Hell, I’m such a sucker for everything him – from his badboy tude to his apple-green-witch eyes.
“Kay,” he says in a rough sinful voice that goes with the dark stubbled jaw and finger-combed hair. He bends his head until his lips touch my neck.
“Please come to the club tonight,” he whispers fanning his breath into my ear. My skin responds with a sudden layer of goosebumps, and my nipples threaten to explode.
And then he lets me go and walks off – calm as if he didn’t just rock my world.
“If you’ve done drooling, can we start the class,” Kiara chuckles and the kids laugh out loud.
Kiara and I worked out the choreography around the song ‘Unstoppable’ by Sia, and I’m sure it’s going to hit a home run at the competition. These kids’ skills are striking it out of the ballpark, that’s for sure – for an age group between 4 and 8, they’re scary good – the two boys and 9 girls doing backflips and moves that are out of this world.
They’re acting out a story where demons fight against angels to capture Ellie, a little girl. In the end, the two angels are triumphant – ending soulfully perfect – the boys lift the girl in the air, and then their wings pop out like magic, leaving goosebumps on one’s skin.
We’re going to win for sure. Kiara works with the demons and the boys and Ellie are in my hands – going through the routine, fixing minor problems until all of us fall exhausted onto the ground laughing.
“Okay, we’ll continue next time. Practice your steps.” Screams, shouts, and a pile of small bodies surround me excitedly.
Logan is waiting outside with cups of Starbucks coffee.
“You know you’re my favorite brother by far. Or at least right now you are.” He lifts his sunglasses, his mouth tilts up in the barest hint of a wry smile.
“I heard you took that puppy trainer for breakfast at the Grimms.” I give Kiara the stink eye, but she only smirks and shrugs. Sometimes I can drown my BFF in a puddle.
“Firstly, my breakfast club is not your problem,” I snap at him.
“And secondly?” Sinking his fingers into his hair, making the short, toffee ombre strands stick straight up.
“That’s actually all I got.” He laughs, throwing his head to the side while opening the door for us to get into his car.
“Sometimes I forget what a treat you are.”
Date = 12 November
Place = San Francisco (Inferno)
POV – Melaena
“So, what’s your problem?” Kiara is watching me with big eyes and a knowing expression on her pretty face.
Not really knowing what to tell her, I look down from the VIP section through the ‘magic’ glass, as we call it – it separates the main clubbing area below with huge glass panes that can switch from normal to one-way glass or frosted, depending on what you want.
Comfortable pine seating booths are situated alongside the glass wall, and we’re seated at one of them.
Right now the glass is switched to normal, so that both sides can see through, and my gaze sweeps over the dancing mass below – anxious as if I’m sitting on needles and pins – to seek out the stage and the guys on it.
There are five of them tonight. Damion (yes, he can sing too), and the regular quartet band my brothers bring into the club as a side act to attract the ladies. Enrique’s strategy – more pretty ladies attract more men who buy more drinks.
Indeed, the method seems to be effective, based on the throng of woo-girls vying for a position near the stage and the horde of men watching them from the sides.
And who can blame them ladies – let’s face it, the quartet boasts a regular CK model vibe. Add to that a true Calvin model, and you have a stage of male perfection grouped closely together, making sure no woman in this place can actually think straight. Which in turn I guess helps the prowling men.
The irony of the matter is that all four band members are officially off the market.
Mike, on guitar, is happily married with two kids. The piano man, Chris-1 has a boyfriend. Drummer Stephan, as well as Chris-2 on base, both have extremely hot chicks, with personalities, might I add.
“Damion is my problem,” I eventually answer my friend.
My gaze gravitates to my problem as if he’s a delicious double-fudge milkshake, all lean muscle and easy confidence, I would not mind getting a taste of. He sits there strumming on a guitar, not pandering to the crowd. But it doesn’t deter the catcalls and wild amusement of a group of women all belly up to the stage.
Occasionally they do a little dance – trotting on the spot as if needing to pee-pee, while shaking their hands at chest level as if kicking their nipples into gear. But it’s the chorus of ‘whooooossss’ in some high-pitched yelps that blow my ears and knock my jealous green socks off.
“Damion is not the problem,” Kiara scolds me, “You are. Just admit it. You have feelings for him and all his sexy cocky badboy accolades!”
Yes, don’t I know it. But admitting it out loud is also a problem. “No.”
“No?” she pouts with raised brows, “So is it no you don’t love him, or no you don’t want to hear me say it?” She sighs deeply.
“Mel, since you saw Damion that day at your locker, or actually at the haunted house, there’s been no other guy for you. And by the looks of it, there never will be.” I look at Kiara as if she swallowed a cow. Whole. Then I look down at him.
Over Mike’s head, he grins. Grins. Good Lord. He’s wooing me with his wide smile and laughing eyes. How can one grin, over a vast distance no less, turn my whole body into jello?
Oh my swarming eggshells, there’s no denying that the man is a heart-throbbing, sex-on-legs beefcake. And I know Kiara is right about everything – no man can replace Damion in my life. Why, universe, why?
I can watch him all day. And fantasize about him doing deliciously naughty wicked things to me all night. He winks as if reading my thoughts.
I still and then crane my neck, looking behind me. Then I turn back, finding him quietly amused, and a blush wildfires to my earlobes. I’m not used to getting this kind of attention from him. Or anyone for that matter.
Our eyes lock and those melt-me green peepers seem to see right into me, a fact that rattles me enough to choke on my soda (no getting drunk tonight). The corners of his mouth twitch. He’s silently laughing at me again.
I swallow and bite my lip. He stands up and turns, allowing me to see that his faded Levi’s fit him perfectly, front and back.
He leans over to whisper something to Mike, and the entire front row of women stretch in unison for a better view. As he moves the guitar, his back ripples underneath his tight black tee – no doubt thanks to all those lean, hard muscles. He turns back again and goes to stand at the one microphone.
If he notices his avid audience, he gives no hint of it. He merely adjusts the microphone, and ignoring all the women ogling him, he looks up in my direction.
“Mr. Logan sent these for you.” A waiter hands us some drinks and I take a sip of the blue cocktail. It’s sweet and seductively refreshing. I wasn’t planning on drinking any alcohol … not wanting a repeat of the other night. But I’m sure I won’t get plastered from one little glass.
“This is nice.” We cling our glasses together and slowly take small sips of the sky-blue drink in silence. I’m gonna have to make it last the whole night.