Page 52 of Rescue

He holds up his mostly full glass, and I get the feeling he’s nursing it on purpose. “Not quite.”

“Then I’m just going to dance with Rodrigo over there,” she says, pointing at one of the supernaturally gorgeous Spaniards dancing near Layla. Reed practically falls off his chair in his haste to get to her.

“I might feel ready for some dancing myself,” Daisy says, wiggling a little. “I think I need to stretch.”

“Slowdancing,” Daltrey says, helping her down from the stool.

“Whatever you say, dear,” she says, rolling her eyes at me as they go.

“What kind of sound system you think they got in here?” Levi asks, eyes on the speakers that pulse far above.

Lance and Cash immediately join him in an incredibly technical discussion of the merits of surface-mount versus column speakers.

“I’m going to fall asleep if I have to sit here and listen to this,” I call over to James. “You wanna dance?”

He makes a face at me. “When, in all the years you’ve known me, have I ever once danced with you?”

I, of course, knew he was going to say that. He never dances. But his refusal makes it perfectly natural for me to then turn to Lennon, who’s currently looking bored, playing with a bottle cap, and say, “How ’bout you? Feel like dancing?”

“Sure,” Lennon says, grinning across at me. I grin back, feeling James’s eyes narrow.Too bad, buddy. I’m celebrating tonight.

As we head out to the dance floor, Lennon lets his hand fall lightly on the small of my back, and I shiver in delight. If I’m being perfectly honest with myself, a desire to celebrate is only part of why I engineered the dance with Lennon. The truth is, a part of me has been trying to come up with ways to get close to him again ever since that afternoon in Newcastle. Standing so close to him in that cemetery in Edinburgh only reminded me of how good he felt, even as I promised myself we’d just be friends.

But as we reach the dance floor, as Lennon looks down at me with those dark eyes of his, as his lips turn up ever so slightly at the corners, I realize that the last thing in the world I want is to be Lennon’s friend.

I want to go to bed with him. I want to feel his lips on mine again, feel them on my skin. I want to look up at him as he hovers over me, his eyes steady on mine. I wanthim.

He pulls me close as we begin to dance, much slower than the music calls for. If I look up, I can see his Adam’s apple in front of my eyes. He swallows a few times, and I feel a swoop of my stomach. He’s affected too, I think, running my hands up his arms to his shoulders. He wants me too.

You can’t do this, a voice whispers in the back of my head. My reasons for telling him we’d only be friends were good ones. It wouldn’t be right to let him think I would be capable of something I know I will never achieve. He’ll only end up getting hurt.I’llonly end up getting hurt. We both need to be friends only.

But he feels so good. I take a half step closer, allowing myself to breathe in his scent through his gray T-shirt. A mix of tequila, soap, and a musky aftershave makes me catch my breath. His hand slides a little lower on my back, bringing me another half step closer. I could rest my head against his shoulder now, if I let myself.

James is right,I remind myself feebly.You shouldn’t do this.

“I need a drink,” I call over the sound of the music, when what I really need is a distraction, an opportunity to take a step back, break the indefinable pull I feel whenever I stand too close to him. Lennon nods, leading me over to the bar. His hand never drops from my back. One of the waitresses from our section is at the bar, and she hurries to grab a beer for Lennon and a Scotch and soda for me when she recognizes us.

As soon as the burn of alcohol hits my throat I feel better. It’s easier to focus, easier to silence the chorus of doubts in my head. I down the drink and ask for another, trying not to notice the question in Lennon’s expression.

I’m three drinks in by the time he finishes his beer. Add to that the shot of tequila I had at the table, and I’m starting to feel buzzed. I know from experience that the buzz won’t last, that the positive effects of the booze will lessen and lessen as the night goes on. I’ll spend the next hours chasing the feeling I have right now, drinking more and more as I try to recapture it.

Iknowthose things, but I have a great talent for making myself not believe them.

“You want to dance some more?” Lennon asks. I grin up at him, allowing myself to inch a bit closer. That’s what people do when they drink, right? Lowered inhibitions and all that. I bring a hand up to rest on his forearm. “Sure.”

Before we head back to the dance floor, I signal to the waiter for another drink. “I hate to dance empty-handed,” I explain when Lennon’s eyebrows go up. “Want another beer?”

We bring our drinks to the dance floor and join Paige and Reed. “You’re here!” Paige cries happily, hugging both of us. She’s clutching the stem of a cosmo glass, somehow managing not to spill the bubblegum-pink liquid all over the place.

We dance with them for a while, and when Paige orders a round of shots, I participate, taking Lennon’s as well when he declines.

“Maybe we should sit for a while,” Lennon says when I’ve finished. He steers me away from the others, and I stumble a little. But that’s fine because it gives me an excuse to grasp his arm. “You okay?”

“Of course.” I lean in a little closer, loving the feel of his side pressed against mine. “But I don’t want to sit.”

“No? You seem a little unsteady.”

I giggle. It doesn’t really sound like me, but I don’t let myself think about that. “I think I just need something to hold on to.” I peer up into his dark eyes, willing him to agree.