and reaches like he’s going to pick me up but some girl dodges in between us and kisses him. I’ve never even seen her before, but Jax must have. He responds immediately, his tongue delving slow and deep as he translates the post-performance charge into pure pleasure.
I turn away and run my hands back through my hair, scraping my scalp with my nails. I’m not ready for this night to be over yet. I want to get back onstage, to take the words I scraped out of the darkest parts of me and howl them straight into a microphone. The sound guy queued up a sexy, thumping dance beat, and it’s calling to me. I need to move.
I look around, but Jacob’s nowhere in sight. I shove away the pang of loss that I didn’t get to talk to him before he left. Danny comes up behind me and bends to my ear. “Fuck taking down. I’m gonna dance. You coming?”
It’s the only way I get on a dance floor these days, with Danny’s chest at my back a signal and a shield between me and every man in the crowd I no longer dare to want. But with this energy crackling up through my body, I know even that will end with me feeling achy and dissatisfied and lonelier than ever. I shake my head.
Danny slings an arm over my shoulder and hugs me into his side. His ribs deflate under an exhale that was probably a sigh. Just then, Jacob fights his way through the knot of people in front of us, and my face explodes into a smile that exactly matches the one shining on his.
“Hi!” Jacob shouts over the music.
I’m not sure, but I think I hear Danny chuckle. He gives my shoulder a squeeze before he steps forward, offering his hand to Jacob, who shakes it and yells something that looks like some form of congratulations. Danny leans in to Jacob, but he has to shout to be heard in here, so I catch it when he says, “Glad you showed up after all, friend.” He smiles at me, a simple curve in the strobe-lit darkness of the room. Then he disappears onto the dance floor, leaving me alone with Jacob.
Nerves nibble at the edge of my buzz. How are we supposed to transition a brand new friendship from hanging out in front of my record player to a bar pumping with the sensual throb of dub step?
Jacob closes the space between us. He shakes his head as he looks down at me, his eyes alight in a way that matches everything amazing about this night. “Dance with me.”
I read the words on his lips more than I hear them, and it’s exactly the right thing to say, because I can’t stand still. Not now, maybe not ever again. Grabbing his hand, I pull us into the crush of bodies, slick with sweat. Tonight the dance floor is awash in blood-colored light with spears of crystal white and Wizard of Oz green, adrenaline sharpening everything. Jacob sticks close despite the surge of the crowd that’s so thick it’s more like a mosh pit than a dance party. He leans back on strangers, trying to buy me a little bit of space. That works until I almost lose sight of him, and I decide I’d much rather have him too close than too far away. I reach out and grab his dark button-down, hauling him in tight to my chest.
The lights sketch shadows beneath his cheekbones and jaw, and I wonder if he’s blushing. I start to move to the music, and the first time his hips nudge mine, it feels good and I remember that giving up guys wasn’t supposed to be about being alone. It was supposed to be about being happy instead of mak
ing myself miserable trying to please everyone else. Besides, it’s too crowded in here for him to misinterpret it if I enjoy an extra touch or two, for my hand on his hard-muscled side to be anything but holding onto a familiar body in a tide of limbs.
Somebody bumps Jacob, and his hand comes down to cover mine like he’s afraid he’ll lose my touch. The line of his belt burns into my palm, his hipbone hard underneath. I catch my breath and look up at him. He smiles and shouts something. I have no idea what it was, but I like the easy light in his eyes, the way he doesn’t lose his rhythm when we’re jostled by the other bodies around us.
He lifts his hand off mine, and my knuckles are cold when he goes. I hate to lose the link of touch between us. It feels like a free pass, like as long as we’re touching, reality can’t intrude and nothing we do is wrong. But then his hand cups the back of my neck, keeping us close and leaving my arms free to follow the beat as we dance. Our eyes lock in the darkness for a long second. I’m not sure he’s breathing.
His fingers flex on the back of my neck, and I can all but feel how it’ll be when his lips crash against mine. Except then he lets me go, catching my hand and spinning me so my back is to his chest. My hips settle into the crease of his, and something firm nudges my ass.
He doesn’t grind into me, just keeps dancing, and awareness ripples across the entire back of my body. I want to feel that again.
Instead, his knuckles skim up my spine, then his palms trace my arms as he steps forward again. Our hands rise together into the air, fingers brushing together but not quite holding as our shoulders swing one way, then the other. I didn’t think he’d be this bold, but every one of his touches is an invitation, not a demand. He never grasps or holds, and yet I find myself leaning into every brush of his skin against mine, hoping for more.
I need to see his expression, need to know if he’s feeling that pull just like I am, so I turn to face him. His arms are there as soon as I do, cradling me so close that I get one more tantalizing brush of the hardness behind the fly of his jeans. His eyes gleam midnight dark in the flashing lights. They never leave my face, even when I see him swallow hard. Energy floods through me, and I can’t remember a thing about playing it safe. I don’t know if the beat grounding me is his heart, or mine, or maybe just the bass from the speakers. Right now, I love them all.
His hands are gentle and his body is rough, and I want more. I edge closer, and his thigh slips between mine, but even the press of his jean-clad knee isn’t enough to soothe the heat building at the center of me. Just for a second, I let my forehead rest against the front of his dark shirt, and it jumps beneath my touch as he sucks in a breath. His palms melt down my arms.
It’s too much, all the possibilities stampeding through my head, thickening the air between us. I’m so thirsty my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, and my body becomes a thousand degrees of heat, all burning at once. I can’t think right now. I need to get some air, but I don’t want to let go of this moment of perfect understanding, where everything is allowed and our world is made of all the same songs.
I lift my head and nod toward the bar but even as I do it, my hand inches toward his. As soon as one of my fingers brushes his, his hand jumps to grip mine. He doesn’t let go when he turns toward the bar, and inexplicable relief expands through my throat. He never has to shove, because people move out of his way. I follow along in the wake of his broad shoulders.
I’m not sure what we’re going to say to each other now. If he felt that shift, like I did, or if after a whole year of existing on only battery-operated touch, my hormones just roofied my brain. Maybe to him, that was just normal, everyday dancing.
In the end, I don’t have to figure out what to say, because as soon as we get off the dance floor, people swarm forward to talk to me. It takes like two weeks to get to the bar, and I can’t hear half of what they say, but I love the excitement in their faces. I even give an autograph.
I actually laughed at first when the girl asked me, and then felt like a total asshat when I realized she was serious. None of us had a pen and so I had to plow all the way over and borrow one from my mom. I’m fairly sure that’s undignified enough to take all the shine off the whole thing, but right now I can’t even consider feeling bad. About anything.
After a quick stop at the bar, I weave through people, sucking delicious ice water through my straw as I lead Jacob toward the front. He got all weird and twitchy when we went to order, so I just got water and he got nothing. Straight-edge? Drinking problem? Doesn’t matter; nothing can puncture my mood as we pass the open archway to the foyer of the club. It’s quieter out here, the couple of standing-height tables deserted as everyone collects by the bar and dance floor. Cold air rushes inside when the bouncer lets in one more person. Jacob leans back against the wall, dropping his head back as he lets out something like a laugh all knotted up in a groan.
I finish my water and leave it on an empty table, still riding the wave of all those fans’ excitement as I grin at Jacob. “So, did you like the show?”
“Ah, hell.” He laughs again. “I thought you guys would be good, but I didn’t know you’d be that good.”
I narrow my eyes and snort. “Thanks a lot, buddy.”
He shakes his head. “You have no idea, and I have no words. It was just—” He pushes off the wall as he focuses completely on my face. He looks incredible in black, the fabric echoing the classic darkness of his hair and eyes. The man would rock a tux like an Armani model.
I came out front to cool off but instead warmth eases through me, melting all my sharp edges. Jacob showed up for me. I watched his face through every song, and I could tell he didn’t just enjoy it, he heard it. He heard me in every chord I wrote, every word that was supposed to be disguised by Jax’s throaty voice. I don’t even know how to contain that knowledge, and my skin throbs with it like my whole body is a bruise of longing.
“When you sang that duet with your friend, and I really got to hear your voice for the first time...” Jacob falters into silence, and then he swallows. “Okay, remember my non-negotiable favorite band? It’s Norah Jones.”
My brows pop up. “Wait, what?”
He blushes a little. “Yeah, I know, everyone always laughs. But her voice just makes me feel...” He hesitates. “Like everything’s going to be okay, you know? I’ve never found a voice I loved as much as hers until I heard you sing ‘My Air,’ and you said it so perfectly about what it’s like to not be able to imagine life without someone, even though sometimes you wish—”
I kiss him.
I don’t think about it, I don’t even realize I’m moving closer. I only care about his lips. As soon as they touch mine, the air groans out of him and his hands come up and settle on either side of my face. I relax into their warmth, and his thumbs brush my cheekbones while the tips of his fingers stroke the strands of my hair. In that second, we’re back on the dance floor all over again, and it’s safe here.
When his tongue slides against mine for the first time, tingles echo all the way down my body, the muscles deep in my belly clenching. This is what I was yearning toward with every beat as we danced. This is what scrambled my thoughts and stole the breath out of my lungs. It wasn’t the music, or even the heat of all those people around us.
It was him.
Jacob draws back just enough so I feel the loss before his mouth begins soothing mine all over again. Everything is so sweet and hot and fucking perfect, it isn’t until my palm flattens against bare skin that I realize I’ve slid it beneath his shirt and shit.
I pull back, my wide eyes bouncing between his. He chuckles, low and deep and delighted. “I know, right?” he says, as if in agreement.
He cups one arm around my back and I close my eyes, terrified at how much I want to melt back into its strength and feel what it would be like to really be held by him. I need to remember that I don’t do this stuff anymore, because this is the kind of thing that gets the word “tease” thrown at you like a hollow point bul
let.
Jacob tucks my hair back behind my ear. “Okay, now you pretty much have to become a rock star and marry me.” My eyes pop open and he grins. “Just so we can tell everybody our first kiss was because of the song that made you famous.”
I jerk away, combing my hair frantically back as if that will put the last few minutes in order. “Jacob, I don’t—”
He holds up his hands, his smile weakening. “Hey, I was just kidding. I promise I’m not going to start picking our future dog’s names or anything.”
“I have to go.” I pat my pockets. Phone, lip gloss. No keys. I need car keys, stat.
Jacob blinks at me. “Hold on, Jera, you kissed me. Did you not want to...do that?”
As if I needed the reminder that it wasn’t him who slipped. Of course it wasn’t. The nicer the guy, the faster I screw it up because I try to be as good as them, as popular, as artistic, as sexually confident. Doesn’t matter what it is, because I never measure up. Which is why I need to get out of here, except my keys are still up on stage along with my messenger bag. Shit. Whatever, my parents are probably still here, and they have a hide-a-key under the bumper of their Subaru Outback. I’ll take their car, and sort out the police reports later.
I head for the door just as the bouncer opens it for someone, and I have to dodge to avoid getting hit in the face. Jacob catches my arm, pulling me over to the side.
“Hey, wait. Talk to me.” He dips his head, trying to get me to look at him. “If I did something wrong, or if you didn’t like that as much as I thought you did, just say so. I just...sometimes I forget to watch myself with you. But I didn’t mean to freak you out and if I did, I’m really sorry.”
Feet shuffle against the hard floor, and a buzz of conversation enters the foyer. I so don’t want to be having this conversation, here or anywhere. I can still remember the shrinking sensation I had before the show, when I thought he wasn’t going to show up. I don’t want to bare myself to a man I care about, just to watch the interest leach out of his eyes night by excruciating night.
A Cruel Kind of Beautiful (Sex, Love, and Rock & Roll Series Book 1) Page 11