Lead (Stage Dive 3)

Dean just nodded.

“Yeah, anyway.” I needed to shut up. Talk about protesting too much.

The sweat on the back of my neck from dancing gave me goose pimples out in the cold night air and my body felt pleasantly worn out, my brain ambling toward sleep. I’d have to wake up to drive home. If I put a scratch on his car, Jimmy would kill me.

“I had a really good night,” I said, offering Dean my hand.

With a grin, he took it, tugging me gently in toward him. His lips touched mine. Warm lips, warm breath, warm everything, and his face was so close. I didn’t close my eyes, I guess I was a little stunned. The moment had crept up on me, silly but true. Good god, his eyelashes were really long. Also, I’d never kissed anyone with a lip ring before. Metal pressed against the side of my mouth, it was a weird sensation.

He stepped back and smiled. “I’d like to do this again.”

“I’d like that too.” And I meant it, we’d had a great night.

He slid his hands into his jeans pockets.

“I’ll see you later.” I fossicked in my purse for the keys. “’Night.”

Once I was safely inside he leaned down, waved. I waved back. Then he stood on the pavement, waiting until I drove away smiling.

Tonight had been so much better, there was really no comparison. A date with a nice, intelligent man who surprised me with a soft kiss at the end. It was sweet. You didn’t need to find someone who turned your world on its axis to be happy; inner body explosions and mini-heart attacks were not necessarily the answer to long-term joy. But this warmth, contentment, it was nice.

Jimmy would be pleased.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

We were halfway around the block the next morning when Jimmy pulled to a halt, his breath coming in harsh pants. No, all right, that was me. Jimmy wasn’t even breathing heavy despite jogging having split me inside somehow. It couldn’t be healthy. Though I’d made it further before falling apart then yesterday. Progress was a slow, gradual, agonizing thing.

“You got in late last night.” He bent at the waist, stretching.

“Yeah, we went dancing.” No wonder my calves were being so unforgiving this morning.

Jimmy made some noise. I don’t know what it meant.

When I’d called mid-date to check in on him, he’d said something about messing around with a guitar. The conversation had been curt. Basically he’d reported that he was fine, told me to get back to my date, and then hung up on me. A normal sort of phone conversation where he was concerned.

He straightened. “Thought about what you said, about me dating.”

I tried to keep my surprise off my face. “And?”

Apparently the trees down the street were riveting because his gaze stayed glued to them. “Called an old friend. She, ah … she got sober recently too, went through rehab. We talked for a while. She’s thinking of coming up from LA so we can catch up.”

“Jimmy that’s great.” I tried to smile. Honest to goodness, I gave it my all, but my face felt stiff, wrong.

Catch up could mean so many things. To my twisted mind, catching up rock-star style had everything to do with copulation and nothing to do with cake and coffee with friends. This was, after all, Jimmy Ferris we were talking about. His abstinence had always surprised me. He was such a big moody animal prowling about the house, snapping and snarling. All too easily, my mind provided lurid images of him sinking his teeth into someone, tongue licking, nails scratching. Oh, god, now I was panting for an entirely different reason. My filthy mind was out of control.

He’d said he only touched when he f**ked. I bet this old friend of his would have finger marks all over her inside of a day, lucky girl. And to think it had been my bright-ass idea.

God, I hated me.

“Great,” I said, trying to conjure up mental images of Dean. So cute and sweet and stuff, so much more within my reach. He didn’t have heartbreak written all over him the way Jimmy did. There was no need for a warning sign on his handsome forehead.

“Yeah.” At long last he looked my way and I hid my misery as best I could. “Listen, Lena. I am sorry I was an ass**le when you bought it up, guess you caught me off guard.”

“You’re apologizing to me?”

He did the chin jerk thing.

“Wow.”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he muttered.

“No. No, okay. Can you just say it one more time for me?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven. Don’t do it again or I’ll kick your ass into next week.”

“You’re about half my size.”

“Ah, but I’m highly motivated and own a fine selection of pointy-toed boots. Consider yourself warned.”

“Right,” he said, voice somewhere between wary and amused. Little did he know exactly how serious I was. Some of those boots could do real damage on the feet of a woman with a grudge.

Then he stepped closer, inspecting the general area of my mouth.

“What?” I asked, half tempted to cover my face with my hand.

“You’ve got a bit of beard rash.”

“Oh.” I scrubbed at my lips, not that it would do anything apart from making it worse. Guilty feelings slunk around inside me for some reason, like kissing on the first date was a crime. It had all happened so fast. Dean stepped into me and his lips were on mine and I let him. That was the truth of it, all feelings for Jimmy aside, I’d let Dean kiss me. He didn’t make it to second base.

“How was it?” he asked, still standing much closer than necessary, still staring at my lips. Fear of the foreign look in his eyes held me immobile. Exactly what he was asking after, I didn’t want to know. And if I didn’t ask, I could pretend he meant the food last night or something equally harmless like the weather.

“It was … nice,” I said.

“Nice,” he said, voice low and mesmerizing. “You liked it.”

I shrugged, committing in any other way felt dangerous somehow.

“How far did you let him go?” His gaze roamed over my neck, my chest, and everywhere he looked I lit up, sweaty, disheveled, and smelly as I was. When he looked at me that way, it didn’t matter. It took all of my restraint not to cross my arms over my chest. I could only hope my sweatshirt was thick and baggy enough to hide any evidence of arousal. My ni**les’ ongoing infatuation with the man was a terrible misguided thing.

“W-what?” I asked.

“Under your clothes or over?”