I twist toward him. “I don’t believe that.”
“You’re in denial then. My mystery draws you in, sure. But you’ll realize under the layers there’s not much left to give, or take.”
I lick my lips, teasing him as I wink and bump my knee into his. “What makes you think you’re in control of me?”
He smiles, twists to face me, and rests his hands on either side of my chair, leaning in. His body heat consuming, even with the shade of space between us. “You fucking know I am.” Sadly, this is true. In so many ways. And then he reaches for my hand. “Let’s go. I’m hungry.” He pauses and gestures to the untouched food. “And this shit is for birds.”
I follow him out of my dressing room, our hands connected. We ditch security, not exactly an easy task, but he’s surprisingly really good at going unnoticed in a crowd when he wants to.
We walk for what seems like forever. Until my feet hurt. I ask him if I can have a cigarette and the glare I get makes me think he might possibly be the devil in a leather jacket. We talk for hours while both our phones vibrate in our pockets, no doubt everyone wondering where we disappeared to. Conversation is easy and relaxed. How’d we get like this? How’d this happen that I’m walking around downtown after midnight with a guy I couldn’t stand a few weeks ago?
“I’m dying for a milkshake,” I tell him when we pass by a small diner in downtown Los Angeles. “Think there are any good places around here?”
Revel takes a long drag of his smoke and gives me a smile. “Yeah,” he says, exhaling a slow stream of smoke through his nostrils. It dances through the night air mixing with the fog hovering over the city. He flicks his half-smoked cigarette into the parking lot. Like the guiding presence he’s become, he steers me in the direction of the door, his hand in mine. “Let go to this place.”
“Uh, what?” I stop at the door, afraid to go in, but I never release my hand from his. I’m not one to judge a place by the storefront, but this one place I think I should. It’s like that hotel inThe Shiningif it was a restaurant downtown and in the bad part of the neighborhood. Not the bad, but thebad. You know what I’m talking about too. The kind you enter and don’t walk out of. “It looks like a murder scene.”
He rolls his eyes, tugging me forward, his calm disposition surprising me. “Live a little, Princess.”
Live a little? Who is this guy? He’s certainly not the reclusive rock star I thought I knew. Look at his face, the smirk, the wild eyes. He’s serious.
My stomach churns with fear. “So what happens when they recognize us?” He had to know we’re not exactly blending in. Despite wearing hooded sweatshirts, jackets, and sunglasses, we’re walking targets. Him more so than me. Tie back my red hair and throw sweats on and I can go unnoticed. Most of the time. Revel, not so much. I don’t know what it is about him either, but he attracts attention wherever he goes.
Revel looks around the diner, shrugging. “There’s like two people.”
I draw in a deep breath and follow. Sadly, I’d follow him anywhere. “Okay.”
A strawberry shake for me, a chocolate one for him and twenty minutes later, we’re still alive and wishing we hadn’t stepped foot in that dive diner.
“Clearly I underestimated that whole scene.” Revel laughs, coughing around the cigarette in his mouth.
I grin at him, still sucking down my milkshake I had them put in a to-go cup after Revel signed every single menu they had. All thirty-two of them and Gretchen—the manager’s—tits. I smile at his missing hoodie that smelled like cigarettes and the vodka he spilled on it trying to refill his flask earlier. “Yeah ya did. Now I understand how the fur coat came about.”
“It seems women like to steal my clothes.”
I smile at him as we step off the curb to cross the street with no destination in mind. “I still have your T-shirt from the other night.”
Like it’s automatic for him, he reaches for my hand as we cross the street. I take it, willingly. “You really don’t remember that night?
“You mean when Hardin gave me the molly, or the other night I don’t remember?” I laugh, though his body tensing tells me he doesn’t think it’s funny. “I don’t remember the night we went to Mango’s either. Do you?”
He doesn’t look at me or respond for a moment. He looks straight ahead. We keep step, together, our footsteps the only sound on the quiet suburban street we find ourselves on. For Southern California in December, it’s surprisingly warmer than I imagined it’d be, but still, I hold his hand, not for the warmth, but the security. Just when I think he’s not going to reply, he breathes in deeply, exhaling slowly. “I don’t remember much really, but some details come to mind.”
“And?”
“Those details.” He flicks his icy blues to mine just for a moment. Long enough to make my breath catch. “They’remine.”
They’re mine? What the fuck does that even mean? Stupid secret keeper.
Unprepared for the reaction my body has to basically everything he says and does, I point up the street. “I don’t live far from here. I think. We could go back to my place.”
He shakes his head, no words.
I won’t lie. His denial stinks. I fight off a frown, but I’m too obvious. “You don’t. . . it’s fine.”
“I want to. . . I just. . . .” His words fade, his hand rising to run through his hair as he draws in a heavy breath.
“Are you waiting until you’re married?” I tease, trying to find humor and keep from letting him know I’m feeling self-conscious.
