by Elle Casey
My mouth drops open. He’s making absolutely no sense, until it hits me. I’m instantly pissed. “Did you take anything after your shower?” I so want to put boxing gloves on now and mangle his face. I can totally appreciate Jelly’s physical response to his idiocy.
“Take anything?” He looks at me, confusion marring his features.
“Yes. Anything.” I press my lips together, waiting to hear his excuse. I know it’ll be lame and make me want to quit this job. I steel myself for the bad news.
“Like drugs?”
“Yes, like drugs. Stop acting stupid.”
He’s genuinely surprised. “No … No! Of course I didn’t take anything. I’m clean, I swear it.” He places his hand over his heart and for some ridiculous reason, it makes his claim more believable.
I’m so frigging easy it’s not even funny. Now I’m just mad at myself for jumping to the wrong conclusion so quickly. He really is trying. The relief that washes over me is way too much for such a simple thing. I don’t know why Tarin staying the path is so over-the-top important to me. I’ve never been this attached to a client ever. It makes me really nervous, like there’s a lot more riding on this job than normal.
Jelly interrupts our conversation with a scream. “Tarin! Tell him to let me go!”
“You need to handle this,” I say, folding my arms, readying myself for the entertainment and glad for the distraction. Our conversation is getting way too heavy for comfort, especially with all these people sitting there watching. I’m afraid they’re reading my mind or my body language and seeing that I’m too attached. I need to work on remaining professional and ignoring these out of control reactions I keep having.
“What should I do?” Tarin asks.
“Do the right thing by her and you.”
“Marry her?” he asks, sounding in pain.
I drop my arms and and shake my head. I want to scream right along with Jelly. “No!… Shit, Tarin… don’t you listen to anything I say?”
He runs his fingers through his wet hair, making it stand on end. “Fuck! … Yes! I’m listening to every single word, but it’s not making sense! Do you want me to marry her or not?”
I want to punch him in the face, he’s frustrating me so much. “The question is not what I want, but what you want, idiot. Do you want to have this woman in your life as your wife for all of eternity?”
He looks like he’s going to vomit. “Please don’t make me,” he whispers. “I’ll end up killing us both.”
All the wind goes out of my sails and my anger collapses. “Then don’t.” I put my hand up and squeeze his bicep. I resist the urge to stroke its hard, warm surface. He’s a client and I don’t touch clients that way. Or I shouldn’t. I hate that I keep thinking about breaking the rules with him. “If she’s pregnant, we’ll deal with that. But whatever you do, don’t let a temporary situation determine the entire rest of your life.”
I expect him to remain pensive as he thinks through his options, but he does pretty much the opposite. He grabs me on either side of my head, and before I even realize what he’s going to do, he smashes his lips against mine. For the brief moment that our lips are touching, I’m closer to this man than I’ve been to another human in years.
My heart stops beating and the world spins. I step outside myself and a piece of me flies away into the night, carried away on some magic carpet ride into the darkness. It’s just him and me and that kiss. I think I’m going to faint. He’s a client and this shouldn’t be happening and I shouldn’t be feeling this way about it, but it is and I do and there’s nothing I can do about it now.
And then just as quickly as he was there, he’s gone. He pulls away and drops his hands from my cheeks. His face is flushed and he’s grinning like a madman. “Thanks. Thanks a lot. You’re cool, you know that? And cute too when you’re getting all passionate and shit.” He spins around and walks over to where Jelly and Zach are waiting.
I can’t hear what they’re saying, probably because the buzzing in my ears is so loud. I’m cool. He kissed me and I’m cool and I’m cute. And everyone at the table saw him do it. Apparently, so did Jelly.
Jelly’s reaction comes across loud and clear when she slaps Tarin right across the face and storms into the house, Zach following closely on her heels. As she reaches the back door, she stops and sends us her parting message, Zach at her shoulder and ready to help her to the front door if she decides to change her mind about leaving.
“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer, Tarin! And the rest of you … you … you can just suck it!” She storms into the house, and the sound of her rapidly clicking heels fades into the distance.
The entire dinner table is dead silent for about three seconds before Scott speaks up.
“Holy loudmouth. Can I have her duck? Pass the salt, Leonard.”
Dave snorts and Leonard smiles along with Ricky. Tarin walks over to stand in front of me again, a red handprint on his face. I’m still too stunned to move.
“How’d I do?” he asks, grinning awkwardly. He reminds me a of a little kid, and it’s endearing and scary at the same time. He makes me feel too many conflicting emotions at once and it rattles me badly. My calm and cool demeanor is nowhere to be found. I hook my thumbs into my front pockets and shrug.
“I’m not even sure what you did, to be honest.” My hearing is now only just fully restored, the ringing his kiss started finally quieted down.
“I told her that we aren’t engaged, that I don’t see her as a girlfriend, and that I want a paternity test done to prove I’m the father.”
I swallow with difficulty. “Wow. You really laid it on the line didn’t you?” This feels like a really big deal. It is a really big deal, but on more levels than I care to think about.
“You said to be honest. That’s what I’m doing.”
I nod, afraid of what he might say next. “Good for you.” I look at the table. “Ready to eat?”
“Yep. I like that duck.”
“Good. Me too.” This conversation is awkward. He’s not a rock star anymore. In this moment, he’s just a guy, trying to think of something to say to me, and I’m just a girl, torn between wanting to hear whatever it is he’s thinking, and wanting to run and run and run and never look back.
“Better eat now before it gets cold,” says Scott loud enough for everyone to hear.
I brush my hair away from my face and smile, breaking away from Tarin to go to my spot at the table. Thank heaven for Scott. “How is it?” I ask everyone at the table as I take my seat, trying to smooth over the weird mood that has settled on us.
Everyone chimes in with platitudes for Josh and his skill in the kitchen, warming the atmosphere and turning it from surreal to real again. As I settle into my chair, Scott nudges me and leans in.
“What was going on over there? Do I sense some possible future hanky panky yanky his wanky?”
“Shut up and don’t ask and just ew, Scott. Ew. How do you expect me to eat now?” I act busy with my silverware and try not to look at the gorgeous mean-boy across the table from me. Tarin’s not quite as mean-boy now as he was just a few hours ago, and it makes me really, really nervous. I’m afraid of how my body is reacting to him and the fact that I’m losing control whenever he’s around.
“Yeah, right,” snorts Scott.
I elbow him, but he keeps on smiling. I feel like he’s managed to crawl into my head somehow.
Chapter Twenty-Three
THIS IS ONE OF THOSE times that I’m happy to take the star-treatment and use it to my advantage. As soon as Tarin steps out onto the curb, a man in a suit comes out to usher us into the club ahead of a huge line of people standing outside. Only a few flashbulbs go off in our faces as we make our way through the front door, cocooned by Tarin’s bodyguards and people manning the door.
A gorgeous, heavily-muscled and tattooed doorman nods at us as we go in, his biceps bulging out from the sleeves of his t-shirt. When I have to squeeze past him to fit through the door with Scott a
t my side, I feel like I’ve just brushed up against someone in the Russian mafia. I can’t imagine anyone causing trouble in this place with a guy like him nearby. He nods at me once without even the slightest adjustment to his expression, strengthening my impression even more.
“Man, it’s been too long since I’ve been to a club just to hang out,” says Tarin, his face lit up with excitement. He rubs his hands together and does a little dance move forward instead of just walking. Something tells me he can dance his ass off, the way his hips are moving. I feel arousal making its way through me as I picture us dancing close and rubbing our bodies together on the hot mess of a dance floor. I jerk my gaze away from his gyrating form and focus on Scott, trying to get a handle on my runaway thoughts. He’s looking around the room like he’s not that impressed.
I’m styled for clubbing, my black form-fitting dress much higher on the thigh than I’d ever wear in the daytime. I opted for shorter heels than most of the women are wearing here, knowing I have to be prepared for just about anything when celebrities and alcohol are involved. Tarin worked out a deal with me on the way here. He can have two near-beers in exchange for an extra hour of working out. He’s going to be really sorry he made that deal, but I don’t tell him that. I’ll let him see for himself in the gym tomorrow.
The beat from the DJ’s mix makes it difficult to hear. Tarin comes over and leans in close to my ear. “Want a drink?” He places his hand on my lower back, and I’m torn between leaning in closer to him and stepping away. I choose the neutral path and do nothing. A little thrill rushes through me when his hand moves in tighter, giving his palm more contact with my back as it presses against my clothing. I wonder if it means anything special to him or if I’m just living in a fan-girl fantasy world. I try not to hate myself too much over it.
“I’ll take some fuzzy water!” I practically yell, even though his face is really close. I can smell his cologne, and it’s intoxicating. I want to snuggle up against him and then just as quickly consider running out of the club and going home. I don’t like how he’s affecting me at all. I’m a traitor in my own skin.
“What?!” he yells, getting even closer.
“Fuzzy! Water!” I repeat.
“Do you mean fizzy?!” He turns his face to look at me, confused. Our noses are practically touching.
I could kiss him if I just leaned forward two inches, but I back my face up, removing the temptation. His hand slides away from my back, leaving me feeling sad over it. “Fizzy … fuzzy … same diff.” I shrug, my body swaying a little to the beat. I’m playing off the weirdly intimate moment like I don’t even notice it happened. I’m sure I’m pulling it off too, because it’s hard for anyone to remain still when the bass is pounding like this. Every single person in the place is moving, except for that Russian guy.
Tarin’s lip quirks up in a half-smile. “Okay … one fuzzy water, coming right up.” He leaves my side and heads to the bar. Before he gets three paces away, two girls glom onto him like bugs on flypaper.
I sigh. “So much for my fuzzy water, I guess.” I turn to find Scott on my other side. He’s staring off into the crowd.
“See anything interesting?” I yell at the side of his face.
“Nah.” He doesn’t even look at me. “Same old same old, you know? I keep wondering if I’m missing out on something, but then I come to places like this and realize I’m not.”
I nod. “I know what you mean.” I check the place out as the beat fills my entire body, making me wonder if the music is becoming a pacemaker for my heart. I hope not; it’s going way too fast.
The space is huge, a warehouse that was converted into a dance club several months ago. It has a DJ booth on one side of the big open floor and a small stage towards the very back of the building. The dark steel and wood structure is elevated, its surface above all the gyrating bodies on the dance floor, and I can see a drum set and some amps already set up on it. Black, spray-painted walls block the view of the back stage area from people down at our level.
The graffiti that decorates the entire place is amazing. Someone with a lot of talent spent weeks in here and probably went through hundreds of cans of spray paint. I imagine I can still smell vestiges of the fumes.
“Fuzzy water!” yells Tarin, appearing out of a sea of bodies to hand me an ice-cold glass of clear bubbly liquid.
I look around casually as I take it from him, searching for his newest cling-ons. I’m so not in the mood to play nicey-nice with bimbots tonight, but I don’t see them.
“What happened to your girlfriends?” Scott asks, taking the beer Tarin hands him. Scott’s isn’t alcohol-free, but Tarin’s is. I make sure of it before turning my attention elsewhere.
“I told them I was here with someone.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it, but my face catches fire anyway. I focus on sipping tonic through my straw and pretending to be interested in what’s going on around us. Of course he didn’t mean he’s here with me, but that doesn’t stop my body from reacting like he did.
I feel someone’s hands slip around my waist from behind and my first instinct is to toss my drink into the unseen molester’s face, but when Jack’s voice tickles my ear in the next second, I stop myself.
I glance over my shoulder, giving him my best scolding look. “You almost got a cold shower doing that, you big dummy.” I turn around, effectively removing his hands from my body as I face him.
He leans in for a kiss on the cheek and I indulge him, even though I still feel like giving him a smack. For some stupid reason I can’t look at Tarin right now. I don’t want to know if he saw Jack touching me, and I don’t want to know what he thinks about it if he did.
“I’m so glad you came,” Jack says, a grin splitting his face. “We’re going on in about ten minutes.” He looks at Scott. “You ready?”
Scott nods.
I look from Scott to Jack. Their expressions are unreadable. “What’s going on here?” I ask.
Neither of them answers me. Scott shrugs absently and stares off into the crowd as he takes another sip of his beer. He seems worried about something, and I should probably grill him until he caves, but my head is going in too many directions right now. I promise myself I’ll harass him later when we’re alone, and then focus on my molester.
I punch Jack lightly on the shoulder. “Come on, confess. It’s good for the soul. Tell me what kind of trouble you’re brewing up.”
He leans in for another quick kiss on my cheek managing to steal one; I back away too slowly to stop it from happening.
“You’ll just have to be patient for once in your life,” he says, walking away and leaving me standing there to yell at a sea of strangers.
He probably can’t hear me, but I shout it out anyway. “I’m always patient, Jack! And good thing too, or you’d be dead!” A swarm of fans follow behind him once they realize who he is and he disappears in the crowd.
Jack may have toned down his rock-and-roll persona, but that doesn’t mean he’s lost a single admirer or a drop of talent. He is, was, and always will be a superstar, even when he deigns to play in small venues like this place.
Working together last year, we discovered that doing things like this - getting close to his fans and performing smaller, more intimate gigs - is something his creative genius needs. I’m proud of him, that he’s kept it up, even though it makes his manager and agent nuts sometimes. He makes practically no money at it and it pulls him away from other projects, but it feeds his muse. I told him to ignore the suits and do what makes him happy. He rocks out and then donates the money to charity. It’s a win, win, win.
Jack sure did push my buttons when we were working together, though. Despite his insistence tonight that I be patient for once in my life, I’m sure he remembers the trials he put me through and how I was the patron saint of patience when I spent my thirty days with him. My first, middle, and last names were Patient. After dealing with him, I thought anything would be a piece of cake. And then there was Tarin…
“What’s that all about?” asks The Devil Himself, pulling me out of my mini-outrage and reminiscing, startling me with his nearness.
“What’s what about?” I sip my fuzzy drink again, wishing I’d asked for vodka instead. This place is getting on my nerves. There are too many people and too much noise, and it’ll only be a matter of time before more people recognize Tarin and start giving us a hard time. I look over my shoulder for the muscled doorman and see him not that far from us. It gives me a small sense of security, reasonable or not.
“Are you guys dating or together somehow?” asks Tarin.
For a split second I think he’s talking about the doorman, but when I see Tarin glance towards the stage I realize it’s Jack he’s referring to. “No, don’t be ridiculous.” I chew on my straw as I stare at him. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but I’m too curious to look away from my attempted mind-reading.
“Why is that ridiculous?” Tarin asks. It seems like he really wants to know.
“Because … I don’t date guys like him.”
Tarin takes a pull of his fake beer and winces as he swallows it. He’s staring out into the crowd when he asks his next question. “What do you mean by ‘guys like him’?”
I don’t want to say it. Something’s holding me back from doing the thing I know I have to do. It’s stupid and dangerous to play games with Tarin right now, so the smart thing to do is nip this noxious weed in the bud before it grows up and strangles us both. Or maybe I can let it grow…
“She doesn’t date rock stars,” says Scott, handing me his empty bottle. He’s rescuing me from making a really big mistake; I know this, and yet I wish he’d kept his damn mouth shut.
“I gotta go. See you in a few.” Scott leans in and kisses me on the cheek before pushing his way into the sea of bodies.
“Where the hell is he going?” I ask, standing there like a dope with the empty bottle hanging from my fingers.
Tarin takes it from me. “I think he’s getting on stage.”
