A tiny smile crosses my lips. “Finn would feel like shit if he screwed with Lucas.” Saying that only makes my thoughts ping back to Samantha.
My brother is hotheaded, moody, and commanding. He’s the first to start a fight and the last to say sorry. So, why the fuck is he pouring his money into Samantha’s hands the moment she snaps her claws?
After the taxi driver drops us off at the hotel, I attempt to think about anything but Sam and Lucas and Sienna. Of course, the second Wyatt comes back to the room, striding across the floor with his hands pushed deep into his pockets, he blows that to hell.
He stands behind me as I apply my makeup in the bathroom mirror. “Something’s wrong, Ky.” The alarm is back in his voice. It’s the same panic that was present back in New Orleans on the night Shiner Bock ransacked my room.
I look up, glancing at his reflection and mine. “Had a fight with Lucas.”
“He say something fucked-up to you?” he demands, leaning his muscular long body up against the door frame.
I shake my head. Regardless of how angry I am with my brother, there’s only so much of his personal life I want to put out there, not even to Wyatt, who’s Lucas’s best friend. “He hurt Sienna.”
Wyatt mouths her name a couple times before recognition dawns in his blue eyes. “And she came after you for that?”
“No. That’s just it. She didn’t say anything.”
I carefully apply my lipstick, an electric blue I found at Sephora that matches the blue in my hair, before I turn to face him. His gaze slides up my body from the blue patent stilettos to the leather-looking leggings and finally to the asymmetrical black top that brings out every positive aspect of my figure. His eyes are appreciative and hungry, making my eyes drop to the tile floor.
“Don’t look at me like that when I’m angry.”
He crooks his finger, beckoning me to him. Tentatively, I step forward until his strong hands circle around me, clasping on to the sides of my bottom. “You’re not angry at me, beautiful.” He backs me up against the door frame. “Are you?”
Thoughts of how I cried over him earlier this afternoon force their way into my head. I jab my tongue into my cheek. “I’m trying not to be.”
Burying his face into my hair, he slides his palms up and down my hips. “Then, don’t be. Deal with your brother’s shit tomorrow. Be mine tonight.”
Arching my back, I lean away from him and slip my fingers into his hair, tugging hard. His eyes watch mine for what seems like hours before he bends his head to press tiny kisses all over my face and neck and chest, ruffling the flimsy fabric of my shirt.
“Deal with Lucas tomorrow,” he says again in a more forceful voice. “You’re mine tonight.”
I don’t correct him and let him know that tomorrow is Saturday, the last show before we go back to L.A. It could potentially be the last show of our relationship if we choose to go our separate ways.
“No,” I tell him, “you’re mine.”
Chapter Thirteen
The Twisted Keg, the bar where the band is playing, is located in downtown Albuquerque. It’s twice the size of the bar in Houston, and there are at least three times as many people inside. After Wyatt smooths things over with security at the door, I’m allowed entry without my ID. He kisses me longingly before disappearing to join the band, and I find myself wanting to go with him.
“Thought you guys weren’t into PDA,” Heidi says loudly from behind me as we squeeze through the crowd of tightly packed bodies.
“We’re not.” I shoot a glance over my shoulder to find her grinning. Turning my gaze back to the crowd in front of us for a moment, I ask, “Why do I feel like this is a screwed up riot just waiting to happen?”
She sucks in a breath, and I glance back to see her making a face at a woman who’s a few feet away from us. Judging by the way she’s moving her foot, I can only assume Heidi’s toe has fallen victim to the other woman’s lethal-looking stilettos. “Because you’ve been to these types of things enough times to know how quickly crap can get crazy.”
I scan the crowd, playing Where Are the Bouncers?, and I quickly come to terms with the fact that there’s little security. I shift uncomfortably, watching the stage as the band is introduced. “Let’s hope this isn’t one of the crazy ones.” Still, I suddenly wish I didn’t wear such impractical shoes.
Fanning her flushed face, Heidi nods her head toward the teeming bar, and I groan. “It’s a mob. Do you really want a drink that bad?”
“Would you prefer to sit around thirsty all night? Besides, I hate to say this, but you look like you need a beer or two.”
Good point. After all the drama from earlier today, battling a mob of bargoers to get a drink doesn’t seem so bad. As we push our way through the crowd, the band starts the first song of their set. It’s a cover that I know better than the back of my hand, and when I start to hum along with it, amusement flickers in Heidi’s cornflower blue eyes.
“You think Lucas would shit a brick if he knew Hazard Anthem is playing ‘All Over You’?”
Because I don’t want thoughts of my brother and his overall stupidity to screw with my night, I shrug. “He shouldn’t be. It’s a compliment.”
Focusing her eyes on the stage, she cocks her head to the side. “Nate’s almost as good as him.”
“Nowhere near it, babe.”
There’s still a line for drinks when we finally push our way up to the bar, but luckily, it only takes a couple minutes before one of the bartenders—a woman wearing a vintage polka dot halter that I have in my closet—takes our order. “What can I do you for, ladies?” Her scarlet-painted lips drag up into a smile.
Heidi twists her mouth like she’s trying to decide, but of course, she already knows what she wants. If she doesn’t order beer, she always springs for a 7-and-7. Tonight is no different, and since we’re staying inside of our comfort zone, I ask for a bloody mary, triple shot.
The barmaid’s penciled-in eyebrows jerk up. “In the mood to fuck something up?” She supports her elbows on the bar counter, staring back and forth between Heidi and me.
“Nah,” I say. “I just like my vodka.”
She leans back, shaking her head and laughing. “Yeah, me too. I’ll make you a double, hon.” She gives me a look that screams I should have known better than to ask for more.
As soon as we have our drinks in hand, Heidi leaves the barmaid an incredibly generous tip, and then my best friend looks at me, mouthing something. It takes me a few tries, but I finally make out what she’s yelling over the deafening sound of voices and music. “Let’s move closer!”
We squeeze through the mass congregating around the stage, and I grit my teeth when someone jostles into me, causing me to spill a few drops of my drink on myself. Great, now I’ll smell like Betsey Johnson perfume, cigarette smoke, and Tabasco sauce for the rest of the night.
Heidi and I don’t stop moving until we’re near the front of the fray, jammed between a few people wearing T-shirts from Your Toxic Sequel’s last tour. Once the tall guy standing in front of me moves out of the way, my brown eyes instantly locate Wyatt. He doesn’t see me, but every few moments, his eyes flick around the crowd.
Cal manages to spot us though, and he gives us a wink that I’m certain is meant for Heidi. She must also see it because she grins like the Cheshire Cat before tucking a lock of her curly hair behind her ear.
I lean in close to her. “You’re disgustingly cute.”
She rolls her eyes, holding her hand in front of her defensively. “Trust me, it’s not even like that. He just likes to get a reaction out of me.” Her cheeks are tinged with color, and I’m guessing Cal’s getting exactly what he wants. Before I can say another word, she nods her head to the side of the stage. “There’s Terra.”
My gaze wanders over in the general direction, and I spot the blonde woman holding her phone up high, recording the show. She’s with some man, and every few seconds, she glances up at him and says something. I work my lip between my teeth, trying desperately to remember where I’ve seen the guy before. When it doesn’t come to me, I focus my attention on the music.
The band is halfway through a song they didn’t play in Houston when I feel a hand touch my ass. It’s not a brush or an innocent jab but a rough squeeze. Gripping my drink tightly, I count to three before I turn to face the guy who’s feeling me up.
If I were into backwards-baseball-cap-wearing douche bags who’ve had too much to drink, I might consider him decent-looking enough. Since I’m not, I tilt my head to the side. “I don’t like being touched,” I say loud enough to be heard by several people around us.
He grins down at me. At first, he doesn’t make a move to take his hand away, but then the guy with him says something in his ear. He shoots his buddy a sharp look as he drops his hand to his side.
“You’re empty.” He tries to take the clear plastic cup away from me, but I tighten my grip around it. “Hey, I just want to buy you a drink,” he says defensively.
“Thanks, but I’m DD,” I lie, lifting the corners of my mouth. “So, sorry.” I glance over at Heidi who’s already jerking her head in the opposite direction, her light blue eyes wary. I turn to follow her, but the guy grabs my wrist. When I confront him this time, I ditch the smile. Going about things the polite way with this asshole is getting me absolutely nowhere. “Get your hand off me.”