Wreck (Sphere of Irony 4)

Kate shakes her head and puts her hand on the doorknob. “No. It’s not good. Adam can be a real wanker sometimes, but… he has issues.” She sighs, her shoulders dropping. “Honestly, he’s a good guy. I’ve known him for a long time and was in school with him forever.” I knew she grew up outside London with Dax and one of the other guys in the band. The other member must be Adam.

“I believe you.” I squeeze her hand in support. “Since I’ve been studying psychology, I recognize that people act out in specific ways, sometimes to combat the terrible things in their head.”

“Right. Yeah, I forgot you would understand better than most people. Thanks. Maybe you’ll be good for Adam, who knows?” Without warning, Kate spins and points a finger at me. “Just don’t shag him, you’ll regret it and I’ll have to kill him.” I’m about to laugh, but she takes a deep breath and opens the door.

Not even one step inside the room, Kate squeals, crossing the length in a few hurried steps to leap into Dax’s outstretched arms. When they begin making out with sloppy, wet kisses, my face heats up. I glance around the room, desperate for anything to take my focus off their very physical display.

“Hi.”

Oh my god. One of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen in my life unfolds his tall body from a tattered couch and holds out his hand. My voice fails me, my mouth hanging open. Somehow, I manage to lift my arm to shake hands with the stunning, golden-skinned, blond man.

“Gavin Walker,” he says, his voice quiet but rich and melodic.

“Abby. Abby Kessler,” I somehow choke out.

“Left another one speechless, did you, Walker?” A second man pushes Gavin’s shoulder, sending him stumbling sideways.

“Jackass,” Gavin says, pushing the other man back.

“Hey there. You’re Kate’s friend?” the new man asks. My breath is sucked from my lungs. Are any of these guys not gorgeous? Where Gavin is gold, Hawke is onyx. His black hair and black-framed glasses compliment his olive skin.

“Ummmm… y-yes. I-I’m Abby.”

He grins, sticking out his hand. As his firm grasp envelops my hand, my eyes are drawn to the tattoos peeking out from his sleeves. “Hawke Evans, drummer.”

When our hands touch, a strange buzz electrifies my skin. I don’t want to let go, completely mesmerized by his handsome face. My attraction to this man isn’t the same as what I feel when looking at Gavin. Gavin is beautiful, yes—he’s perfect—but Hawke is appealing in a different kind of way. A way that speaks to something deep inside. Only a few inches taller than my five-seven, his dark hair is wild and standing off his head in large, messy waves. His clothes are modern and fitted—tight jeans, red Chucks, and requisite hipster T-shirt over a long-sleeved thermal. A bar in his eyebrow glints in the light, as do the multiple piercings in his ears, along with a small stud in his lower lip and another in his nose.

None of his physical features are what I find fascinating, though he is beautiful to look at. No, it’s what I see behind his geek chic, black-framed glasses that calls to me. His eyes, one light brown, one bright blue, are like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I’m not sure what it is, just that he turns me on like no one else has. My attraction is indefinable and borne of instinct.

I picture myself tracing those tattoos with my tongue, causing goose bumps to break out up my arm and at the base of my neck. Yet, I’m not cold. In fact, I’m suddenly quite warm. My previously useless libido kicks into high gear, sending a flood of liquid heat that starts at the top of my head to rush to the bottom of my feet.

“H-hi.” I cringe at my social inadequacies. Hawke smirks and glances down at where I’m still clutching his hand. I yank back like he’s on fire and stare at the ground, humiliated. “Sorry.”

Hawke laughs—a light, playful laugh that sends a shiver down my spine. “No worries. Thirsty?”

I pray for the one-percent chance that my face isn’t bright red and glance up. Hawke is smiling, his expression pleasant and open, not judgmental or irritated at my social faux pas. That fiery heat hits me again… hard.

“Sure.” Without question, I follow his lead to a table in the back of the room set up with an assortment of soft drinks, alcohol, and food.

“Take your pick,” he says, waving his hand over the table. I grab a Diet Coke while Hawke chooses a bottle of water. When he lifts it to his mouth, his sleeves push back, revealing more of his intriguing tattoos.

I stare at the slashes of bright ink on his sinewy forearms. He’s a drummer, so of course his arms would be all muscled and hot. My eyes flick back up to his, studying the unusual dual colors. Maybe I’m projecting my lust onto Hawke, but I swear I see some of it reflected back at me.

My brain is telling me to stay away, keep my distance from the gorgeous drummer. But my instincts are telling me to get naked with him as soon as possible. A relationship with a guy like Hawke would never work out.

“Want to sit down and talk for a while?” Hawke asks, breaking my rambling thoughts.

Who says it would be a relationship? Maybe I’m getting a little ahead of myself.

Maybe Hawke is exactly what I need in my boring, unadventurous life. I stare into those intriguing eyes once more and I already know my decision has been made. A hot guy—the bad boy with tattoos, piercings, and pretty much unattainable to an inexperienced girl like me?

I’m a total goner.

Hawke

“That was brilliant,” Dax says, holding up his beer for a toast.

“Cheers, mate.” Adam clinks his third, or maybe fourth—hell, it’s probably his twelfth—glass against everyone else’s. Beer slops out the side and onto his hand. “Oops.” He looks utterly unconcerned by the mess.