23
Slater
“I can tell we’re going to be good friends, Shadow.”
I move my beer across the table to meet her glass, bobbing my head in time as the Beastie Boys’ “Sabotage” plays overhead. I work to hide my smile because Ali looks damn cute sitting across from me, blushing furiously. I can tell she’s uncomfortable, but I’ll fix that. She’s a stubborn one, this one, and—of course—she’s refusing to clink her glass with mine. Too bad she doesn’t know how resilient I am. I’ve got all night. I’ve been keeping an eye on her since she got here, biding my time until the opportunity arose to get her alone like this.
I could tell she was nervous, skittish even, as soon as she walked in with her girls. So, like the patient man I am, I waited. This shadow of a girl is something else. Seeing her layers peel off bit by bit with each new conversation, each new introduction, coupled with watching her move on the dance floor tonight, has me captivated. As much as she tries to blend into the background, it’s clear the universe won’t have it. This girl is anything but unnoticeable, and from the looks on other guys’ faces, it’s obvious, people notice her. The way she tilted her head back, exposing her neck, when she was laughing with Rain had me gripping my beer bottle so hard I’m surprised it didn’t break. I wanted those laughs. And seeing her talking so animatedly with Zack made me smile, especially watching them playing imaginary air-guitars as if they weren’t in the middle of a packed bar, had me laughing out loud. I’d had a feeling they’d hit it off, having the whole guitar thing in common, and I made a mental note to ensure Zack knows this one’s off-limits to him.
“To us.” I extend my arm a bit more, so all she needs to do is lift her glass. I chuckle when she rolls her eyes again.
“You don’t give up do you?” she says.
“Not easily, no. Where would I be if I were that guy? Certainly not sitting here with my hot—yet somewhat prickly—new BFF from one of our opening bands, waiting to tour across Canada for the summer, now, would I?” And with that, she laughs. A full-on, head-tilted-back laugh like the one she’d given Rain, and I feel like I’ve just won the fucking lottery. This girl could be dangerous for a guy like me, who isn’t looking to think or feel this fluffy shit for any chick. If I was smart, which I’m clearly not, I’d get up and leave now. But like a moth to the flame, I’m drawn. I’m entranced by those blue eyes, and that sexy mouth curling into a sheepish smile she tries to keep all to herself. The same smile I’ve made it my personal goal to bring out as often as I possibly can. Christ, this girl has me so riled already.
“You’re relentless,” she says, before taking another sip, eyes trained on my glass that’s still hovering over the middle of the table. This fucking girl.
“Come on, Shadow, bring it in. You know you wanna clink me,” I taunt, so bloody cheesily. It’s worth it though, because I can see her lips starting to pull up at the sides, her eyes sparkling, and I can tell her resolve is crumbling.
“Fine. You win, dammit,” she giggles, while shaking her beautiful head, her black hair falling over one eye, and finally touches her glass to mine.
Chuckling, I say: “Cheers. I can tell we’re going to be very good friends, Shadow.”
“Alina.” She pauses. “My name’s Alina…Ali or Al to my friends,” she huffs, still annoyed with her new nickname.
“Yeah, I’m well aware of your name, Ali,” I say, testing it out loud, even though I’ve said it a hundred times in my head since she first auditioned back in September. And now, ten months later, I still like the way it rolls around on my tongue.
“Alina to you,” she says, “Ali is what my friends call me, remember?” The amber hue of the club’s lighting makes her dark hair shine as she sweeps her bangs just so, adjusting them so they once again almost hide those sapphire-blues.
“Oh, we’re definitely going to be friends, Ali,” I say, stressing the short form. “It’s important to be friends when we’re on an eight-week tour. Trust me, you’ll be glad I’ve decided to befriend you. I don’t become friends with just anyone,” I wink, and she gives me the sexiest attempt at cut-eye I’ve ever seen.
“Wow. I feel like I should be kissing your feet with gratitude,” she says, resting her hand over her heart. “How lucky could I get?”
I badly want to respond by telling her I’d prefer a blowjob over foot kisses, but I refrain, more than positive she’d break my dick in half if I said that. I’m not ready to push her to the point of leaving. I still want her time. I decide to change tactics. “You play a mean guitar, Ali.”
“Thank you. That, uh, means a lot coming from you. I’m really excited, but I’m so fucking nervous to do this. We’ve never toured before,” she admits, her cheeks blushing with the admission, and I notice she’s rubbing the lines of the tattoo on her inner wrist, a move she’s done a few times now since I’ve sat down.
“Do I make you nervous?” I can’t help asking, the notion pleasing the hell out of me, as I trail my eyes down to her arm where she’s still rubbing.
“Maybe a little.” Her light eyes meet my dark ones, where they both meld and hold onto one another for a few pauses. I feel a rush of something I haven’t felt in forever, curiosity blended with a strong mix of not only lust, but also knowledge. I know without a doubt that I’m about to embark on a quest to not only earn this girl’s smiles, but also to earn the right to touch her. And, most importantly, I want her trust.
“Don’t be nervous. I’m harmless,” I say, and I want to mean it, I do. Yet I think we both know it’s bullshit. There’s nothing harmless about the electric pull forming between us, regardless of how much Alina’s trying to evade it. Reaching across the table when she attempts to grab her drink, I gently take hold of her wrist and run my thumb over her tattoo, asking, “What is this?”
Without missing a beat or pulling away from my touch, she says, “It’s called a tattoo.”
“Funny,” I say. I rub the spot again, having yet to release her from my grasp.
“I try,” she shrugs, then pulls away, realizing we’re still touching, and I hate the loss of contact.
“You gonna elaborate?” I ask, fingers tapping the table, itching to touch her again.
I expect a snarky comment; instead she gifts me with the most stunning, beautiful smile, which illuminates her gorgeous face.
“It’s the constellation Cygnus,” she says, pausing before adding, “I love the stars, they’re so beautiful.” I badly want to tell her that I think she’s beautiful, but I don’t. I can tell I’m losing her, her walls are resurrecting. She pauses, contemplating, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the tattooed lines once again. But I realize I might be wrong, as she continues. Maybe she is going to open up to me?
“This one reminds me to alwa—” Then she cuts herself off, takes a sip of her drink, and averts her eyes from mine, now staring out at the dance floor. And I hate it. “Sorry, I’m rambling. It doesn’t matter, it’s not important.” She flares her hand like it’s not a big deal.
“You don’t have to stop, Shadow. We’re friends. I’m interested,” I say, cocking my head. I want to know. I want to know everything. It’s fucked up, but I do. This woman pulls at something inside me, and the only thing keeping me from pressing her is knowing I have eight weeks to get her there.
“We are, are we? Friends?” She tips her head up, giving me a cheeky grin. And I feel a rush knowing I haven’t completely lost her or blown it just yet.
“The best,” I nod. “Trust me, we’re gonna be the best of fucking friends.”
“Okay, Mr. Confident. How about this: I’ll tell you when I trust you,” she concedes, making me grin like a devil. I’d already issued that challenge to myself not ten minutes earlier: gain her trust. For some unknown reason, I feel like I’d dive headfirst through a ring of fire to earn it.
Alina Cassidy is going to be trouble. But I’m thinking she might be the best kind of trouble, the kind that’s worth the fight, because the big reward I’ll reap will be her.