Strum Your Heart Out (6 page)

Drew: Of course.

Kara: So why don't you go fuck yourself?

Drew: Maybe I will ;)

Kara: Enjoy it.

Drew: I always do.

I throw my phone on my bed and boot up my computer. It's just after nine. The essay is due at the start of class tomorrow. If I skip my finance lecture and pull an all-nighter, I have a solid fourteen hours. Way more than I need.

My phone buzzes against the bed.

Drew: So by "write an essay," you really mean...

Kara: GOOD NIGHT!

Drew: Feel free to picture my ass if it helps.

CHAPTER SIX

I wake up to a picture message. It's the album cover of
Born in the USA.
Bruce Springsteen's jean-clad ass over red and white stripes.

It's from Drew, of course.

Drew: If The Boss doesn't get you there, no one will.

***

Friday morning, I wake up early and focus all of my energy on packing. I have about six hours and there's a ton to do. I get lost in the tasks, emptying my closet and bookshelf. Everything fits into two suitcases and four cardboard boxes.

My existence in this apartment fits into the trunk of my car.

I'm so focused, I don't stop until my stomach is growling. It's well into the afternoon and I haven't eaten all day. I finish off a box of Froot Loops and toss them in the recycling bin.

One last look around my room. Nothing under the bed. Nothing in the closet. Nothing left of mine.

I grab the handle of one of the suitcases—it's a huge pink thing, perfect for moving large amounts of shit—and drag it to the door. Getting it through the door is trickier than I'd like, but I manage okay. The stairs are going to be a bit more difficult.

I roll my shoulders back. The only way out is through. I grab the handle and lift it. Shit. It's heavy.

"You need some help with that?"

It's Drew. What the hell? We're supposed to meet at the new place in an hour, and he's standing at the bottom of my staircase.

"I've got it." I drag the suitcase down the first step and set it down with a thud.

"You're going to hurt yourself."

"Good."

He runs up the stairs and grabs the suitcase right out of my hands. Then he lifts it like it's nothing and descends.

Drew sets the suitcase on the concrete. He opens the trunk of his car—somehow he got a free space right outside the building—and shoves it inside.

"I could have done that," I say.

No response. He walks back up the stairs, past me, inside the apartment. Okay, fine. Apparently, we're doing things his way.

I make my way to my room and grab my other suitcase. Drew plucks my hand off it.

"I can do it," I say.

"It's heavy."

"I'm aware." I grab onto the handle. "Aren't you supposed to protect your hands?"

"My hands are more than capable."

I try to push him out of the way, but he doesn't budge. Drew raises his eyebrow. He stares at me like he's daring me to do something.

"Please move," I say.

He shakes his head.

Fine. I try to push past him. He grabs my shoulders and holds me in place. I try again. This time, he wraps his arms around me and lifts me off my feet.

What. The. Fuck.

Drew slides one hand under my ass and holds my body against his. I press hard against his shoulders. Not enough to hurt him. Or to convince him to never do this again.

"Put me down," I say.

"Are you going to let me carry the bags?"

"No."

"There's your answer."

"What is wrong with you?" I ask. "When did you get so fucking weird?"

He takes a step forward and drops me on the bed. I land on the mattress—Nadeen's mattress—with a thud. Drew climbs on after me. He slings his knee over my thighs, so he's straddling me.

His fingertips skim the edge of my t-shirt. He leans close. Close enough to kiss me. Close enough to fuck me.

"I don't want to tickle you into submission," he says, but from the way he's smiling it's clear he does.

He runs his fingers over my stomach. It's this strange thing between
I want you so bad
and
I'm going to tickle you until you pee your pants.

I clear my throat. "Fine."

"Thank you." He shifts off me and grabs the suitcase. "You should let other people help you."

"You should respect other people's wishes."

He's already out the door.

***

The landlord is waiting in front of the house with the keys in one hand and a takeout coffee cup in the other. She is all smiles now that Drew's money has made us worthy of her attention. Even with me in jeans and a v-neck that does little to cover my cleavage.

"Do you need any help?" she asks.

"I've got it all under control." He takes the key with indifference. "Thank you."

"I'll head back to work then. You really are a lovely couple."

Drew waits until we're out of earshot then turns to me. "We're a lovely couple."

I roll my eyes and grab my key. I copy the landlord's tone as I nod to my car. "Do you need any help?"

"Not at all."

"Great." I trudge up the concrete path. It's hard to stay irritated in front of such a nice house. There's something very soothing about the blue paint and the white trim, like a pastel version of the sky.

Still, I won't let Drew off that easily. I wait until I'm inside the house to let out a sigh of appreciation. This main room is huge. All I need is my ballet slippers and I can turn this place into my personal dance studio.

I slide out of my shoes and change from first to second position and back again. Even with a couch, a TV, and a huge dining table, there's enough space for any of my routines.

My shoulders relax. I check to make sure Drew is still outside, and I practice my turns. Quarter. Quarter. Half. Single. Double.

The door creaks open. I lean into my landing instinctively. There's no avoiding it. These steps are drilled into my brain.

Drew raises an eyebrow. "I haven't seen you dance like that since your seventh-grade ballet recital."

My feet go to first position instinctively. I smile like I have fantastic memories of my long-ago ballet recitals. I haven’t done much real dancing since I was on the high school dance squad. Mostly, I get my fix at the clubs on Saturday nights, but I miss the structure of ballet, jazz, and modern dance.

"You want me to keep some space clear?" He asks.

How the hell did he know? "That would be great."

"As long as you don't mind sharing. I need somewhere to do bodyweight exercises and I drip sweat during push-ups.."

I do everything in my power to keep a neutral expression.

He lifts the suitcase and heads up the stairs.

Drew dripping sweat in our living room. Drew dripping sweat. Must not picture Drew dripping sweat, on top of me, his body locked with mine.

Okay. Need to keep my mind occupied or it's going straight to the gutter. I head to the car and grab one of the boxes. I pass Drew on my way inside and he's smirking like he knows I'm fighting off lust with everything I've got.

I trudge up the stairs and place the box in the master bedroom. There are clothes and hangers in the suitcase and there's a perfectly good closet. It's enough to shake the lust out of my brain.

In theory.

I unzip the suitcase and start hanging dresses and blouses. Internship clothes in one corner. Stuff for class in the middle. Stuff for the clubs on the other side.

Drew steps inside the room. His eyes go to my unzipped suitcase. It's lying on the ground and—

Shit.

The last thing left in it is lingerie.

I'm not sure why I own any of it. I certainly never wore anything for anyone. There are a few bra and panty sets, bought so I could pretend to be a normal girl and not a damaged freak. At least the lacy thongs have a practical use. They don't show under my bodycon dresses. Anything else means panty lines, even under tights.

Drew smiles a wide, smug smile. "You need any help with that?"

"No, I'm fine."

He offers his hand. "Good. Then we can go."

"Where are we going?"

"Early dinner. Then there's a show. A friend's band." His gaze goes to a pink bra and panty set. "You're free to change if you want."

My cheeks flush.

"Or to skip the underwear entirely."

"Thanks for the permission."

"Anytime."

CHAPTER SEVEN

We eat at a cozy restaurant in Hollywood. The host must recognize Drew, because everyone else here is dressed to the nines. We're the only people wearing jeans and sneakers.

I order three courses and savor every bite. I'm starving and the food here is amazing. A caprese salad with sharp basil and thick tomatoes. Pasta packed with fresh shrimp and fresher vegetables. Just sweet enough flourless chocolate cake. We linger at the table with our post-dinner beverages, black tea for me, black coffee for him.

Dinner with my best friend should be effortless and casual. But it's far from that. Every time he looks at me, it's a little harder to breathe. My heartbeat picks up. My head fills with images of me and Drew naked and rolling around his bed, his nails on my skin, his lips on my neck, his cock deep inside me.

Okay. Time to catch my breath. I excuse myself to the bathroom.

My hair and makeup are about average for someone who just moved. If this concert is anything like a Sinful Serenade show, most people will be in band t-shirts and jeans, their hair and makeup carefully messy. But there will be a few dozen girls in tiny skirts and tall shoes, made up to perfection and waiting in line to flirt with their favorite band member. Or maybe even take him home.

I can fit into the former group. I part my messy hair so it looks on-purpose messy and I apply a little concealer, some thick eyeliner, a brush-on lipstick. My reflection looks less tired and more game for wherever the night takes her.

At the table, Drew is signing the check.

"I wanted to split that," I say.

He shrugs like it's not a big deal. Must be nice to shrug off a hundred dollar dinner like it's a cup of coffee.

"What happened to things being even between us?" I ask.

"They are." He stands and motions to the exit door. "This is because you're going to have to put up with Gavin."

I stare at him. Am I supposed to know who Gavin is?

"Singer of Dangerous Noise."

The band we're going to see. I nod, yeah, of course, like I'm cool enough to know all about Dangerous Noise. They must be decent if Drew likes them. I've never met anyone more specific or demanding than Drew is.

I follow Drew to the street. The setting sun casts an orange glow. It's beautiful and gritty all at once.

We walk a few blocks. There's no line at the club. The band isn't as popular as Sinful Serenade, but then who is?

We do not go to the main entrance. We walk through an alley, straight to the side door. There's a bouncer sitting in front of it, his attention devoted to a game on his phone.

He looks up and nods like he recognizes Drew. "Nice to see you, Mr. Denton."

"Mr. Denton is my dad. It's Drew." He nods to me. "This is my very good friend Kara. If you see anyone giving her shit, find me immediately, so I can beat him to within an inch of his life."

"You know what musicians are like."

"That's why I asked."

The bouncer shakes his head knowingly. Used to overprotective boyfriends, no doubt. Never mind the little detail that Drew and I are only friends.

The bouncer opens the door for us. We make our way through the backstage area. It's much more low-key than any other show I've ever been to. Twenty-something guys are setting up on stage. Everyone else is milling around a dressing room. No doubt milling around a bottle of alcohol.

Drew motions to the guys on stage. He steps through the curtains. His hand tightens around mine, like I'm supposed to follow him on stage. Sure, the doors aren't open yet, but I'm not going to be on a stage. I haven't been on stage since my high school dance performances.

The bright lights are familiar. Like my high school dance performances. They're the only thing I can see and they're so, so hot. Already, I'm sweating and it's only going to get worse the longer I'm around Drew.

Drew high-five hellos a tall guy with light hair. The guy turns to me.

He offers his hand. "Gavin. You must be Kara."

"I must be." I shake. "You guys opening?"

He nods. "The headliners are taking shots backstage. Sure they'd welcome the best guitarist—"

"Stop with that shit." Drew shakes his head. "As far as you know, I'm just another guy."

"Everyone knows your face. You're pretty much royalty around here." Gavin turns to me. "Don't let it go to his head."

"I couldn't."

Gavin motions for us to leave. "Doors open in fifteen. Get lost before you steal my thunder."

We head backstage. Someone from the headlining band recognizes Drew. He introduces himself and launches into this long speech about how amazing Drew's guitar skills are. It's far too technical for me to follow. I nod, uh huh, taking delight in the awkward look on Drew's face. Call me crazy, but I'm pretty sure he's blushing. The man does not like attention. He especially hates admiration.

Just when I think we're free of idolatry, another musician comes up to Drew and sings his praises. And here I thought rock stars only had to contend with rabid female fans. I scan the backstage area again. As far as I can tell, I'm the only woman here, and everyone is keeping a very wide radius. Either Drew gives off a protective aura or people here know enough about his penchant for threatening people to punches to avoid flirting.

Really, who does he think he's kidding? Like a guitarist is going to punch anyone in the face.

By the time the third fanboy is done praising Drew's musical abilities, the show is about to start. Drew rolls his eyes as his admirer leaves.

"Must be difficult hearing so much positive feedback," I say.

Drew sighs. "That guy didn't have a clue what he was talking about. It's just 'cause Sinful Serenade is famous, not that he actually appreciates our music."