“Dude, where’s my shot? My beer?” Sam says, stepping next to me. Allie finally looks up from her cup at the newcomer.
“Well hello.…” Holly’s lips curl into a seductive smile.
“Sam,” I fill in. I hope these two hit it off so Miss Silicone Tits will back off. “This is Allie and Holly.” I point to each girl.
His eyes do a double take on Allie, probably recognizing her as the girl I sang “Iris” to, and then do a double take on Holly’s chest. He grins at her tits. “Hello back at ya.”
Holly unwinds her arm from Allie’s shoulders. “Did I hear shots?”
“Absolut?” Sam says.
“Lemon drops?” she replies.
They both laugh and stroll away to hit the bar.
Glancing past me at the roomful of people, Allie chews on her lip ring.
“So…,” I say, sidling up next to her and leaning on a stool. “I’m more interested in your opinion than your friend’s. What’s the verdict?”
The ring disappears into her mouth as she sucks on it. Damn that’s hot. She watches the dance floor, where a few people sway drunkenly in pairs, their bodies tightly wrapped around each other’s. “The band is really, really talented. And you’re not too bad,” she adds, her lips curving into a slight smirk.
I snort at her repeating my own words about my singing. “Guess I can live with ‘not too bad.’”
She finally looks at me. “You’re actually really, really talented.”
An “excuse me” cracks into our bubble.
We break our locked gazes to find a group of women surrounding us.
“Could we get a picture, please?” the one at the front asks.
This is getting out of hand.
“Please?”
Allie gives me a look that says, What is your problem? Just do it.
What’s my problem? I hate fucking cell phones with their fucking cameras at the fucking moment.
“Yeah,” I say. “Sure. Of course.”
They take turns grouping around me, pressing their tits against me, and “accidentally” brushing my ass, until I’m completely pissed off. Though this is ordinarily amusing, Allie waits to the side, watching the wannabe paparazzi with a guarded expression. Not a good sign.
Once they leave, Allie has her phone out.
I slide next to her. “You want a picture too?”
Her pierced brow rises. “It’s getting late. I need to get home. Early morning.”
After all the shit I went through to get her here, along with the plans forming in my head, not the words I want to hear.
She glances around. “You see Holly?”
I give a halfhearted glance around the bar. “No.”
Allie takes a big swig of beer and sets the cup on the bar. “She’s my ride.”
My brows rise. “And she’s doing shots?”
“She’s been drinking less than me. I think.” She waves a hand. “We can get a cab, but I really need to find her. Need to go.”
I stare at her, wanting, wishing, and hoping.
“The band was really great though. You were great. Thanks for the tickets.” She gazes around uncertainly.
Glad for the excuse to touch her at least, I grab her hand. “Come on, I’ll help you find her.”
Hand in hand, we wander around the huge club. The crowd is finally thinning out. Between her slightly glazed gaze, her slow gait, and the way she’s absently leaning on me, I’m starting to realize Allie is a bit drunk. Sam and Holly are nowhere to be seen though we keep searching. I’m guessing they’re out back smoking weed, which reaffirms the thought Allie should not be riding home with her friend. I’m pissed I didn’t drive. Instead, I caught a ride with Romeo, and he took off with Riley as soon as we shut the back door of the van.
Allie is starting to get fidgety. Her hand grips mine with an edge of anxiety. We’re taking a second turn around the bar when I spot Gabe sitting in the corner with his girlfriend. Just my luck that the bastard is the only one around whom I can ask for a favor.
“Hey, come here for a second.” I lead her toward the corner, but when we’re a few tables away, I say, “Wait here. I’m going to see if I can hook you up with a ride.”
I tug at my hand so she’ll release it, because there’s no way I’m going to take her near toxic Gabe. She gives me a weak smile and finally lets go.
Of course, Gabe looks pissed when I step next to his table. His stick of a girlfriend gives me her usual sex eyes. She gives anyone in a band sex eyes. I ignore her like always. Never been adverse to trailer trash until her.
“Hey, I need to borrow your truck,” I say, getting right to the point. Being nice to this asshole isn’t going to help.
He reaches for his beer. “Screw that. My truck might be a piece of shit, but your drunk, high ass ain’t driving it.”
“Haven’t had a drink.”
The beer in his hand pauses midway to his mouth.
“Sober as your grandma.”
“My grandma drinks a bottle of Wild Irish Rose a night.” His chin lifts and he nods toward the rear exit. “You haven’t gone out back with Sam?”
“Nope, and I need to take her home.” I gesture at Allie behind me. His weasel eyes roam over her and I want to punch him.
“That the girl you were singing to?”
“Quit being a dick. Just give me your keys. I’ll put some gas in.”
He takes a swig of his beer slower than shit to piss me off. Setting it down, he says, “Full tank and I get front next time we go to Detroit.”
What is this? Fucking grade school? “Fine.”
He slides the keys across the table. “It’s parked on the left side of the block.”
I snatch the keys up without a good-bye.
Allie watches me cautiously as I step toward her. I lift and jingle the keys. “I can give you a ride home.”
She frowns at the keys. “Um…could we look for Holly one more time?”
I’m not sure if she doesn’t want a ride home from me or doesn’t want to leave Holly without telling her. Damn, I’m hoping it’s the second. “Sure,” I say, grabbing her hand for another tour around the bar. I’m hoping Sam and Holly stay in the alley out back a little longer.
Luckily for me, Holly’s nowhere in sight, and in minutes we’re outside. Allie doesn’t say anything about Gabe’s rust bucket as I open the door for her. I can’t help noticing the curve of her ass as she climbs in.
Slow down, Justin.
Inside, she gives me the directions to her apartment complex while looking straight ahead. I know where it is. I’ve been there. Two or three times. Different girls each time though.
As I drive, I try to make small talk by asking about school and the shop. She answers in a monotone, and her answers aren’t more than one or two words. Her head’s back and her eyes are almost closed. I’m racking my brain for how to save the moment. It feels like we’re already at the end of something immense that never truly started. My tat is done. I could do another one, but I need to wait a few months unless I want to appear pathetic. My other choice would be to look like a stalker as I roam around campus on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, trying to act casual while I search for a glimpse of her auburn hair or olive branch–tatted arm or that purposeful gait I’ve come to recognize.
At the huge complex, she directs me to the building where her apartment is.
I’m strangely, stupidly torn up inside the closer we get. I find a parking spot near her building. She unclasps her seat belt.
“Which one is it?”
She points to the second floor.
“Let me walk you up,” I say, unclasping my seat belt. I’m not looking for anything more than to prolong the time in her presence. I’m desperate for more.
I get around the car to find her staring up at a dark window. She wraps her arms around her waist. Sighing, she appears lost and disoriented.