By Degrees (27 page)

I feel someone’s hands slip around my waist from behind and my first instinct is to toss my drink into the unseen molester’s face, but when Jack’s voice tickles my ear in the next second, I stop myself.

I glance over my shoulder, giving him my best scolding look.
 
“You almost got a cold shower doing that, you big dummy.”
 
I turn around, effectively removing his hands from my body as I face him.

He leans in for a kiss on the cheek and I indulge him, even though I still feel like giving him a smack.
 
For some stupid reason I can’t look at Tarin right now.
 
I don’t want to know if he saw Jack touching me, and I don’t want to know what he thinks about it if he did.

“I’m so glad you came,” Jack says, a grin splitting his face.
 
“We’re going on in about ten minutes.”
 
He looks at Scott.
 
“You ready?”

Scott nods.

I look from Scott to Jack.
 
Their expressions are unreadable.
 
“What’s going on here?” I ask.

Neither of them answers me.
 
Scott shrugs absently and stares off into the crowd as he takes another sip of his beer.
 
He seems worried about something, and I should probably grill him until he caves, but my head is going in too many directions right now.
 
I promise myself I’ll harass him later when we’re alone, and then focus on my molester.

I punch Jack lightly on the shoulder.
 
“Come on, confess.
 
It’s good for the soul.
 
Tell me what kind of trouble you’re brewing up.”

He leans in for another quick kiss on my cheek managing to steal one; I back away too slowly to stop it from happening.

“You’ll just have to be patient for once in your life,” he says, walking away and leaving me standing there to yell at a sea of strangers.

He probably can’t hear me, but I shout it out anyway.
 
“I’m always patient, Jack!
 
And good thing too, or you’d be dead!”
 
A swarm of fans follow behind him once they realize who he is and he disappears in the crowd.

Jack may have toned down his rock-and-roll persona, but that doesn’t mean he’s lost a single admirer or a drop of talent.
 
He is, was, and always will be a superstar, even when he deigns to play in small venues like this place.

Working together last year, we discovered that doing things like this - getting close to his fans and performing smaller, more intimate gigs - is something his creative genius needs.
 
I’m proud of him, that he’s kept it up, even though it makes his manager and agent nuts sometimes.
 
He makes practically no money at it and it pulls him away from other projects, but it feeds his muse.
 
I told him to ignore the suits and do what makes him happy.
 
He rocks out and then donates the money to charity.
 
It’s a win, win, win.

Jack sure did push my buttons when we were working together, though. Despite his insistence tonight that I be patient for once in my life, I’m sure he remembers the trials he put me through and how I was the patron saint of patience when I spent my thirty days with him.
 
My first, middle, and last names were Patient. After dealing with him, I thought anything would be a piece of cake.
 
And then there was Tarin…

“What’s that all about?” asks The Devil Himself, pulling me out of my mini-outrage and reminiscing, startling me with his nearness.

“What’s what about?”
 
I sip my fuzzy drink again, wishing I’d asked for vodka instead.
 
This place is getting on my nerves.
 
There are too many people and too much noise, and it’ll only be a matter of time before more people recognize Tarin and start giving us a hard time.
 
I look over my shoulder for the muscled doorman and see him not that far from us.
 
It gives me a small sense of security, reasonable or not.

“Are you guys dating or together somehow?” asks Tarin.

For a split second I think he’s talking about the doorman, but when I see Tarin glance towards the stage I realize it’s Jack he’s referring to.
 
“No, don’t be ridiculous.” I chew on my straw as I stare at him.
 
I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but I’m too curious to look away from my attempted mind-reading.

“Why is that ridiculous?” Tarin asks. It seems like he really wants to know.

“Because … I don’t date guys like him.”

Tarin takes a pull of his fake beer and winces as he swallows it.
 
He’s staring out into the crowd when he asks his next question.
 
“What do you mean by ‘guys like him’?”

I don’t want to say it.
 
Something’s holding me back from doing the thing I know I have to do.
 
It’s stupid and dangerous to play games with Tarin right now, so the smart thing to do is nip this noxious weed in the bud before it grows up and strangles us both.
 
Or maybe I can let it grow…

“She doesn’t date rock stars,” says Scott, handing me his empty bottle.
 
He’s rescuing me from making a really big mistake; I know this, and yet I wish he’d kept his damn mouth shut.

“I gotta go.
 
See you in a few.”
 
Scott leans in and kisses me on the cheek before pushing his way into the sea of bodies.

“Where the hell is he going?” I ask, standing there like a dope with the empty bottle hanging from my fingers.

Tarin takes it from me.
 
“I think he’s getting on stage.”

“What?”
 
This doesn’t compute. Scott doesn’t get on stage.
 
Not for Jack, not for anyone.

“Look.”
 
Tarin gestures to the side of the stage where Scott is climbing some rickety-looking stairs.
 
The burly Russian-looking guy from the front door is there making sure no one else goes up with him.
 
Jack comes out from behind one of the black walls and joins Scott on stage.

The DJ’s music is still pumping away, but people on the dance floor are turning together to face the stage as they realize something’s about to happen.
 
Cheers rise up and drown out most of the other sounds in the room.
 
The only thing I can hear over their voices is the bass.

“Let’s get closer,” Tarin says, taking me by the elbow.

I chug down the rest of my drink and put my empty glass down on a tabletop as we walk by.
 
Tarin leans behind me and puts the beer bottles there too.
 
His hand moves to my lower back as he guides me onto the dance floor.

It’s too dark for anyone to recognize him out here.
 
For the first time since we’re together, he’s anonymous to the outside world.
 
The music is so loud and the lights so flashy, we should probably feel completely disoriented, but it’s having the opposite effect.

Tarin turns to me, and it’s like we’re in our own little world.
 
We both start moving to the beat as we look into each other’s eyes.
 
To stand still would have been awkward.

My earlier daydream is coming true.
 
I’m dancing with Tarin and my blood pressure is ready to go through the roof over it.
 
Be cool!
 
It’s not a big deal!
 
I’m trying to listen to my own counsel, but it has zero effect.
 
I’m freaking out.

“You like the music?” he asks, his hands moving to my elbows.
 
People are pushing us together and our bodies are touching at our thighs.
 
I never meant for this to happen when I agreed to come here and bring him with me.
 
There’s a storm brewing inside my heart and mind, and the temperature between us is rising to dangerous levels.
 
I don’t know whether to be distressed or thrilled, so I settle for a mixture of the two conflicting emotions.

“I’m not big on raves,” I say, looking around us, playing it as cool as possible considering I’m about to explode with pent up sexual frustration.
 
The spaced-out happy smiles on a few of the faces around us and some exaggerated dirty dancing by others tells me some of them took some X recently.

“You like my music better than this techno bullshit,” he says, giving me one of his devilish grins.

I nod, because there’s no point in lying.
 
“Much.”

“What about Jack’s music?
 
Do you like his better than mine?”

He’s serious.
 
The playful smile has left his face.
 
I get the impression that the answer is important to him too and that he doesn’t just want platitudes from me.

The problem is, I don’t know whether it’s music that he’s talking about or something else.
 
I feel like I’m about to cross the line and tell him something about not just his music but things between
us
, but I don’t care enough to hold back completely.
 
I let some of my abandon slip through and guide me.

“What difference does it make?” I ask, my body moving in perfect rhythm to his.
 
We’re good together on the dance floor.
 
It’s like each of us knows what the other will do and responds without thinking.
 
It makes me wonder what else we’d be good at together, and I picture us naked in bed before I can stop my runaway train brain.
 
So, so, so not professional.
 
I wish I felt worse about the fact that my rules about not getting involved are becoming less and less important to me, but I don’t.
 
Something about Tarin makes me re-evaluate my carefully crafted life and find it wanting.

“I just want to know.”
 
He pulls me closer.
 
I can feel almost all of him.
 
Smell him.
 
We’re sweating together.
 
The hardness of his body is intoxicating.

“You just want to know what?”
 
I’m playing games.
 
Stalling.
 
Not sure how far I should let this go.
 
My heart is racing, and I know now that it’s not the music setting its pace.
 
It’s Tarin.

He answers me, but I don’t hear him.

“What?!” I yell, leaning in closer.
 
Now our chests are touching too.

He puts his hands on my upper arms and pulls me into him.
 
We’re almost embracing when his voice finally comes to my ear.
 
“I want to know what my competition is.”
 
His breath tickles my neck and sends shivers down my spine.

I pull back, quickly putting space between us.
 
I can’t control the flush coming over my body or how I’m responding to his touch, but I can keep this from going any farther.
 
I shouldn’t have led him on.
 
It was stupid and thoughtless and selfish, not to mention beyond dangerous.
 
“There is no competition, Tarin.”

He goes from playful to angry in the space of two seconds.
 
He doesn’t say anything, he just lets me go and turns a little towards the stage.

He’s still dancing, but his moves become more fluid, more obvious.
 
A girl standing nearby starts moving with him, and I get pushed off to the side by their swaying bodies.
 
He lifts his arms above their heads and really starts moving his hips with purpose.
 
She takes the clue and backs up into him, giving him what he’s obviously looking for.

I turn away, unable to look at them anymore.
 
My heart feels like it’s being torn in half and I’m instantly sick to my stomach. Such a simple, stupid thing … him dancing with a stranger … and I’m ready to cry.
 
Jesus, what is wrong with me?

I try to leave the dance floor, but there are too many people in my way.
 
I’m trapped, but the idea of standing there next to Tarin like a sad, dumped loser is so unappealing, I dance.
 
I act like I don’t care that his emotions come and go like the tides, that he can look at me and slay me with a single smile, or that seeing him having fun with another nameless bimbot is killing me.

Doing my best to feel the beat and move with it, I act like I’m completely cool with Tarin’s games because they don’t affect me.
 
I think I’m doing pretty well at pulling it off too, and then someone up on stage strums a guitar and I spin around, instantly forgetting the game I’m playing as I get lost in the vision before me.

Scott?

I stop dancing as the music fades into nothing and a man steps up to the microphone.
 
It’s the DJ and he’s standing next to Scott.

“Yo, yo, yo!!
 
What’s up!” He’s still wearing headphones, only now they’re around his neck. “Party people in the houuuse tonight!”

The cheer that rises up in response is deafening.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!
 
Who’s ready to rock this party?”

More cheers blow out my eardrums. It has the miraculous effect of drowning out my misgivings temporarily, picking me up and carrying me along on a wave of abandon.
 
I can’t help but let go of my frustration and join in the fun.
 
It’s easing the sting of Tarin’s rejection to be a part of such an excited group of people, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit around and feel sorry over something that can never be.

I can tell by people’s expressions that some of Jack’s most die-hard fans are in attendance.
 
I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that some of them traveled from other states to be here.
 
Many are chanting his name.