Chapter Ten
Haylee
“Oh my God,” Paige yells a few hours later, barging into our dressing room. We skipped the Ransom sets for tonight, preferring to stay backstage and celebrate together. Apparently the show’s over, because Paige never misses a set. “I just heard about the concert!” she cries. “Congratulations!”
I allow her to pull me into a hug before she turns to the others, hugging each member of the band with equal enthusiasm. “The boys are so stoked about this! And it’s so well deserved!” She beams at us. “We’re going out to celebrate, and you’re all coming with us. No exceptions!”
“Paige, I don’t think you have to strong-arm us into celebrating tonight,” I say, laughing. “We’ll be there.”
“Excellent! Barcelona is supposed to have an amazing nightlife. We’re going to have so much fun!”
“I’m all about fun,” Dylan says, to a chorus of raised beer bottles from the rest of us. We’ve been toasting pretty much every word out of our mouths tonight, and I don’t see the practice dying down.
“We’ll meet you in our dressing room in twenty minutes, okay?” Paige says. She grabs me for one more hug. “I’m really so excited for you, Haylee. You deserve this.”
“Thank you,” I say, taken aback, and more than a little touched, by her sincerity.
We putz around for the next twenty minutes, Layla reapplying our makeup, until it’s time to meet the Ransome boys. They’re all waiting for us in their dressing room along with Levi, Paige, and Daisy.
“Hey!” Daltrey calls when he sees us at the door. “Congratulations!”
“Kick-ass news, you guys!” Cash calls. And then they surround us, giving us high fives, Daisy hugging us, Paige hugging us again. They’re genuinely excited for us, I think, remembering what James said that afternoon about them not being the way we expected. I file this under that same heading.
“The label thinks this is going to be a really big deal,” Reed says. “I’m so happy you guys get to be a part of it. You really deserve it.”
“Absolutely,” Lennon agrees, grinning down at me. My stomach flips at the expression on his face. He seems so happy, thrilled really. And he’s standing so close. “I can’t think of anyone else who better deserves an opportunity like this.”
“Thanks, Len,” I say, and I find I have to look away.
Paige has scouted out several clubs for us. “This is my special gift,” she tells me in the van, her voice very serious.
“Going to clubs?”
“Finding clubs.”
As soon as we’re inside, I know she had a point. The club is expansive, the majority of the floor space taken up by the dance floor. The ceiling towers high above us, a maze of catwalks and wire works, colored lights spinning madly over the crowd below. Platforms are set up around the room, housing professional dancers in black dresses doing their thing.
“Is it just me,” Dylan calls in my ear, “or is everyone in this room exponentially more attractive than we are?”
“Speak for yourself,” Layla calls, waving to us over her shoulder as she steps out into the crowd, her attention set on one of the many Mr. Dark and Handsomes currently on the dance floor. I glance over at Dylan’s crestfallen face and laugh. “Sorry, Dyl. I think you’re gonna have to give up the ghost on that one.”
He sighs. “She’s way out of my league.”
“Nonsense. She’s just a little too… distracted.” He doesn’t look much cheered, so I sling an arm around his shoulder. “Come on. I’ll buy you a drink. And we can people watch all the gorgeous Europeans from the bar.”
But Paige has other ideas. Apparently Ransom doesn’t hang out at the bar like some group of plebs. She leads us all over to a roped-off VIP section where a tall table awaits. “This is pretty swanky,” Lance says, sliding up onto the neon-green plastic barstool. “I could get used to this.”
“Me too,” Layla agrees, having rejoined us the moment she heard the word VIP. She adjusts her black corset top and takes the glass of champagne the waitress offers.
“A toast is in order, I think,” Reed says, holding up his glass. “To Intrigue. Congratulations, you guys.”
“To Intrigue,” the rest of them echo.
“I have a feeling you’ll be giving us a run for our money in no time,” Cash adds, and we all clink glasses before drinking.
“I want to dance,” Paige says, the moment she finishes her champagne. “Daisy, will you dance?”
Daisy makes a face over her sparkling grape juice. “My feet are killing me,” she says. “And I’m super bloated.”
“Thanks for sharing, Dais,” Cash says.
“You try being seven months pregnant and running across Europe with a bunch of rock and roll buffoons.” She smiles at me and Layla. “Female company excluded, of course.”
Paige is pouting.
“I’ll dance with you,” Layla says, laughing at Paige’s forlorn expression.
“Really? Oh, thank you! Reed will never dance until he gets a few drinks in him.” She slides a bottle of tequila toward her boyfriend. “Get a move on, mister.” Then she grabs Layla’s hand and pulls her toward the dance floor.
“What about me?” Dylan asks, sliding off his bar stool. “I’m an excellent dancer!”
“He really is,” I tell the Ransome guys, who all laugh—except for Cash. He sighs and pours more tequila into his glass.
“Don’t mind him,” a voice says close to my ear. I look over to see Lennon has slid into the seat vacated by Dylan. “He just misses Sam.”
“Sam is his girlfriend?”
Cash must overhear us because he looks up, his expression a little hopeful. “Did someone say something about Sam?”
Lennon stifles a laugh, and I step on his foot under the table. “I haven’t heard too much about her,” I tell Cash, and his entire face lights up.
“She’s the best,” he says, not looking at all like the international womanizer his reputation paints him to be. “She’s working for this awesome charity in Seattle right now. They help wounded soldiers and their families.”
“That sounds like a pretty worthwhile job.”
“She’s amazing. Here.” He pushes Lennon off the chair next to me and pulls out his wallet, opening it to a shot of a pretty woman with long brown hair. She’s laughing into the camera, looking both fed up and completely enamored with the photographer. “She’s beautiful,” I say honestly.
“And this is her son.” He flips to another picture, and a smiley, gap-toothed kid with spiked hair smiles up at me. “Wyatt. He’s hilarious.”
“Is he coming to Paris too?”
Cash sighs again. “No, he’ll have school, so he’s staying with his grandparents.”
“You must really miss them.”
“You have no idea.” I glance over at his wistful face. It couldn’t be more obvious that he does miss them, that’s he’s crazy about both of them. I try to reconcile the picture I have in my head of the leering, drunk guy hitting on me at that festival with the man who sits next to me now. Cash Ransome, a father figure. I guess people really do change.
“Karen is coming, though,” Daisy says from across the table. “She’s Levi’s girlfriend—and Paige’s best friend.”
“Oh, God,” Lance mutters. “There’s two of them?”
Daisy laughs as both Levi and Reed glare at Lance. “Karen is very different from Paige,” Levi says. Reed turns his glare to the tour manager, and Levi mutters, “Not that that’s inherently a good thing.”
“We all have fun together,” Daisy tells me, ignoring the boys. “You’ll like them both.”
“I’m sure I will.”
“What you might not like,” Lennon says, “is all of them turning into lovesick teenagers.”
I make a face. “Are they gross?”
“They’re super gross.”
“I resent that,” Levi says, taking a swig of his booze. “Karen and I are not gross.”
“They call themselves Kevi,” Lennon says, shuddering, and I laugh. “Consider yourself warned.”
“Reed!” Paige calls from the dance floor. “Are you sufficiently tipsy to dance with me yet?”
He holds up his mostly full glass, and I get the feeling he’s nursing it on purpose. “Not quite.”
“Then I’m just going to dance with Rodrigo over there,” she says, pointing at one of the supernaturally gorgeous Spaniards dancing near Layla. Reed practically falls off his chair in his haste to get to her.
“I might feel ready for some dancing myself,” Daisy says, wiggling a little. “I think I need to stretch.”
“Slow dancing,” Daltrey says, helping her down from the stool.
“Whatever you say, dear,” she says, rolling her eyes at me as they go.
“What kind of sound system you think they got in here?” Levi asks, eyes on the speakers that pulse far above.
Lance and Cash immediately join him in an incredibly technical discussion of the merits of surface-mount versus column speakers.
“I’m going to fall asleep if I have to sit here and listen to this,” I call over to James. “You wanna dance?”
He makes a face at me. “When, in all the years you’ve known me, have I ever once danced with you?”
I, of course, knew he was going to say that. He never dances. But his refusal makes it perfectly natural for me to then turn to Lennon, who’s currently looking bored, playing with a bottle cap, and say, “How ’bout you? Feel like dancing?”
“Sure,” Lennon says, grinning across at me. I grin back, feeling James’s eyes narrow. Too bad, buddy. I’m celebrating tonight.
As we head out to the dance floor, Lennon lets his hand fall lightly on the small of my back, and I shiver in delight. If I’m being perfectly honest with myself, a desire to celebrate is only part of why I engineered the dance with Lennon. The truth is, a part of me has been trying to come up with ways to get close to him again ever since that afternoon in Newcastle. Standing so close to him in that cemetery in Edinburgh only reminded me of how good he felt, even as I promised myself we’d just be friends.
But as we reach the dance floor, as Lennon looks down at me with those dark eyes of his, as his lips turn up ever so slightly at the corners, I realize that the last thing in the world I want is to be Lennon’s friend.
I want to go to bed with him. I want to feel his lips on mine again, feel them on my skin. I want to look up at him as he hovers over me, his eyes steady on mine. I want him.
He pulls me close as we begin to dance, much slower than the music calls for. If I look up, I can see his Adam’s apple in front of my eyes. He swallows a few times, and I feel a swoop of my stomach. He’s affected too, I think, running my hands up his arms to his shoulders. He wants me too.
You can’t do this, a voice whispers in the back of my head. My reasons for telling him we’d only be friends were good ones. It wouldn’t be right to let him think I would be capable of something I know I will never achieve. He’ll only end up getting hurt. I’ll only end up getting hurt. We both need to be friends only.
But he feels so good. I take a half step closer, allowing myself to breathe in his scent through his gray T-shirt. A mix of tequila, soap, and a musky aftershave makes me catch my breath. His hand slides a little lower on my back, bringing me another half step closer. I could rest my head against his shoulder now, if I let myself.
James is right, I remind myself feebly. You shouldn’t do this.
“I need a drink,” I call over the sound of the music, when what I really need is a distraction, an opportunity to take a step back, break the indefinable pull I feel whenever I stand too close to him. Lennon nods, leading me over to the bar. His hand never drops from my back. One of the waitresses from our section is at the bar, and she hurries to grab a beer for Lennon and a Scotch and soda for me when she recognizes us.
As soon as the burn of alcohol hits my throat I feel better. It’s easier to focus, easier to silence the chorus of doubts in my head. I down the drink and ask for another, trying not to notice the question in Lennon’s expression.
I’m three drinks in by the time he finishes his beer. Add to that the shot of tequila I had at the table, and I’m starting to feel buzzed. I know from experience that the buzz won’t last, that the positive effects of the booze will lessen and lessen as the night goes on. I’ll spend the next hours chasing the feeling I have right now, drinking more and more as I try to recapture it.
I know those things, but I have a great talent for making myself not believe them.
“You want to dance some more?” Lennon asks. I grin up at him, allowing myself to inch a bit closer. That’s what people do when they drink, right? Lowered inhibitions and all that. I bring a hand up to rest on his forearm. “Sure.”
Before we head back to the dance floor, I signal to the waiter for another drink. “I hate to dance empty-handed,” I explain when Lennon’s eyebrows go up. “Want another beer?”
We bring our drinks to the dance floor and join Paige and Reed. “You’re here!” Paige cries happily, hugging both of us. She’s clutching the stem of a cosmo glass, somehow managing not to spill the bubblegum-pink liquid all over the place.
We dance with them for a while, and when Paige orders a round of shots, I participate, taking Lennon’s as well when he declines.
“Maybe we should sit for a while,” Lennon says when I’ve finished. He steers me away from the others, and I stumble a little. But that’s fine because it gives me an excuse to grasp his arm. “You okay?”
“Of course.” I lean in a little closer, loving the feel of his side pressed against mine. “But I don’t want to sit.”
“No? You seem a little unsteady.”
I giggle. It doesn’t really sound like me, but I don’t let myself think about that. “I think I just need something to hold on to.” I peer up into his dark eyes, willing him to agree.
“Sure,” he finally says, smiling a little. I sigh happily, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling myself flush against him. I wonder if he can feel how hard my heart is beating—it feels like we’re close enough. God, he smells good. And his skin is so warm.
“Haylee.” His voice is a little rough, unsteady, and something about it seems to break through the haze of alcohol, piercing me in the chest, and it’s too much. I don’t want to feel this, I think. I don’t want to feel anything. I just want to concentrate on how good it is to be this close to him. I tighten my arms around his neck, closing my eyes.
“Can we just dance?” I whisper.
Somehow he manages to pull me even closer. “Sure.”
I don’t know how long we stand like that, holding each other so tight, barely moving to the music. I want him so much it’s overwhelming, and I try to focus on the little things—the way his fingers are digging into my lower back, the feel of his breath on my neck, the softness of his hair just above my fingers. Anything to keep myself from doing something really stupid—like telling him that I’m falling for him. Telling him that I can feel him filling up the hole in my chest, feel him fixing me.
“Haylee,” he says again, his voice still rough. It sends my stomach flipping in a delicious mixture of nerves and excitement. But the nerves win out—whatever he’s going to say is going to be too much. I’m not sure how I know, but I do. He’s going to say something to me that can’t be taken back. Something that will change us. And I’m scared.
“Let’s go back to your room,” I blurt out, pulling back to look at him. His eyes are dark, his gaze intense. I swallow, my throat dry. I don’t think anyone has ever looked at me the way Lennon does. As if he really knows me, can really see me. As if he likes what he sees, even the parts of me that feel messed up or broken. He looks at me like I matter to him. Like his day would be worse without me in it.
“My room?” His voice is low, eager.
I nod, biting my lip, liking the idea more and more. It’s obvious there’s an attraction between us, a strong connection. Why shouldn’t we be having fun with it? And if we’re having fun with it, maybe I can distract myself from the idea that this man can fix me.
No one can fix you, I remind myself. That hole in your chest isn’t going anywhere.
But spending the night with Lennon might make me forget about it, at least for a while.
“I want you,” I tell him, meeting his gaze, suddenly desperate for him to agree. “I want to be with you.”
The size of his grin makes my breath catch. “I thought you said it wasn’t a good idea?” he asks, brushing his fingers across my cheek. Goose bumps erupt on my skin at the touch. “That we should just be friends.”
“We are friends.” I force out another giggle, needing something to break this intensity in my chest. “We could be…”
“More?” he asks, the smile slipping away as his eyes darken, making me shiver.
“Exactly,” I murmur. “Like, friends with benefits.”
The smile slips away entirely, but I no longer feel like shivering. Because the intensity has left his eyes as well. He’s no longer peering down at me like he wants me more than anything else in the world. He’s looking at me like he doesn’t know me.
“What?” I ask, a shot of panic coursing through me as he pulls back a little, his hand dropping from my face.
“What’s going on, Haylee?”
God, his voice has turned so cold. “What do you mean?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even. “I thought we were… Aren’t we on the same page?”
“I’m thinking we aren’t. Let’s just get this clear, okay?”
I swallow, wondering why on earth I’m so afraid of what he might say. “You still aren’t interested in a relationship, right? You’re just talking about hooking up.”
“What’s wrong with a hookup?” I ask, forcing a smile onto my face. Maybe I can salvage this—
“Nothing,” he says, but his eyes are hard. “Not when that’s what both people want.”
I feel the sharp sting of rejection. “And you don’t want me, that’s what you’re saying?” I snap, pulling the rest of the way out of his arms.
“Of course I want you,” he practically growls. “But not if you can’t be real with me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It would be more than a hookup, and you know it.”
“Oh, God.” I cross my arms. “What do you want from me, Lennon? You want some declaration of my feelings? This isn’t a Victorian romance novel.”
If I thought his voice went cold before, it was nothing to the way it sounds now. “You know that’s not what I’m saying. I don’t do bullshit, Haylee, and I don’t do lies.”
“So you’re calling me a liar?”
“You’re not being honest about us right now. We’re more than a hookup, and you know it.”
“Well, I don’t want more than a hookup,” I say, my voice sharp. I feel like I’m about to start crying, which is so stupid. This entire thing is stupid. And my buzz is completely gone. “I need a drink,” I mutter, looking around for the waiter.
His face hardens. “Why did you start drinking so much tonight?”
“Oh my God.” I glare at him. “You don’t get to lecture me.”
He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re right. But you don’t get to use alcohol as an excuse to get with me guilt free.”
I take a step back, feeling stung. Is that what he thinks this is?
Before I can respond, he’s turning to go. “Take care of yourself, Haylee. I’ll see you around.”
“Lennon,” I call after him, but my voice sounds strangled, and he doesn’t turn. I watch as he weaves through the dancing crowd, his shoulders hunched. I don’t look away until he’s out of sight, disappearing into the darkness of the club. I have only one thought.
He’s completely right about me.