On the Steamy Side - Louisa Edwards [69]
If Grant had dashed his blue drink in her face, Lilah couldn’t have been more shocked. She felt like he’d reached into her most deeply held secret wishes and dragged them into the harsh light of reality. Scraped raw, like the hulledout inside of a sugar snap pea.
And then the empty hollow under her breastbone started to fill up with the cleansing fire of determination.
“I never have been before,” she said, amazed at the steadiness of her voice. “But then, I’ve never been all that happy, either, have I? I came to New York to change, to build a new life as a new version of myself. It would be pretty pointless to have come all this way and then make all the same, safe choices I would’ve made back in Spotswood County. As King Lear would say, nothing comes from nothing. If I never risk anything, how can I expect anything wonderful to happen?”
That wasn’t how Grant expected her to respond; Lilah could tell by the way he blinked like she’d whomped him upside the head.
“Wow. All righty, then. Have a good night and call me tomorrow.”
Lilah had to laugh. “That’s it? We’re in the middle of our first fight ever and you just cave?”
“What do you want me to say?” He ran his fingers through the ring of condensation his glass had left on the table. “You’re a big girl, Lolly, and you’re going to do whatever you’re going to do. I can’t protect you, and maybe you’re right, maybe I shouldn’t even try.”
Lilah relaxed, even though excitement continued to fizz through her veins. They were okay. “After all, it’s better to take a chance and see what comes of it, right?”
Grant rested his head on one slender hand, his mouth curved in the saddest smile Lilah had ever seen. “If you say so. I hope you don’t regret what you have to do to get your chance. Go on, at least one of us oughta get lucky tonight.”
Back home, a comment like that might have made her blush, but here, tonight, Lilah felt a strangely exhilarating freedom. She laughed and bent her head to give Grant a smacking kiss on the mouth.
Framing his so-familiar, beloved face between her palms, she looked him in the eye and said, “Don’t think you’re getting away with holding out on me forever. Like I said, one night to wallow. Tomorrow, you and me? We’re gonna work through this together.”
Grant made a kissy face at her. “Oh, I think we’ll stick to your secrets, Lolls. You’ll have much more interesting things to share than I will, I’m sure.”
“Let’s hope so.” She winked and ruffled his hair up, quick-stepping out of reach to avoid his outraged swipe.
Waving bye over her shoulder, Lilah ducked back into the crowd and started muscling her way to the bar.
Lilah Jane Tunkle was in the mood to make a bad decision.
The beat of the music pounded out of the drums, into the cheap, tacked-together floor of the makeshift stage, and up through the worn soles of Frankie’s gray checked Vans. He felt the beat, breathed it, and matched it with his fingers flying up and down the neck of his bass guitar.
Squeezing his eyes shut against the stinging sweat that wanted to drip from his tangled black hair, Frankie fought to lose himself in the music.
It was good stuff Dreck was playing tonight, and the rest of the band was on top of their game, pouring energy and life into every bleeding note, but even though Frankie’s fingers followed the beat automatically, pounding the frets and strumming the licks that kept everything moving and throbbing, he couldn’t seem to let go.
Usually, playing bass was like drowning, everything muffled except for the rhythm and the interplay between the instruments. In practice sessions—not that Dreck practiced overmuch, no one in the band was too concerned with skill level—the drowning was almost peaceful, but