His words calm all the restlessness that’s been building in me the last few days, and I decide to go for honesty, too.
“Is it strange that I missed you? I know it has only been a few days, and I talked to you on the phone last night, but—”
“But it wasn’t enough? Yeah. I know the feeling.”
I face facts then. I’ve seen it often enough in others to recognize that I am utterly addicted to him. It won’t matter how often I see him or speak to him, I’ll always want more.
“So this is your apartment?”
When he turns to take it in, I’m tempted to pull him back and use the few extra minutes we have to get reacquainted with his lips, but I know he’s curious.
“This is it.”
He looks around, and I can’t see the place through his eyes. It’s a relatively new building, and I got it already furnished since I tend to move semi-frequently. The furniture is all sleek and modern. It looks barely lived in at all, unlike his apartment. I have very few personal items, and all of them are hidden away in my bedroom.
He stops in the middle of the living room, and I can’t help but notice that his foot falls directly on the section of the carpet that covers the only remnant of the destruction I caused after Van and that whole mess. If he were to step aside and peel back the rug, he’d see where I wrote Inspired so many times that I scratched it into the floorboard.
“I could give you a tour of my bedroom,” I offer.
He shoots me a sly smile. “Always so tempting. How about we save that for later? If I got you in your bedroom, I’m not sure we’d leave it before the year ends.”
“I see what you did there, funny guy.”
“You don't think I'm funny?”
“I think you're hilarious. And sweet. And sexy. Are you sure you don't want to skip tonight and celebrate the New Year with just the two of us?”
He walks back to where I'm standing by the door and smoothes both his large hands up my arms before sinking them into my hair. His fingers tease at my scalp, sending shivers down my spine. “I'm starting to think you like trying to tempt me past control.”
His grip on me is firm, restrained, and I have to fight the inclination to arch up into him and surrender completely.
No sex, Kalli. Not yet.
I smile and say, “I don't hate it.”
He chuckles, but his laughs turn into a groan a moment later when he thumps his forehead against the door beside me. “We should go. Rook has been giving me shit all week because I haven't introduced you. And I've skipped every hangout since Owen got back into town.”
I frown. “Because of me?”
“Sometimes because of you. Sometimes for Gwen. Don't worry about it. It's been like this for the last year. They're used to it.”
He has so little free time as it is, and here I am, wanting more of it.
“Stop,” he says. “Whatever you're thinking, stop it.”
“You're a mind reader now?”
“I can just tell when you're thinking about pushing me away or shutting me out. The look you get. It's not one I'm fond of.”
I smile guiltily knowing I can't promise that will change. “Let's head out then. I wouldn't want to deprive your friends of your coveted company.”
I grab my purse, and after locking up, he takes my hand to lead me to his car. He keeps that hold the entire time we drive, only pulling away for brief moments when he needs both of his hands on the wheel. We end up downtown, and I try to fight back the sense of déjà vu as he pulls into a parking garage. The place is packed, as was all of the street parking we saw as we drove. I guess that's to be expected downtown on New Year's Eve.
The streets are congested, and every bar we pass is already overflowing with people even though we've still got two hours until midnight. We eventually stop at a place a few blocks off of Sixth Street, where the streets are less crammed. But the bar he leads me into is plenty busy. There are booths on our left, and a bar to the right, and most of the open space is filled with bodies. I can hear live music, but I don't see a band, so I'm guessing they're up the stairs I spot in the back. It's definitely an eclectic place. There are pictures on the walls of various guys with mustaches. Some historical like Einstein. Others are celebrities. The two bartenders I spot behind the bar also have mustaches, and I can't help but laugh. There are other odd little statement pieces around the room. A few of those twenty-five cent kiddie rides that you find outside of grocery stores. Some strange taxidermy. But as another facial-hair-inclined waiter passes us, I can't help my laugh.
“What?” Wilder asks over the music.
I pantomime twirling up the ends of a mustache, and he smiles. “Rook likes this place. Good drinks. Good music. In the warmer months, they've got a great rooftop patio, too.”
I loop my arm around his elbow, pulling myself close to his side in the crowd. Honestly, I could care less about where we are as long as I'm with him. It only takes the amount of time for us to head for the back and climb the stairs before I rethink that statement. There is indeed a band upstairs, and the place is standing room only. Bodies are pressed tight together, dancing to the rhythm of the rock beat that's playing, and the déjà vu comes back full force. And not any good memories. The last time I was in sea of dancing bodies, it didn't work out so well for me. Or for the people dancing.
“Come on,” Wilder says, close to my ear. “Rook texted that they've got a table up front.”
He pulls me into the crowd, and I hold my breath against the panic that rises up in me. What if the energy gets too high in here? What if the same thing happens all over again? I could hurt all these people, hurt Wilder. Not to mention bringing the Argus down on me once and for all.
Each time I squeeze through another set of bodies, my pulse thrums a little faster. The sound of it in my ears mixes with the heavy drums of the band, and my head feels like it's being battered from the inside and out. I suck in a breath when we get past the standing crowd to the few tables up front, but even those are overflowing with people.
Wilder leads me over to the very first table on the left, crammed close to the wall. There are two guys and a girl already seated, and just one open chair. The guy on the left catches sight of us first, and stands to wave. He’s immensely tall. Enough that he stands with his shoulders hunched and his head bent as if he’s always having to duck under things and just got stuck that way. And the first thing that comes to my mind when I look at his face is dark. Dark hair sticking up every which way. A dark beard. Eyes so dark they look all pupil. Covered in ink. Not just his arms like Wilder, but his hands and his neck, and nearly every piece of visible skin except his face. Who knows, maybe the beard is hiding some ink, too. He calls out something to Wilder that I can’t hear over the music, and I see the glint of a silver piercing in his tongue before the two of them collide for a back-slapping, manly hug.