Broken (28 page)

That would be me.

“Where is he?” Bree asks, her jaw chattering in the cold.
Jason Weller unzips his neon green hoodie and invites Bree inside with him. A flash
of
a genuine emotion crosses her face, and it’s obvious that she
likes him,
likes him.
She backs into Jason’s jacket and shivers in his arms.
“You told Lover Boy nine o’clock, right?”

“For the third time, Bree
. Y
es
, I told him to meet us here at nine
.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know how to get here,” Jason suggests.

“Everybody knows
how to get to DarkHouse
,” Bree says, then executes a spin inside the jacket
and bur
i
es
her face in his neck.

“Jeezus, woman!
” Poor Jason’s eyes go wide as coffee mugs. “You’re freezing.”

“Duh
.
”
Bree squirms closer, and Jason wraps his arms around her. The emotion on his face isn’t a flash, but a slow
build to something deep, and much warmer than the West Michigan night
.

“If she
’d just
wear something bigger
,” I nag, “
than that miniskirt and flimsy blouse
…”

Sure, the black skirt and tank to
p
with the white lace overlay will look amazing under black light… I missed out on the Style versus Substance gene. Chilly air bit
es
into my face and hands, but only nibble
s
elsewhere. My jeans,
tank top
and
clingy white thermal hoodie might not be sexy, but I’m not freezing my
butt
off, either.

“Well, look who it is,” Jason says, inclining his head behind me.

I spin. Alex saunters up along the vein of people bleeding into obscurity around the corner. Tall, unbelievably gorgeous in jeans, a black t-shirt and a white knit hoodie—hood up, sleeves down.
His eyes fall on me, and the same
flicker
of amazement washes his features, then the smile tugs at his scars. Girls up and down the line turn to him, cleavages and boobs lifting and tracking
,
like indicators on radar.

“
Hey,
Jason,” Alex says, with
a guy-to-guy nod, then adds, “Hi, Bree.”

“Hi,” comes in stereo, on
e
part clear and strong, the other muffled like a voice in a fog.

With pleasantries over, Alex focuses on me.

“
Hey
,”
he
says. He steps close, electricity dancing
across my skin, streaking through me
. His skin is a healthy, vital shade, his eyes bright almost glowing hazels.
A gravitational pull hits me when he opens his arms, and invites, “Com’ere.”

I slide into his embrace, the last puzzle piece clicking home. I’m vaguely aware of a dozen crestfallen girls, and Bree turning around inside Jason’s hoodie again.
When Alex
slips two fingers under my chin and tilts my face toward his,
we could be the only two people on earth.

Taking the invitation
,
I pop up on my toes and press my lips to his.
His
little
gasp of
surprise is a sweet reward. Then things slip past sweet and into blood-warming
savory when he deepens the kiss, parts my lips with his
and slides his arms around my back.
People watch and I don’t care.
I fling up both hands, and slide my left into his hood to touch his hair.
Alex smiles against my mouth, and kisses me one more time.

“Yep,” saves Bree. “It’s official.”

“You guys really only known each other a couple weeks?” Jason asks.

“Yeah
.
” Alex
winks, and says, “We’re just getting started.”

He twirls me around and tucks me back
-
to
-
front in his arms.
The chilly, breezy night takes on a magical air as if nothing can touch us.
We walk as one
group
in the
long line, and finally m
eet the doorman. He’s as tall and wide as a door, with brutally short hair and a bull ring in his nose.

“IDs,” he grunts.

The four of us are proclaimed LightBringers, and given white wrist bands. DarkBringers are the 21
-
and
-
over crowd and get black wrist bands. Once past the doors, DarkHouse earns its name. When the interior is black, and lit with blacklight, everything loses dimension.
Only t
he bar
, the sunken pool room in the far corner
and the bathrooms
on the opposite wall are lit with normal light. Th
e bar’s
lighting
is recessed, hidden behind the bottles of alcohol and tucked into overhead canister
lights.

Music pumps from speakers, the bass deep and reaching into my chest. Alex
pulls me tighter to him, no air left between us, taking his bodyguard duty very seriously, as we follow Jason
deeper into
DarkHouse
. The guys find us a table close to the pool tables, then leave to hunt down a waitress or fight the rabble at the bar for drinks.

“He is so into you!” Bree shouts over the music.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” I yell back.

“Blazing?” she yells back, misunderstanding me. “He is hot…”

I shake my head and shout, “Nevermind.”

She gives me a
smile and a
thumbs-up.
No one wants to think in DarkHouse—too much dim
-
lit eyecand
y
to entertain heavy thought.
Beyond the edge of
our
table,
DarkHouse becomes a churning cauldron of
light and shadow
. Shirts. Sh
oes. Occasionally, gloves. Acid-
washed jeans. Alex looms into view,
black within his hood making him look like a ghoul as he glides through the crowd
. Jason’s annoying
ly
green hoodie isn’t far behind.

They tuck into the seats, both smelling of
hot skin, warm cologne
and the incense pumped into the air system
. Add
ed
to Alex’s
smells
of
leather and lightning
, it’s..
.
exciting.

The guys lean over the table, talking loud
ly
. Jason shoots me a quick look then pats Alex on the shoulder. Even I can hear Jason say, “Awesome, man!”

Alex sinks to the seat beside me, trailing his fingers along my arms. I don’t k
now if he’s aware of t
he tingles he’s
causing, but I feel like a wind-up toy being cranked, and cranked. When he pushes my hair from my
ear
,
his breath send
s
hot shivers down me. “He asked what was going on. I told him you were off the market.”

I love the sound of it, but have to tease. “Staking claim, huh?”

“Wait till Monday,” he says.

The hot shivers spread inward when he kisses my neck, just below my ear, and traces lingering kisses down to the neckline of my shirt. I’m going to go nuclear soon, bounce off the walls and land in his lap.

Eventually, the DJ has mercy and plays a slow set.
Alex weaves with
innate
grace through the empty spaces toward center floor. I surrender to the pull between us, and wrap my arms around him.
Heat builds, dancing with the electricity he puts off like a Tesla Coil.
One hand plants firmly on my hip, the other strokes over my hair. His skin is warm, heart beat drumming in my ear. I could live forever in this dance.
But eventually the set ends, and the tempo picks up again.

Back at the tables, Jason motions for Alex to meet him above the table, then shouts loud enough I can hear him anyway. “Wanna shoot some pool?”

Alex replies, “Sure!”

“The girls can try, too. We’ll play doubles.”

Try? The girls
can try
? Daniel and I spent almost every weekend at the bowling alley just to play pool. His cousin Gavin ran Starlight Lanes and let us play for free.
Jason saying I can try to play was like saying a cat can
try to
scratch you.
Jason takes Bree’s hand and that same flash of real emotion lights her face like blacklight on neon.

I’m sure when Alex laces his fingers in mine, I have the same look.

We follow behind
the guys
and down into the sunken,
normally-
lit pool room. Half-
walls cordon it off from the rest of the club, and baffles come down from the ceiling leaving four foot window-like openings into DarkHouse.
The separating affect also cancels some of the noise and makes conversation possible.

“You need help picking a cue?” Jason asks

“No.”
Okay, so it came out a little snotty. He doesn’t know who he’s patronizing
.
I twist my hair into
a swift, messy bun knowing full-
well Alex will just pull it out, but when I get serious, the hair has to go up. Eyes follow me as I walk to the rack of pool sticks, test a few, and choose one with decent balance and weight to it. “Who’s breaking?”

“Depends on who’s racking,” Alex says.

“You rack ‘em, we crack ‘em.” Jason cavalierly takes a cue from the wall and stands by Bree.

Alex drops quarters into the table, the
n
puts the colored balls on t
he green felt t
op.
My brace hinders making a tight rack.
He helps me align them in the triangle, then slides behind me running his fingers down my arms to my hands. Every muscle in my body tenses, and I
think my heart rate r
a
ces past heathy levels
.
The rocking motion he uses brings flames to my cheeks, and a titter to my racing heart.

“Helping because of the brace,” he says, but the warmth from his legs against mine says
he’s willing to help with a lot more.

Jason’s break is sloppy,
the white cue ball eventually
knocking in a solid and a stripe. “Choose,” he says and points at me. Bree watches me pace the table perimeter, knowing my game and how much trouble they’re in. The smile on her face when I choose solids says she’s good with it, too. Ball af
ter ball sm
acks the back of the pocket and drops into the tracks underneath. Jason starts fidgeting. Alex leans back against a post.

With only
one
solid
ball
left, I miss a pocket.

“Jeezus,” Jason groans. “You didn’t tell me you’re a pool shark.”

“Oh
,
yea
h!” c
omes an annoying, familiar voice from the steps. “Emma’s got skills when it comes to playing with balls.”

Josh Mason strides up to the table. He’s wearing a sad attempt at Alex’s
style of
clothes, only all in shades of ugly: dark jeans, red shirt, off-white hoodie—hood down, cuffs up and the neckline show
ing
his ugly red chest hair. Alex bristles
, fingers tightening around the pool cue.
He’s around the table in an instant and standing beside me
.

“Apologize,” Alex says in a growl.

“It’s okay
,” I say
,
sliding closer to
my
‘guard
dog’ as Josh had called him. “Josh is
just jealous because
I’m playing with you, and
he’s used to me busting his balls.”

Angry spots of red flush Josh’s cheeks.
“You are such a bitch
, Emma
. I don’t know why I bothered.”

“Why you bothered to what?” I sling back.
Alex strong
-
arms me behind me
. T
rying to move him is like fighting with a wall.
“
W
hy
you didn
’
t bother to be decent?
Didn’t
bother
to respect me?
Didn’t bother
to catch your best friend when he fell?”