I’m trying, I really am, to feel something more for him, but I’m still getting the platonic vibe on my end. I promised myself that I’d push Hawkin and the dark promise of his words that have filled my dreams with different variations of their suggestions from my mind and not let him interfere with the possibility that tonight holds.
Luke must sense my quiet observation because he glances over and smiles, hand reaching out to rest on my bare knee. I smile tightly and look out of the windshield, silently chastising myself for my indifference. I should feel something. Our skin-on-skin contact should make my blood hum and cause that delicious anticipatory ache in my core. I should be feeling that fluttery feeling in my stomach and be thankful I wore the lacy, barely there g-string panties with matching bra for him to gasp at later in the evening when he undresses me.
Or when he rips them off me.
But right now I’m thinking I could have worn my period panties and felt the same way as I do now. Not a good sign at all.
I mean he’s been a gentleman in all respects of the word: opening car doors, comfortable conversation, laughter, and flirty banter. He’s the guy you think you want, but hell if I can get into him.
And lamely I kind of resent him for it right now. Call my resentment being moody or estrogen-fueled misplaced anger but I need him to give me all of those feelings so that I can forget about Hawkin. Shit, I even played hooky and feigned an illness so I could skip the lecture on Thursday in an attempt to not sabotage my chances tonight.
And yet here I sit beside him, enjoying myself, having a good time, but I feel like I’m hanging out with a friend, not a potential horizontal cohabitant.
Luke squeezes my knee. “You figure it out yet?” he asks, all but bouncing with excitement.
“I have no clue.” I laugh because his enthusiasm is really adorable.
“Well, one of my sponsors this year is Verbz—the company that makes those high-end headphones. Anyway, there’s this big benefit tonight to raise money for Alzheimer’s research—a huge lineup of some of my favorite bands—and so they gave me tickets.”
My smile comes naturally while my synapses start to fire as I try to place a comment that Layla made the other night in our drunken state about how she’d love to see Bent play this weekend at a local concert. And there’s no way my luck can be so shitty that my date is taking me to see the man I’m wishing he was, perform.
“Sounds like fun—who’s performing?” I’m on a fishing expedition; I just hope he doesn’t notice.
“Shit, you name it, they’re performing. The D-Bags, Bending Cupid, the Mighty Storm, Black Falcon, and my fav band is, like, the main headliner: Bent.”
There you have it. How did I know he was going to say Hawkin’s band? I smile enthusiastically and say something about how exciting and what great bands while my mind rationalizes that it’s a concert where thousands of people will attend. I’ll be so far away from Hawkin that I should be able to keep my libidinous thoughts under control with so much distance between us.
“And even better,” he continues as we pull into the Staples Center, “we have backstage passes to the postshow meet and greet for the Bent guys.”
And the hits just keep on coming.
Luke keeps talking incessantly, chattering away about his favorite songs of each band as well as random trivia about each one as we make our way into the arena. Each step closer we get, my anticipation increases. Those fluttery feelings I was missing when he touched my knee are finally making their presence known and it’s all because of the man awaiting us inside.
“You’re being so quiet, is everything okay?” he asks, concern lacing his voice as he stops me in the darkened shadows of the facility.
“Yes! I’m just so surprised by all of this.” All the while I chastise myself for being so caught up in my own head and so selfish that I’m not doing the one thing I promised myself I would, leave Hawkin behind for the night.
And so maybe that’s why Luke catches me off guard when he leans forward and brushes his mouth against mine. My startled gasp parts my lips and he mistakes the action for wanting more, and he takes complete advantage of my reaction by slipping his tongue gently between them. I react in reflex, not really urging him on but not being a dead fish either, because I’m not exactly sure how I’m supposed to react short of pushing him away. He’s been nothing but polite and I don’t want to ruin the evening with him but at the same time don’t want to encourage him either.
The kiss ends quickly because being the gentleman he is, he keeps the first one as a way to gauge my interest and I’m hoping by my lack of enthusiastic reciprocation he might get the hint. A girl can hope anyway, because the thing is, Luke’s kiss was soft and taunting; it should call to my desire on every level … but the fluttering I feel at the mere thought of Hawkin just doesn’t compare to anything with Luke.
Luke smiles softly, a silent affirmation that yes, we did just kiss, and then links his fingers with mine as we enter the arena and prepare to hear the bands.
The concert so far has been great. Our seats are incredible, located just a few rows back from center stage. I’ve been able to push Hawkin from my mind and enjoy Luke. I’ve laughed with him, danced with him in the confines of our close quarters, and sang at the top of my lungs to the lyrics of each set. But now shouts of increasing volume pierce the air as the crowd waits for the final band to take the stage, Bent.
And I can’t help that I purposefully occupy my hands so Luke can’t hold one of them as I prepare for the visceral reaction I expect to have to the sight of Hawkin. As the anticipation builds I can feel my legs leaning forward to try to coax him to come into view, my need to lay eyes on him increasing with each passing second like an addict knowing her next fix is just within reach.