Revenge 2 Page 6

  A waitress comes by and sets a trio of shots on the table.

  “Compliments of the bartender,” she says.

  The redheads giggle and wave at the bartender. I wonder if they’re even twenty-one.

  I look at the shot in front of me. The redheads raise theirs and wait for me to clink glasses. I guess one shot will steady my nerves.

  We clink our glasses and down the shots. I’m pretty sure it was tequila. I wash the taste down with some of my other drink.

  The girls ask for my name, and tell me theirs. Bianca and Marley. It’s hard to talk over the music, and I can feel my voice getting hoarse from yelling.

  We talk for a bit, through the next couple of songs. They ask me how long I’ve been Dylan’s girlfriend.

  I answer honestly. “I didn’t know I was until he said that.”

  This makes them both go crazy with excitement. I have to smile. I like these redheads.

  It turns out they are twins, like I thought. They’re the same age as me, twenty-two. They’re both singers, and they were hoping to sing some more tonight. They were on at the beginning of the night, singing while some other guys played, but the club was empty. They’re hoping to get on stage again, or get drunk. Either one is fine, and more fun than staying home, they say.

  Marley is the cool one, the fearless one. She grabs a handful of my hair and says, “You’re so fucking pretty.”

  “Thanks. You’re pretty, too. Both of you.”

  Her face scrunches up and she looks like she’s going to cry.

  “I really needed that,” she said. “Getting rejected is horrible. The pain makes you wonder if anything’s worth doing. There’s so much suffering in the world, you know? Why do we choose to suffer when we don’t have to?”

  Her sister leans in. “Because we’re artists. We don’t have a choice.”

  I sip my drink and listen as they tell me more about their struggles. They grew up in a strict house where they weren’t even allowed to listen to music. It sounds like some sort of cult. I feel bad for them, but I’m glad they didn’t let anyone stand in the way of their dreams.

  Around us, the crowd of people cheers.

  The scruffy-bearded guy who was singing when I blundered out onto the stage earlier introduces the next act.

  “Guys, hold onto your girlfriends,” he says into the microphone. “Here comes Dylan Wolf, and he’s going to break some hearts tonight.”

  Everyone cheers.

  Marley grabs my arm across the table and squeezes it. “OMG. Is that the guy from the video? The blue shoes song?” She turns to her sister. “I knew he looked familiar.”

  My cheeks get super hot. I’m blushing, big time.

  Dylan takes over the microphone and starts singing. It’s the song he made up the first time we met, only with a few changes. It sounds even better.

  The melody gets into my head, feeling familiar, but still fresh.

  A wave of emotion rolls through me like a summer thunderstorm, from my toes all the way up to the top of my head.

  Dylan’s voice is gritty and raw, then turns soft and sweet.

  This song is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. Tears build up in my eyes. I don’t know what to do with my hands. I press them flat on my thighs and rub my damp palms on my jeans, trying to calm down.

  What I’m feeling right now is too much for one body to hold.

  I grab my glass and drink it down. Courage. I need more courage.

  Dylan’s eyes scan the crowd. The lights are bright, and he isn’t able to spot me right away. I would wave, but my arms are numb. My whole body is numb.

  At the edge of my vision, I sense people coming over to our table and more drinks arriving.

  I can’t look away from Dylan. He keeps scanning, until he finds me. There’s a catch in his voice when he spots me. He keeps singing, and the corners of his mouth pull up. A sweetness seeps into his voice along with his smile.

  Thankfully, I’m in a chair. I don’t know if I could stand on my shaking legs right now. I can barely breathe.

  The girls tell me what a great singer he is, and I do nothing but grunt in response. They giggle and shove another drink at me.

  Dylan finishes the song.

  He calls out to the crowd, “What else do you guys like?”

  The response is a mix of things. I hear people call out a few names and bands, but it’s mostly just drunken shouts.

  Dylan leans in close to the microphone and says, “Elvis?”

  The crowd seems confused, but I laugh. I might be the only one who finds him funny. Whatever. He’s cute and he’s funny, which makes him perfect.

  I may be a little drunk.

  “How about something from Imagine Dragons?” he asks.

  This time, everyone’s on board.

  He begins singing Demons.

  I’m used to hearing the song with piano and a full band backing the vocals, and it’s different now with Dylan strumming his old guitar.

  His voice is tinged in sadness that makes my heart ache. The way he sings about dreams failing, haunting him, I want to take him in my arms. I want to hold his head against my chest and run my hands through his glossy black hair.

  I look around at the crowd. By the look of the girls in the club, they’re all thinking the same thing.

  The tempo of Dylan’s cover of Demons is a little slower. I don’t know how I feel about the changes he’s made.

  I don’t have much time to mull this over, because he shortens the song and mumbles something about putting us all into a coma.

  Within seconds, he’s singing Hey Soul Sister by Train.

  People start dancing.

  I want to dance, too, so I get up.

  The bearded guy who was singing before comes back onto the stage and joins him. They sing harmonies on the chorus. One of them doesn’t quite have the lyrics, but it’s still beautiful.

  The redheads get up and join me. We dance our way up to the stage and swoon together at Dylan’s feet.

  He’s having a hard time keeping his focus while watching me.

  I raise my arms in the air and twist my body with the music. I’m having a great time, and the best part is thinking about what happens next.

  His lips make the most beautiful shapes when he sings. With every word, I want to quiet those lips with a kiss.

  The way he’s looking at me, I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing.

  He finishes the song and takes a couple steps back. His head nods down in concentration. He strums a few chords, then stops.

  He crosses to the other guy and mumbles something in his ear. The guy grins.

  My head is spinning now. I felt so good, but now I don’t feel so hot. The redheads are on either side of me, and they’re stumbling. One of them swings her arm over my shoulders and presses her cheek to mine. She feels feverish, and I want her off me, but she’s so heavy.

  Everything’s so heavy.

  My eyelids won’t stay open.

  I just want to sleep.

  Somebody yells, and there’s a commotion. Lots of pushing.

  I’m blacking out.

  Chapter 11

  I wake up to bright light shining right through my closed eyelids.

  In a minute, the rooster will crow.

  I wait, but he doesn’t crow.

  My eyes open, which sends the light straight into my brain. My skull feels like it’s splitting open.

  I clench my eyes shut, groan, and roll over.

  I’m not alone. Someone’s breathing on my face.

  Very slowly, I open my eyes again.

  There’s a pretty girl with freckles and red hair sleeping right in front of me.

  I sit up, the room lurching and spinning with me.

  Both of the redheads are here. We’re on a huge bed with dark blue sheets. A king-sized bed. We’re all wearing our clothes, and we’re not under the covers.

  My bed is not nearly this big, so I’m definitely not at home.

  It’s th
e three of us girls, on a king-sized bed, and I don’t know how we got here. But where is here?

  We were at the club last night, dancing near the stage. I was having fun, dancing and making eyes at Dylan while he sang.

  And now I’m here.

  I scooch to the edge of the bed and tumble off. My left foot is asleep, which makes standing or walking an extreme challenge. I give it a minute, careful not to move while the pins and needles subside.

  There’s something right in front of me that gives me a really big hint about where I am.

  A shiny, brass fireman’s pole.

  I’m in the loft at Dylan’s rented place, and that pole goes down through a round hole in the floor, to the lower floor.

  As I’m looking down through the hole, a face appears.

  Dylan’s.

  “Good morning,” he says.

  I wave. “Hi.”

  He’s wearing gray jogging pants and no shirt.

  “Go on. You know you want to,” he says, smiling. “Wrap your arms and legs around that pole and slide down. It’s much quicker than the stairs.”

  “Where are the stairs?”

  “I won’t tell you. Come on, Jess. Have some fun.”

  I look over at the sisters on the bed. They don’t look like they’ll be waking up any time soon. They shouldn’t mind if I just slide down this fireman’s pole and leave them sleeping.

  I reach out and wrap my arms around the pole. Nothing happens.

  Right. I have to jump off the floor.

  Trying not to scream like a little girl, I wrap one leg around the pole, and then the other. But I’m gripping the pole so tightly, I don’t budge.

  I look down, expecting to see Dylan laughing at me, but he’s just carrying on with whatever he’s doing. I hear the refrigerator open and close.

  I loosen my grip enough to slide down. My damp palms make a squealing sound against the brass surface. When I touch down on solid ground again, I straighten my clothes and try to look tough.

  Why has this brass pole got me feeling so shy and awkward? I grew up around barns and plenty of big farm equipment. I was always jumping off something onto a pile of hay, or sliding down some machinery. I wasn’t scared of anything. And now I’m squeamish about a one-story pole?

  I don’t like this particular effect Dylan has on me. I don’t like how nervous I get.

  But he does look like a magazine model, beating eggs with no shirt on. My eyes graze over his lean, hard chest and firm stomach muscles. He’s utter perfection. One of those museum statues come to life.

  “Cat got your tongue?” he asks me. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. You’re wondering if I always go out clubbing and bring home three girls. The answer is… not always.”

  “Really? Are you going to tell me that sometimes it’s as many as four?”

  He chuckles. “Are my bad jokes really that predictable?”

  “Enough being cute. What the hell happened last night? I didn’t drink that much, did I?”

  He pours the bowl of beaten eggs into a hot frying pan, then starts slicing a loaf of bread.

  “You’re a magnet for trouble,” he says.

  “Excuse me?” I grab a glass from one of the open shelves and fill it with water from the tap.

  “First you get mugged, and then you get yourself and your new friends all drunk, or maybe drugged.”

  I nearly choke on the water I’m drinking. “Drugged?”

  He looks up at me, the knife in his hand raised. His eyes are dark and dangerous, his expression murderous. “By the way you three were stumbling around and incoherent, I’d say yes. I’m just glad you were up where I could see you. Me and the other guys grabbed you before anything bad could happen.”

  I finish the water and set the glass down.

  Maybe I’ve still got some of the drugs in my system, because I feel calm. My emotions aren’t raging. I feel like they’re on vacation somewhere, and maybe I’ll be really pissed about it tomorrow, but right now I’m okay. Numb.

  He brings the knife back down to the bread and cuts more slices. “I was going to drive the girls back to wherever they’re staying, but neither of them could give me an address.” He glances up at me, his brown eyes still intense. “I hope you’re not mad.”

  I force myself to say the polite thing. “Of course not. That was nice of you to look out for those other girls.”

  He keeps slicing the bread, grinning. “Admit it. You wanted to wake up next to me, not two girls.”

  “You’re really full of yourself.”

  “That’s not what you said last night. You said I’m dreamy.”

  Dreamy?

  He is dreamy, but I’d never say that to a guy. I’m an adult woman. I do have some dignity.

  “You don’t remember,” he says. “The redheads were passed out in the back of my car, but you were a chatty one. Talk, talk, talk. You told me about the prize steer you raised from a calf.”

  “No, I didn’t.” I can feel my cheeks flushing.

  “Does the name Henry ring a bell?”

  Henry was the name of the steer I raised. My stomach hurts now, and I’m so mad at myself for blabbing last night.

  I back away from the kitchen, needing some space. I mutter that I’d like to find the washroom.

  Dylan points the way. “There are a bunch of new toothbrushes in the drawer. Go ahead and pick one for yourself to keep here.” He chuckles. “For future sleepovers.”

  I get into the bathroom and lock the door behind me.

  What’s going on with me? My heart is racing and I’m thirsty again, but I might throw up. I sit on the edge of the tub for a minute with my face in my hands. I was numb when I woke up, but now I’m in a panic.

  I can tell him I have to work today, or that I have plans with my roommate.

  What am I doing? Dylan’s being so sweet today. If he’s such a great guy, why am I thinking up a million excuses to get out of his place?

  Maybe it’s whatever knocked me out last night. My nerves are on edge and I don’t feel like myself. It’s no fun to kiss a guy if you’re worried you might get sick on him.

  I take a few minutes to use the washroom, wash my face, and brush my teeth. He’s right about the drawer full of toothbrushes, still in their packages.

  For an instant, seeing the toothbrushes fills me with rage. He must bring girls here all the time. He’s a total player. I could punch him right in his smug face.

  Then I have some more reasonable thoughts and calm down. He’s renting this place, so it’s probably the owner who stocked up on the things people always need. It was Nick who put these things in here. My friend, Nick.

  I shake my head, which makes me see stars. My body is a wreck. My brain is broken. How did I get myself into this mess?

  There’s a knock on the door.

  I open it, expecting to see Dylan.

  It’s one of the redheads. I’ve completely forgotten their names.

  She’s rubbing her eyes, a big grin on her face. “Awesome night,” she says. “You know you had a good time when you can’t remember. I hope nobody took pictures.”

  I leave the bathroom to her, and her sister follows her in. I guess those two do everything together.

  In a daze, I walk back over to where Dylan is. He picks me up and sits me on the kitchen counter.

  “I forgot to say good morning.” He reaches his arms around behind my back to hold on and he kisses me.

  His lips are hot and urgent against mine.

  My eyes flutter closed and I surrender to his touch.

  He kisses me slowly and thoroughly.

  All my thoughts slip away and there is only the now, only this moment of contact. Lips touching. Hands caressing. Hearts beating.

  He pulls away. His eyelids are droopy, like he’s suddenly drunk. I smile. He’s drunk on me. Drunk on this bliss we share.

  “We’re not alone,” he whispers.

  “That’s too bad.”

  He cups the side of my jaw with his
palm and runs his thumb across my lips. I could die, this feels so sexy.

  “I’m glad they’re here,” he whispers.

  I raise my eyebrows. I can hear the muffled sounds of the redhead girls talking to each other and laughing inside the bathroom. He’d better not say something rude, or I don’t know what I’ll do.

  “This way I have to take my time,” he says.

  I reach up with my hands and timidly touch his bare chest. I can’t believe he’s right in front of me and I’m touching him. His tanned skin is smooth and warm under my fingers.

  My hands move down to his nipples and gently rub over the hard bumps. His nipples are so small and hard. I feel the urge to lick them, right now, but I can’t do that.

  “Take your time,” I say. “But don’t make me wait forever.”

  “Don’t you worry,” he says. His voice is so deep, it’s a growl, rumbling in his chest.

  The whole world has fallen away, and there’s only us. My fingers on his bare chest.

  I stroke down the center of his stomach, along the groove between the muscles. His six-pack muscles pop out, becoming more defined. He’s probably flexing for me. Knowing this sends a flutter through my chest.

  My fingers move down, circling his navel. He has the perfect belly button. It’s not like mine, with that pudge of girl fat around it. His navel is shallow, his stomach taut and flat.

  My finger keeps going. Dylan is quiet, his head nodded down so he can watch. He grabs my knees and pulls them apart so he can take another step closer.

  I arch my back, thrusting my chest up. The counter top feels hard under my butt. My back arches even more, my hipbones swiveling forward like they have a mind of their own.

  My fingers find some fine, dark hairs just below Dylan’s navel. There’s a line of hair, leading down, beyond the waistband of his gray jogging pants. He’s standing so close to me, I can feel his breath on my face.

  As my fingers play in the dark hairs, he gives me one soft kiss on the side of my forehead.

  I can’t take my eyes off his taut stomach.

  There’s heat coming off his body in waves. My fingers inch lower, reaching the boundary of the sweatpants. I push at the fabric.

  I hear Dylan’s breath catch in his throat. He wants me to go further.

  Slowly, I push the fabric down. The hair continues in a line. His skin is so hot.