Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Jacob
WE POP THE FIRST bottle immediately. We’re ordering a second one before we finish pouring. Then a third. And a fourth. The servers plunk down bottle after bottle at our private VIP table, and I don’t have any clue who’s ordering them, much less who’s going to pick up the bill.
Once, a night like this would have eaten my rent money for months; tonight, I don’t have to care if it’s on my credit card or someone else’s. My head swirls from that fact or the alcohol or both. I can’t tell anymore, especially as Shawn hands me another drink.
He clinks a glass against the one he gave me. “Happy birthday. To…”
He falters. His scowl suits his whole broody guitarist look. His long black hair brushes his shoulders. Hardware glints in his eyebrow, his ears, his lip. The heat in the club convinced him to shrug off his jacket and expose the tattoos crawling up both arms and peeking out of the collar of his shirt. He’s the most like a rockstar out of any of us, but he looked this way long before we got our big break. For all his loud appearance, he’s a quiet guy, the type to keep to himself, so I’m used to stepping in to speak for him.
“To doing whatever the hell we want,” I supply.
A lopsided smirk twists Shawn’s mouth. He taps his glass against mine again, then we’re both drinking. Drinking even more, I mean. My head spins, and Shawn has to catch me by the shoulder as I sway. The last time I drank this much was probably college, and the quality of the booze was significantly lower.
The alcohol leaves me restless. I go to the balcony, watching the dancefloor below. Lights whirl over the shapeless field of shadows gyrating beneath us. It’s like a turbulent sea crashing against the deck of a ship, the waves growing stronger, the spray hitting me in the face. The DJ is a siren luring me into the depths, the tug more insistent the longer I stand at the balcony and observe.
“Let’s dance,” I say to Shawn, who stands beside me.
He grimaces. “I don’t dance.”
I would sigh if it would be audible over the throb of the music pulsing through the club. Of course he doesn’t dance. He’s too cool and aloof for dancing, but I’m not. I search the rest of the crew I have with me tonight. Over the years of struggling to make it as a band, my core friend group naturally narrowed down to the other members of Baptism Emperor. The Ten Hours are mostly here because Keannen is dating their drummer, yet another change that’s come along with the rest of this ride. I used to be a people-person; I am a people-person. My friend group in college spanned the entire campus. But the demands of struggling as a small-time band eking out a living narrowed my social circle.
The fame hasn’t helped. I hate the thought that it’s changed me, but I can’t deny it. I can’t go out as freely. I can’t become friendly with co-workers at my day job. There is no day job. There are no co-workers. There’s only this, the band, the music, the security guys watching us with scowls twisting their mouths.
My gaze wanders to Seth, a hulking shadow standing beside the stairs to the VIP balcony. He eyes everyone going up and down that stairwell, mentally cataloging them, searching for intruders and dangers. Does anyone in that crowd down there really care who we are, though? They’re as drunk as me, many of them dancing with their body pressed against a stranger’s. Why would they care what I’m doing?
Seth’s eyes glide toward me, and I realize with a jolt that I’ve been staring. His face doesn’t change, as hard and unflinching as ever, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away like I might expect. He stands there staring, and I stare right back, too tipsy to care. The warm chocolate of his eyes pierces the haze of sweat and booze in the club. His mouth is a firm, unflinching line, his jaw hard and scratchy with beard. He stands with his arms crossed over his chest, perhaps a casual pose, but it shows off all his carefully curated muscle, and my mouth goes dry.
Anyone. I could have anyone in this club. I’m invincible right now. I’m fearless with alcohol. Yet I can’t stop staring at the one man I can’t have.
It doesn’t help that he still hasn’t looked away.
Body warm with a seeping, crawling heat that wells up from deep in my gut, I leave Shawn at the balcony and strut up to Seth. He doesn’t flinch at my approach, but the unrelenting line of his mouth hardens, a gash carved into stone.
“Come dance with me,” I say, bold and stupid.
Seth’s scowl deepens.
“Please? It’s my birthday.”
He rolls his eyes. “I am not dancing.”
“Why not? It’s fun.”
He doesn’t bother responding to that, and I grab for his folded arms, meaning to pry them open. I miss, even from this close, and suddenly the world is spinning worse than it was a moment ago.
A hand catches my waist. A big, strong, steady hand.
Heat flushes through me before I’m steady enough to look up and find Seth holding me. He lets go almost immediately, recrossing his arms like the moment never happened, but the memory of his hand lingers on my skin through the porous mesh of my shirt. It’s like a brand, the heat searing my skin long after his hand retreats.
It’s all I’ll get tonight.
I know it. I knew it before I ever stepped into this club, but that doesn’t cool the hot flash of frustration that burns through me. I’m rich. I’m famous. I can have anything and anyone I want. Except the one person I want.
I stomp toward the stairs without thinking.
“Where are you going?” Seth calls.
“Dancing,” I declare.
Seth’s eyes dart around. A couple people jump up from the VIP seats to follow me. Seth waves and one of his guys sweeps in to take his place beside the stairs.
I pay attention to none of it, continuing my charge toward the dancefloor below with a small army on my heels. If Seth won’t dance with me, someone else will. He isn’t the only big guy in this club … he’s simply the one I like and trust the most.
I shake my head. Like and trust doesn’t matter. I’m supposed to like and trust Seth. He looks after me, takes care of me, protects me. He’s my bodyguard. He’s only doing all that stuff because he has to.
That’s why he’s all but running after me.
I ignore him, ignore everyone behind me, all but sprinting for the dancefloor. The dark engulfs me, cloaking me in anonymity as I wade into the throbbing crowd. I put my arms up, letting other bodies batter me about, letting the sway of the music move me. Humanity clusters around me, rendering me an anonymous face in the crowd, a nameless guy in a dark club, no one special at all.
I spin and find Seth watching me. He stands at the edge of the crowd, stern and concerned. Is he supposed to look concerned? If he’s only doing a job, then why are his eyes bright and frantic when they catch on me?
I wade out of the throng and up to him, repeating the same plea I issued upstairs: “Dance with me.”
“No,” he says flatly.
“Why?”
“Because I’m working,” he says. “For you.”
My frustration boils over. “Well then as your boss , I want you to dance with me.”
Seth’s scowl carves deeper into his face. “That isn’t happening.”
He stands as immovable as a boulder, and just as hard and cold. His arms are crossed over his chest again, his pecs pushed up in a way I need to not notice if I’m going to maintain my indignation. Too late. My eyes flicker down, and when I manage to drag them back up, Seth swallows hard enough that I see his throat bob.
I know desire when it’s staring me in the face. It isn’t only the booze telling me he wants me. He doesn’t pay the same kind of attention to the others, even Keannen says so. Plus, there was that moment in his car the other day, the moment when he declared my safety his personal mission. That’s more there mere professional courtesy.
Clearly, I’m not going to convince him to give in, so I spin on my heel and leap back into the crowd. A couple of the others are with me, Erin with her purple dreads, Kelsey bouncing around, Levi swaying with a stoned smile on his face. Everyone else is upstairs being cool and aloof like Shawn, I guess, but I don’t care. I don’t care about them, about Seth, about any of it. I want to dance, and it’s my birthday, so I’m going to damn well dance.
I close my eyes and sway, raising my arms over my head. The thump of the beat shudders through my body, pushing me around.
Then a hand slides around my waist. For a beat, my buzzing brain believes it’s Seth, but it’s too small, too gentle.
I open my eyes and find a stranger smiling at me. I smile back, letting him hold me as we both keep dancing. He leans close, speaking into my ear.
“Hey, you’re Jacob from Baptism Emperor, aren’t you?”
I jerk out of his hold. The guy puts up his hands, but suddenly I realize he isn’t the only one staring. In fact, the whole dancefloor seems focused on me, eyes picking over me like crows picking at carrion. Greed glints in their gazes, and suddenly it feels like the whole club is pressing in around me.
I stumble back, but I could swear the crowd closes around me like a fist. I scan for the others and find them retreating off the dancefloor and shooting worried looks over their shoulders. How did I end up so deep in the crowd by myself?
The next time someone grabs me, there’s no doubt in my mind that it’s Seth.
The arm that wraps around my waist is thick and strong. It leaves no room for argument as it hauls me away. I gasp like someone threw me into a cold pool as all the heat and friction of the dancefloor evaporates. Seth barrels his way out of it, all but carrying me as he does. He only releases me when we reach the hallway at the back of the club.
“Out,” he says. “Now.”
“But—”
“Birthday’s over.”
I blink and realize he’s correct. The others are already at the other end of the hall. Even the ones who remained upstairs are heading down, ushered along by the other two security guys.
Seth turns me by the shoulders and pushes me along. I stumble, drunk and disoriented when I plunge into the dark of the hall.
The cold outside is even worse. It’s not truly cold, not this time of year, but compared to the heat of all those bodies rubbing against me, it’s arctic. I shiver, hugging my arms around myself. I didn’t only want to dance. I wanted the connection, the feel of other bodies touching mine, the closeness of strangers dancing together in the dark. It turns out that’s yet another thing I can’t have anymore, another thing I’ve traded away in service of the music.
Seth sets his hand between my shoulder blades, a spot of warmth among the sudden chill of a big, empty, distant world. He moves me along, but gentler this time, and I stop fighting it, shuffling toward the car at the end of the alley.