The alcohol turned me into a giddy, wild, languid mess, and my heart thrummed almost as fast as the beat.
We had some party tricks too. In the middle of a mad punk rock song with a quick rhythm, I hit the snare as fast as I could while T poured a beer down my throat. Because the wolf got thirsty! Whew! Sweat poured down my hairline, and I hurriedly pulled my tee over my head between two songs, and some of the younger chicks catcalled for me. For some reason, that always made me blush. I was just overheated!
I was forgotten mere minutes later when it was T who hauled off his shirt to show his tatted torso. We went nuts and fueled one another, going faster and faster until someone fucked up. Not that anyone noticed.
It was my turn sooner rather than later. A drumstick broke in half, and I hurried to grab one of my spares from the top of the kick drum.
“That’s eleven, lad!” T grinned and glanced back at me.
He was keeping score on how many sticks I broke each “season”… It was a whole thing on our Facebook page.
I laughed and shook my head, pounding away as Nicky switched to the tin whistle. Time for our last song, a crazy tune, a cover, where focus was on Nicky’s whistle and my kick drum and hi-hat. As if my legs weren’t already killing me. They were gonna turn into jelly as soon as I was off the stage.
I screwed my eyes shut and poured all my energy into the furious beat. The heat was getting to me, especially the red and purple lights above us. The alcohol wasn’t helping… I was starting to feel a little dizzy.
The crowd went insane after the last verse, and T belted out a final chorus.
Oh my God, I was gonna die. At the same time, I was riding a high that kept my mind and heart light.
“You’ve been great, we’ve been greater!” T finished as usual. “You can catch us in Alexandria next Saturday.”
I tossed my drumsticks into the audience and snickered breathlessly as Miranda caught one. She was one of our most dedicated followers and probably had six of my sticks now.
The music changed, and the club went from uninhibitedly Irish to modern rock with pop influences. AKA, dance-friendly. I didn’t mind too much. I liked shaking what my momma had given me just as much as the next guy.
I jumped off the stage and bobbed my head to the music, and a second later, T was sticking a bottle of water in my face.
“Are you saying I’ve had enough?” I laughed hoarsely.
“I’m saying you need water,” he stated with a lazy smirk. “Drink all of it before you even think about another shot.”
I shrugged, fine with that. I knew they were only looking out for me.
“Hey—Noa.” Morris jerked his chin at something near the bar behind us, and I followed his gaze.
Whoa. I’d half expected to see his latest conquest, not KC! He was here! He hadn’t said anything to me, but he was here! The joy that flooded my senses was out of this world, and I just barely managed to stammer out that I’d be right back. I wasn’t gonna skirt my responsibility to help load the truck.
“It’s fine—we’ll see you out back in a bit,” T assured.
I chugged hurriedly from my water, then set the bottle on a table before I made my way toward the bar. Oh, I was so happy to see him. He’d spotted me too, and he shot me a tentative smirk as I got closer.
Lucian wasn’t here tonight.
“You came!” Unable to stop myself, I got on my toes and threw my arms around KC’s neck and hugged him so tightly.
His warm chuckle tickled my shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine, and served as a reminder that I was still shirtless.
Fuck, how I’d missed him.
“I couldn’t miss it.” His voice was just as warm, and I had to tighten my hold on him. It was a strange feeling. Euphoria mingled with comfort and silliness. I was a bit woozy from the drinks, yet clearheaded and in control.
“Sorry I’m getting sweat all over you.” I inched away just enough to look up at him.
He smiled faintly. “I think I’ll live. You were wonderful as always.” Then he narrowed his eyes playfully. “But you’ve been drinking.”
I nodded and smiled widely for some reason. “I had tequila and whiskey!”
“That’s not something to be triumphant about, freckles.” He was pretending to be annoyed. It was so funny. “I don’t want you to get hurt, and you don’t know your limits.”
Two could play that game. Anything to stay in this little bubble we’d created. I didn’t even register the Friday night cacophony around us.
“You don’t know my limits,” I said. “I have soft limits and hard limits—wanna hear them?”