Like it's just killing him that I want more than I'm not good at relationships.
I round the corner.
Tom says something that sounds a lot like, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
I brush it off.
Inside, Meg is sucking down her iced green tea instead of sucking on Miles's face. She takes one look at me and shakes her head.
"Let's get out of here, huh?" she offers.
"Good thinking." I grab my drink and take a very long sip.
She waves to Miles. "I'll see you later."
"Babe—"
"I can't study here anyway." She makes goo-goo eyes at him. "You'll get me all day tomorrow. I promise."
"I warned you about the caffeine allegiance," I say.
He nods. "Babe, I give you something much better than caffeine."
"Yeah. We've all heard it." Pete waves goodbye to us and turns back to Miles. "You want to put out the fire or you want to give 'em ten minutes to cool off?"
"Make it twenty," Miles says. "Drew has been extra pissy since that Guitar Hero business."
"Can’t blame him. Guitar Hero is played."
Miles shrugs. "He’d be in a better mood if he–" Miles turns to me with an apologetic shrug. "Nevermind."
Meg pushes the door open and motions for me to follow. "Come on. You can't wait for them to stop acting stupid. It will never happen."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It's only five blocks to the Hollywood and Highland center, the mall slash tourist trap center of the neighborhood. It's right along the Walk of Fame and adjacent to just about every club on the boulevard.
Meg eyes me cautiously. "I'm guessing you don't want to talk about it, but I'm going to channel you. And I think that means I need to make you talk about it."
"That sounds like what I would do." I slurp my drink until it's nothing but ice. "Of course, I'd bribe you with caffeine."
"Oh, my dear, your wish is my command." She nods to the coffee shop across the walkway. "Unless you want something alcoholic."
"Are you drinking now?"
"Every so often." She sits on a concrete bench and pats the spot next to her. "It still makes me think about Rosie. And, it's not like I'm going to drink when Miles is around." She looks me in the eyes. "I still remember meeting Drew. He seemed so normal. Last guy in the world I ever thought would leave you in knots."
"That's a good way to describe it."
"What happened?"
"He's 'not good at relationships.'"
Her eyes narrow. "I can find some way to have him killed, you know. More than happy to."
"Don't. I... I care about him. A lot. So much it hurts."
"I know the feeling."
I press my heel into the concrete. "This how you felt with Miles last semester?"
"You can't sleep or think and you feel like your body, heart, and head are waging this terrible three-front war?"
I nod.
"Yep." She slurps the last drop of her tea. "It wasn't pretty, but it was worth it. He's just so..." She sighs. "Sorry, I don't want to brag at a time like this."
"It's sweet."
"I know Drew cares about you," she says. "Loves you even. You should have seen the way he was acting today. He was desperate to see you. And any time Tom even said your name, he got all angry and protective."
"Yeah, it's not hard to make him angry and protective. But what do I do with that?"
"You don't like it?" she asks.
"It has a certain appeal. And the sex is amazing." I press my back against the railing behind us. "But then I have this guy who has been my friend for ten years telling me he's not good at relationships."
"Maybe he's not."
"Obviously not," I say.
"You could teach him. Help him." She tosses her drink in a trash can. "I really do think he loves you. So if you love him..."
"Maybe," I say. "I kind of miss breathing and sleeping and being able to concentrate."
"It's so unfair that you have to choose." She pushes herself off the bench. "Come on. I'm buying you another tea."
"Okay."
"Now, let me ask you something—do you want to talk about it or do you want to force Drew to listen to you?"
"I want to think about something else."
"Well then, the Arclight is a quick walk down the street. I'm sure they're playing something with subtitles."
***
We arrive at the Arclight just in time for a French film. Something about a woman on the verge of a sexual awakening. The plot is simple. A married woman has an affair with a much younger man. Somehow, despite all the scenes of said much younger man naked and rolling around in bed with the married women, the movie is long and slow. Mostly them screwing or talking about the meaning of life and youth and philosophy. Everything that gives foreign films a bad name. Besides the sexy naked people.
It's not all bad. We have chocolate and iced tea. The theater is mostly empty. No one comments when we laugh at dramatic parts or slurp the last drops from our drinks.
After the movie, we head back to my car.
"You know," Meg says. "I don't work Fridays anymore."
"Yeah?"
She looks at her phone. "And I just got word from my bae—"
"You did not just say bae."
She winks. "Let's just say I know where you can find all four of the members of Sinful Serenade."
"That so?"
She taps her screen a few times. "Of course, everyone who follows Tom on Twitter knows where you can find them. But let's not let that ruin our fun." Her eyes narrow. Determined. "That is, if you want to deal with your hot, sweaty guitar boy."
I nod. "I'm game."
She smiles and takes my hand. "Then follow me, sweet pea. Let's get that boy so desperate to get under you that he doesn't have a lick of blood left in his brain."
"That doesn't sound medically possible."
"Hey, you gonna trust your own medical ideas or you gonna trust the future doctor?"
She laughs with glee that would make any super villain jealous.
***
I step out of a fitting room in a tank top and a tight skirt. The top is cut down halfway to my bellybutton. It's black and lacy, little more than a bra, really. The skirt is pleated and plaid. I look like I belong in a music video or on a stripper pole. Or maybe in a music video on a stripper pole.
It looks good. Sexy. Not that I've ever had a problem looking sexy. No bragging. It's just not all that difficult to appeal to the base male mind. Tight pants, lots of cleavage, red lips in a pout—done.
"Holy shit, I always forget how giant your cans are." Meg laughs. She looks in the mirror and adjusts her outfit, a crop top and skinny jeans. "I think that's going to do it."
"I have plenty of slutty outfits at home," I say. "I don't think my issue with Drew involves lack of boob-revealing clothing."
"Yeah, but you don't have it now. And right now, guitar boy needs your loving." She unlocks her phone and holds it up to me.
There's a text from Miles:
Miles: The guitar prince has blue balls again. I like your friend, but she's making my life difficult.
"He can be an idiot," she says. "But, what can I do? I love the pervert."
"You're cute together. I'm glad you're happy. Still going to medical school next year?"
"Best school I can get into, even if it's all the way across the country."
"The guy can afford to visit every weekend."
"Yeah." Her eyes get dreamy. "But I'm thinking about staying close. To my family. And to Miles. I don't want to run away from everything."
"It will be good to have you around," I say.
"Aren't you working at your mom's company in San Francisco?" she asks.
"Maybe." Deep breath. This doesn't need to be a secret. "I got into a teaching program at UCLA. For English."
"You have to do that." Meg turns to me. She grabs my shoulders and stares right in my eyes. "Screw the boy bullshit. You'll make a per
fect English teacher. And you hate finance."
"I do." I check my reflection again. Add a little eyeliner and dark lipstick and I look like the perfect groupie.
We'll be at a show. There will be musicians there. They will flirt.
And if Drew really is around, well, I'm sure he'll get jealous.
Meg's plan is simple but effective.
"You want to talk about it?" she asks.
"No," I say. "I want to make this happen."
She checks her reflection. "I think a skirt. Better to convince my pervert to drag me to the car to have his way with me."
"Does he need convincing?"
"No." She blushes. "But it will be easier in a skirt." She takes a look at me. "There's no way Drew is going to think anything but need girl now."
I laugh. "That's a very flattering impression."
She steps into the dressing room then emerges in a short denim skirt. "I've been working on it."
***
The club is throbbing with the heavy beat of a rock song. There's a band on stage—four guys with dark hair and dark clothes. They're no Sinful Serenade, but they're not half-bad.
Meg hooks her arm with mine. It's alarming how much we've swapped roles. I am supposed to be the one giving makeovers and pep talks. I am supposed to be the one who drags her out to have fun, who meddles in her love life to fix it.
I suppose there's not much meddling left to do now that she's found the one. A silly concept I know, but I can't get it out of my head.
We push through the crowd, until we're in the most well-lit part of the mosh pit slash dance floor. There's a VIP upstairs area. No sign of any of the Sinful boys. Likely they're up there, shrouded in the dark.
The song picks up. I sway my hips and throw my arms over my head. I'm desperate to burn off some energy, to distract myself from that nagging feeling in my gut telling me how fucked things are with Drew.
So much for falling in love with my best friend and living happily ever after. The guy is a rock star. It's way too good to be true.
The singer has a throaty, breathy voice. If my body wanted anything besides Drew, I'd find it sexy. But my poor, stupid body is desperate for Drew. Nothing else will do.
Maybe it will subside in time.
Meg dances with enthusiasm. She jumps up and down. She whispers in my ear and motions to the corner of the room. "I think I see the Guitar Prince himself."
"Did I miss this nickname?"
"It's a band thing. I think it's behind Drew's back." She waves to the guy standing next to me. "Hey, have you met my friend, Kara? She loves dancing."
I shake my head. Girl couldn't be more obvious, but she's trying.
I turn back to the guy. I barely register him. It's like my body is flashing with a sign that says not Drew. That's all that matters. He's not Drew so who the hell cares?
Still, I throw my arms over my head and I dance. The guy is polite enough to keep his distance. More or less.
Meg cuts through us with a quiet, "Excuse me."
And then she's out of sight and out of earshot, no doubt encouraging Drew's rabid jealousy.
The guy leans a little closer. "Kara, huh?"
"Yeah, that's right. Like the girl in Battlestar Galactica."
"Oh, yeah. The butch blonde girl." The guy's hands go to my hips. "She was kind of manly. You're a lot cuter."
Wow, he managed to compliment me and insult an actress all at the same time. This guy is multi-talented.
"You here alone?" he asks.
"That's a tough question." I shake my hips in an attempt to shake off his hands. My body isn't liking his hands. It's flashing Not Drew's Hands.
"You going home with anyone?" he asks.
Well, he doesn't waste any time.
He does not step back or release his hands. He moves closer, presses his palm against my lower back. It wouldn't be so bad if I was wearing something resembling an actual shirt, but that's my bare skin he's touching.
It's normal dancing.
No big deal.
But my body is flashing with that same sign.
Not Drew. Not Drew. Not Drew.
The guy looks me up at down. "What was her nickname? Uh, Starbuck, right?"
"Right."
The guy moves closer. So his body is pressed against mine.
Not Drew. Not Drew. Not Drew.
The song launches into a guitar solo. It's decent, but certainly not Drew.
The guy's hands tread way too low. Nuh-uh, no way. Not normal dancing anymore.
I press against his chest, a firm get the hell off me.
The hands release my ass.
"Hey, what's the issue, honey?" he asks. "You look like you're ready to party."
He pouts. Poor horny guy is going home alone. I feel awful, really. It's tragic.
"Well, appearances are deceiving." I adjust my skirt and top. Forget this. I'm better off going home and drowning my thoughts with sugar and caffeine.
"Excuse me," I say. "I'm leaving."
"I can give you a ride."
"No thank you. I'm swearing off men. They're nothing but trouble."
I scan the room. Where the hell did Meg go, again? Doesn't matter. My car is close enough. I can get there on my own.
The guy is still there, still pressed against me. "You looking for someone better?"
"She has someone better."
Drew.
He grabs onto the guy's arms and throws me a look. Really, this again? Yeah, sorry Drew, even with your oodles of fame you don't risk some stranger copping a feel every time you go dancing.
Not like I'm about to let grabby strangers scare me away from something I love.
"Hey, watch it," the guy says.
"You have two seconds to get lost before I make you wish you did," Drew says.
The guy looks at me. "Your boyfriend has some anger issues."
"He's not my boyfriend." I frown. "He made that very clear."
Drew stares at me. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
"I don't know. This is how messed up you've got me." I turn to make my way to the bathroom. Some place where my body might calm down.
Drew growls at the guy. "Touch her again and I'll fucking kill you." He grabs the guy and shoves him halfway across the room.
The guy knocks over three people in his way. He falls on his ass with a scowl. "Girl doesn't care about your opinion."
"You grabbed her ass, dickwad. You think she wanted that?"
"None of your business."
"I make it my business." Drew stares the guy down. "Now, I like this club, so either back off or meet me outside and we'll settle this like men."
The guy shakes his head and shrugs whatever. I guess that releases me from my obligation not to cause a fight. I return to my mission to get the hell out of here.
I need to breathe again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I shove my way out a side door. It's dark outside. Late enough into the night that I won't cause a scene.
The music streams through the walls. Still loud as hell, even as the door swings shut.
I press my back against the concrete wall. Deep breath. I'll survive this, somehow.
But there's no time to rest. The door pushes open. Drew.
His eyes are on fire. He wraps his hands around my wrists and pins me to the wall. "What the fuck are you doing, Kara?"
"We covered this."
"You trying to make me jealous?"
"It doesn't take a lot. You ever think you'd be better off talking to me than starting some dumb caveman fight?"
"You want that guy to touch you?"
"No."
"Then it's lucky for him we're already out here." Drew presses his hips against mine. "You're going to get hurt."
"I am hurt."
He stares at me like he's challenging me to explain. Fat chance of that. I do my best to hold his stare, but it's too demanding. My gaze drifts to the ground. This is not the way to prove I won't put up with bullsh
it.
All it's proving is how mixed up he's got me.
He digs his hands into my hair and tilts me so we're eye to eye. "You want my attention, just ask."
"Because that usually works so well." My throats gets ragged. I don't have a clue what I'm doing anymore, but I'm desperate to retain any hint of his attention at all.
"Talk to me."
"I don't want to talk about me. I want to talk about you and why it is you're afraid of the word ‘relationship’ but not afraid of threatening a guy's life for touching me."
"He was hurting you."
"He wasn't."
"You let strangers grope you to make a point?" He squeezes me. "You trying to prove something to me?"
"No. I was trying to dance." I turn my neck, so I'm looking at the street some thirty feet away. It's dark. There are footsteps but no one is looking over here.
He pulls me back to him. Our eyes connect. It's so intense it takes my breath away.
Drew leans in and kisses me. He shifts, pinning me to the wall a little more, rubbing against me so I can feel his erection.
My body responds with a rush of electricity.
Need Drew, need Drew, need Drew.
His tongue slides into my mouth. His hands slide between my legs. Not gentle this time. It's aggressive and rough.
"Is this the reaction you were hoping for?" he asks. "Make me jealous enough I drag you away and fuck you?"
Yes. God yes. Stop talking and do it now.
I hold strong. "That's your go-to move when I ask you about what we're doing here. Hey, Kara, I don't know, but how about we fuck?"
"I don't know. I swore off relationships after Vivian. I didn't think we... I didn't think." His hands go to my hips. They skim the waistband of my panties. "And now I can't think. I want you too fucking badly to think."
His breath gets heavy. His teeth sink into my neck.
Drew.
My body fills with pleasure. It's unconcerned with little matters like Drew's inability to articulate any feelings of a romantic nature.
It only knows how much it hates the layers of clothes between us.
I try to suppress a moan but it escapes my lips. I want him. There's no denying it.
Hell, it goes beyond want.
I need him.
I crave him.
I'm desperate for him.
"Tell me not to stop." He kisses me, hard.
Strum Your Heart Out (Sinful Serenade #2) Page 15
