Drawn To You (12 page)

T
he Bird
and the Bard Pub offers everything an artsy theater patron could want – a stage for performing, booze for drinking, and characters for inspiration.

Audrey and I show our IDs to the bouncer at the door and walk immediately into a crush of people. A female DJ plays up on stage and half the crowd rocks and jumps on the dance floor to the beat pulsing through the air. Although the lights are low, I can make out quotes carved directly into the wood of the wall. One near the stage reads, “If music be the food of love, play on.” I recognize it right away as a quote from Twelfth Night. Though personally, I always preferred She’s the Man.

I spot Ezra waving us over from the far end of the bar closest to the stage. As we cross the dance floor, the current DJ ends her set and the crowd breaks up. Several people head out for some air or a smoke. More music pumps through the speakers as the stagehands start tearing down the last performer’s table and setting up what I assume is Duke’s equipment.

When we reach him, Ezra and I exchange smiles and heat creeps up my neck as I think for a second he’s going to lean down to kiss me. Memories of this morning rush over me and I press up against him. He puts an arm around my shoulders and I’m actually grateful for that. I don’t know if I’m ready for PDA yet, especially given that I’m not even sure what we are.

Still, my lips tingle and hope for more.

Duke leans around to say hello and then immediately turns his attention to Audrey, handing her a gimlet with a sprig of mint alongside the lime.

“This is my favorite drink,” she says, staring at it as though in shock. “How’d you know?”

Duke shrugs and gives her a lazy half-smile. “Remembered you drinking them at the party. The dude looked at me funny when I asked for the mint, but I swore your drink had it.”

Audrey’s face transforms, the awe warming to appreciation, to a tender sort of shyness that makes her glance at the ground and fight the grin widening across her face. “It does. I always ask for the mint extra. I can’t believe you noticed.”

“You’re pretty noticeable,” he says.

I have to admit, their flirting is pretty adorable. Ezra and I exchange a knowing look and inch away to give them a little more privacy.

Leon comes over from the bar, offering me a bottle of something by way of greeting.

“Mia, taste this.”

“Oh, you’re buying me drinks now?” I tease.

“You’ll see,” is all Leon says.

I raise an eyebrow at him and look at Ezra, who shrugs, just as clueless as me. I accept the bottle and, taking a sip and letting it sit in my mouth for a few seconds before swallowing. I wrinkle my nose.

“It tastes like someone burnt the hell out of the coffee they used in that stout,” I say as I hand the bottle back.

He throws his hand up and looks around incredulously like someone’s been arguing with him. “Right? Thank you! It tastes like a damn campfire. Everyone else is raving about it and I had to make sure I wasn’t in an alternate universe where shitty beer is amazing.”

Ezra shakes his head as Leon levels an accusatory glance his way. “Don’t look at me, man. I think Corona’s good.”

I put my hand over my heart. “You poor thing. Are your taste buds broken?”

“His taste buds are a damn travesty,” Leon says. “Anyway, Mia, tell me how you feel about barrel aged beers.”

“Bourbon barrels or wine barrels?” I ask.

Leon points at me with the neck of the shitty-beer bottle and says, “I love her, Ezra. I love her so much. You keep her forever.”

“Planning on it,” he says, quieter than usual, like he’s saying it just to me. I look shyly down at my feet and wrap my arm around his waist, squeezing a little.

When I look up, the sea of people in front of us is parting, and none other than Skylar comes strolling right through. Same as the party, she’s easily the most stunning girl in the room, her clothes perfectly fitted and her hair perfectly swept and her face perfectly… facing. How does someone face so perfectly?

She glides through the crowd like a swan. Almost every guy and several girls swivel their heads to watch her walk. That kind of power must be intoxicating.

“Hey,” she says, sounding bored already. She crosses her arms and nods at the guys, completely passing over Audrey and pursing her lips at me before she offers Ezra another rare smile.

I shift uncomfortably beside him and he tightens his arm around me.

“Hey. Finish your set at the Roseland?” Ezra says, polite but standoffish.

Skylar runs her fingers through the long side of her hair. “Yeah. They mixed up our amps again, so our opening song sounded like a cat going through a meat grinder.”

She gives one of those barely-audible “heh” chuckles. No one else laughs.

I guess being mind-blowingly gorgeous doesn’t necessarily mean you’re good at jokes. That’s oddly reassuring.

She shoots another look at Ezra, but he’s ordering us more drinks. Skylar looks slightly annoyed and I wonder if that’s actually her incredibly annoyed face. She comes closer and leans in to say, “Order me a rum and coke?” in his ear.

He shrugs and says “sure” without turning toward her.

That does not appear to be the reaction she wanted, so she pouts and turns her attention to Leon.

Ezra slips me an IPA and a wink as he hands Skylar her drink. Her fingers linger on his hand and he pulls back. She narrows her eyes, calculating, and attempts to loop her arm through his.

I grip my bottle tightly. Ezra isn’t responding, but I still wish she’d stop.

Then Audrey, my savior, cuts in. She brushes one of Skylar’s flowing sleeves and asks, “Is this from the new Joe’s line?”

That catches Skylar’s attention. “Yeah, it is. They sent me a few samples last week. I do fashion consulting on the side when I’m not doing gigs.”

“Those jeans make your ass look amazing. Are they hard to move in on stage?” Audrey says, and bless her, Skylar actually looks pleased.

I’m floored. Audrey has truly mastered the art of becoming anyone’s best friend.

“Skylar doesn’t move, she just stands stiff-legged behind the mic with murder in her eyes,” Duke jokes.

She shrugs. “The more you look like you want to kill them, the more people respect you.”

“You must be the most highly respected person in the room,” I hear myself say, then snap my mouth shut. Oh man. I hope that didn’t sound bitchy. I didn’t mean it in a bitchy way.

Skylar turns her head slowly toward me, her gaze unreadable.

No one in our group makes a move.

Then Skylar cracks the smallest smile and I release the breath I’m holding.

“Resting bitch face has its advantages,” Skylar says.

The tension goes out of the air and I feel instantly at ease. It’s like I actually fit somewhere in this puzzle. Duke leans in to whisper in Audrey’s ear, Leon hands me a new beer to taste, Ezra’s hand brushes down my spine, and even Skylar asks me about my earrings.

I feel alarmingly… happy.

At ten o’clock, the lights above the stage flash and Duke says, “That’s my cue.” He flips his hat around backwards and flashes us a grin before hopping up on the stage. He holds his hands above his head from behind his turntables, pumping up the crowd.

Then he starts spinning, and he’s really, really good. Better than he was at the party, even. To be honest, I really wasn’t sure I’d be into this music, but as he starts to fully sink into his set, there’s no denying it – he’s an artist. His original stuff blends multiple genres – island music, electronica, hip-hop, jazz, vocals. It weaves through the air and I’m riding the highs and lows along with everyone else. My blood thrums with it, my heart pumping in time to the bass. It makes me want to move, spin, and sway.

It makes me want to dance.

I don’t dance.

Almost like he’s reading my mind, Ezra pulls me toward the floor where a thick knot of people are already dancing. I shake my head and resist, but not very hard.

“I can’t,” I call out over the music.

“You can too,” he says. “I see you, Mia. I see the way you open up when you let the art in.”

My body is making the decision for me. I’m pulled toward him like a magnet, and I don’t think I could resist even if I wanted to. Maybe for tonight, I can borrow some of his boldness.

I take his hand and lead him to the floor.

When we disappear into the crowd, Ezra wraps an arm around my back and pulls me in close, so I throw my arms around his neck to keep my balance. He smiles against the skin of my neck and I laugh, head thrown back, veins singing with adrenaline.

The lights paint the room red, blue, purple, gold, and we rock and move beneath them. It smells like booze and sweat, which is surprisingly not unpleasant. Ezra’s hands slide down to my lower back, just above my ass, and we bend our knees, dipping low as we dance. I let one of my arms fall loose at my side and turn so my back’s up against his chest and my other hand brushes the side of his face. His hands are on my hips now, guiding me as we sway together.

His touch stokes something deep inside me. It comes roaring to life, threatening to consume me if I don’t give it what it wants, and it wants Ezra.

I want Ezra.

I’m lightheaded from the beer, but not drunk. Just warm enough to make the world shine. Duke’s music is rising, ratcheting up the tension in the room as everyone waits for the inevitable break. The muscles between my shoulders tense as I feel Ezra’s mouth on the side of my neck. I forget how to breathe for a moment.

I whirl around to look him in the face, and for one long second, we’re alone in the middle of the floor.

Then the music finally hits its peak and crashes over us, and our mouths join together like no one’s watching. Kissing him is like a shot of whiskey – my stomach warms and my limbs loosen. I feel him twine through my veins. We kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

I’m not sure how much longer we’re on the floor. It feels like a minute, or an hour. All I know is that eventually the music disappears and the lights come back up, and Ezra and I are still clinging to one another, panting. He swallows and I watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat.

There’s a tap on my shoulder and I startle, turning to find Audrey. She hands me my bag and my sweater.

“You left these on the bar stool,” she says, her eyes roving over Ezra and me, a smile playing at her mouth. “Duke asked me to hang around after his set, so I’ll be here a while yet. Don’t wait up.”

I mouth “thank you” to her and she winks at me before turning back to the bar. Skylar is leaning up against it next to Leon, and when she notices me looking at her, she juts her jaw out and looks down her nose at me. Then, so subtly that I almost miss it, she nods. I think that’s as close to her approval as I’m going to get.

Or maybe I’m imagining it.

Either way, I grab Ezra by the shirt collar and pull him down so I can whisper in his ear.

“We’re going to my place,” I say.

He doesn’t argue.

F
rom the moment
I kick the apartment door closed, Ezra’s hands are all over me. My shoes come off first, then his. I run my hands underneath his jacket until it falls off his shoulders. My sweater lands on top of it, starting a pile on the floor.

Deep in the fog of my brain, I feel slightly guilty about making a mess. Then Ezra’s planting open-mouthed kisses along my neck and all thought is wiped away. I dig my fingers into his shoulders. I want to touch every part of him. Every part.

His hands, which he’s politely kept off my ass so far, abandon their pretense and grab me tightly, pulling me up. I take the hint and jump so I can wrap my legs around his waist. Our mouths meet and there’s a fire burning me inside out.

He mumbles something into my hair.

“What?” I gasp.

“Your room?” he says, more clearly this time. “Which one’s yours?”

“That way,” I say, indicating the left-hand hallway.

He walks us both down the hall and I’m vaguely impressed at his ability not to crash into anything. When we reach my closed door, he backs me into it and groans as he presses himself between my legs. A wave of tense heat rushes through me and I want him to do that again with 100% less clothing. He readjusts his grip so he can reach the knob, but I nip his ear to stop him.

“I’ve got it,” I say, wrapping one arm around the back of his neck and using the other hand to fumble for the doorknob. At last, the door swings open, and I’m grateful that I picked up the worst of the hazards off the floor earlier.

The streetlights highlight my bed by the window, and Ezra lowers me onto the mattress. He plants a kiss on the skin at the deepest part of my V-neck and works his way my to my collarbone, then my throat, then my lips. His body presses against the length of mine. Everywhere we touch ignites a searing need just below the surface of my skin. We sigh together, our breath mingling. I want to be closer. I need to be closer.

Things are getting very real very fast, and a voice from the dark corners of my brain warns me that I should put on the brakes. I haven’t been with anyone since Damien, and it’s been a long while since Damien. I need a breather to think this through before I leap.

Very reluctantly, I pull back.

Ezra’s breathing is heavy. “Something wrong?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head to reiterate. “Everything’s great.
This
is great. I just need a minute.” I stall, searching for something else to show that my hesitation isn’t about him. My brain has kind of shut off, though, so the best thing I can come up with is, “Plus, I need some water. That okay?”

Smooth, Mia.

“Yeah, of course.” Ezra pushes himself up off of me and sits on the bed, running a hand over his hair to smooth it, and my fingers ache to do the same. I watch him closely to see if his pride’s wounded, but he looks cool as ever in the dim light.

To distract myself from immediately going in for Round Two, I reach over to my tableside lamp and click it on. “Sorry,” I say. “I haven’t done this in a while, I’m rusty.”

His smile is genuine. “Don’t apologize, I get it. Besides, the thirst is real.” He pulls me close for another kiss. “Both literally and figuratively. We danced our asses off.”

“You definitely didn’t leave your ass on the dance floor,” I tease. “Which is good, because it’s a pretty nice ass.”

“True,” he says. “I won’t mind watching yours while you walk away, either.”

I swat him and go back for yet another kiss. They’re addictive, his kisses. Hot, insistent, but never demanding. He smells like the dance floor, and I have no problem with that.

I finally manage to pry myself away to go get us something to drink. As soon as I step out of my room, I feel like bouncing around the entire apartment. Letting him in feels like a weight’s been lifted off my chest. I could float away. I could float forever. My nerves are sparking and sending signals to parts of myself I haven’t felt in far too long. I’ve missed feeling this way.

In the kitchen, I dig around in the fridge and manage to rustle up two bottles of water. For good measure, I grab an extra. We’ll probably need it.

I kick the fridge closed and walk back down the hall, pausing beside my door to take a deep breath and toss my hair out of my face before going back inside.

“I’m back,” I say as I push the door open.

I look up.

I freeze.

Ezra’s standing by my desk with my sketchbook in his hands. I left it there earlier, open to my latest drawing of Iris. It clearly caught his eye.

No one sees my sketches. No one.

He hasn’t looked at me yet, hasn’t seen the expression on my face. “These are incredible, Mia,” he says. “I knew you were talented based on your eye for detail, but these are otherworldly. How --”

His words are cut short as I storm across the room and snatch the book away from him. He doesn’t drop his hands right away, looking at me with surprise.

“Mia, what --”

“These are private,” I snap. “You have no right… you didn’t even ask… why would you touch another person’s things like that?”

His jaw is slack, his mouth hanging open in bewilderment, but I’m too upset to care.

“This is personal.” I’m on a tear now, the words spilling out of me like paint across the floor, tears threatening to break my voice. “You can’t just go through it like it’s nothing, like it’s for you.
She’s
not for you.”

He tries to break in. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was private.”

I barely even hear him. “You’re not supposed to know about her, about me, about any of this.” I press the sketchbook to my chest until it hurts. “It’s my heart on this page. You don’t get to see it without my permission.”

“You’re right,” he says gently. “So I’m asking now. Who is she? Will you tell me?”

My breathing’s too fast. I’m starting to see spots. Ezra puts a hand on my shoulder, but I jerk away from him.

“I was supposed to come here and disappear. Get a job, become one of those background people that no one remembers. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to see you that night, to feel the way you make me feel. You… you…”

I drop the sketchbook to the floor and Ezra catches my wrists, pulling me closer. Part of me resists out of habit, but the rest of me is falling into him. He’s warm, he’s solid. He’s everything I don’t deserve.

“She should be here.” I’m crumbling to pieces. “Iris should…”

My legs go limp as I break into sobs in Ezra’s arms, my anger draining out of me in teardrops. He’s so gentle, moving me across the room until we’re seated on my bed again. I cry against him and he lets me, one hand rubbing my back and the other stroking my hair. He tells me everything will be all right, and I wonder how he can possibly know that. My love and sorrow are pouring out, memories of that night washing over and through me. Guilt gnaws at me with familiar teeth. Ezra’s patient, and his gentle touch alleviates some of the pain. Knowing he’s here helps.

Eventually I’m spent, my breaths heavy against his chest. I open my eyes to see the tearstains I’ve left all over his shirt. He doesn’t seem to mind. When I wipe at my eyes, my fingers come away smeared with mascara and eyeliner.

“Shit,” I say, my voice coming out a croak. I reach for the tissues on my bedside table.

Ezra holds me still and reaches for one himself. “Let me,” he says. I drop my hands to my lap and look up and away, embarrassed, as he dabs the tissue beneath my eyes.

“There,” he says. “Better?”

I know he isn’t talking about my makeup situation. “Yeah,” I say.

“Do you want to tell me about the girl?” he asks.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Trust is something I haven’t afforded anyone in this town. Audrey’s been getting close, but we’re not quite there. Ezra, on the other hand… he’s faced the darkest parts of me head-on. When Damien turned my world on its head, Ezra protected me. He’s incredible. A beam of sunlight in a shadowed corner, a spark of fire that spreads warmth everywhere he goes. He’s stayed beside me no matter what, and if I really want to be with him, I’m going to have to let him in.

So I throw the door open wide, finally.

“Iris is my sister,” I start. “Was my sister. She died almost a year ago.”

Ezra’s hand tightens over mine. “I’m so sorry.”

Now that I’ve started, I have to keep going. “We were so close. People used to ask if we were twins, even though she was two years younger. We didn’t even look that much alike, we were just together all the time. When I went away to school, it was like leaving a piece of myself behind. We still talked every week, but it wasn’t the same.”

I pause and grit my teeth at the pain welling up inside me. Ezra waits, squeezing my hand softly in support.

“There was a car accident,” I say. “She lived long enough to go through surgery, but there was too much damage. She died a day later.” I lick my lip before I add, “My ex was driving. He was drunk.”

“Your ex,” Ezra echoes. “That guy from the other night?”

I nod.

“That explains a lot,” he says, not unkindly.

I’m shaking now, and another tear creeps down my cheek. “It’s my fault. If I’d never gone out with him, Iris never would have met him. She never would have been in the car that night, coming after me…”

When I trail off, Ezra prompts me. “What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I wipe my face. “I was upset, and she was in Damien’s car because she wanted to talk to me.”

We’re quiet for a long moment, and Ezra rubs my back until the tears stop.

“It’s not your fault,” he says.

I blink at him. “What?”

He puts his hand along the side of my face and traces circles on my cheekbone with his thumb. “It’s not your fault that your sister died. Your ex has a lot to answer for, but you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You don’t understand,” I say, because he doesn’t. Iris is gone because of me.

Ezra doesn’t argue with me, he just pulls me in closer and rests his lips on my hair. “I’m really sorry about your sister. You obviously loved her very much, and I know she loved you. How could she not?”

I smile despite my sadness, though he can’t see me.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says.

I sit up straight and look him in the face. He’s so earnest, so sincere.

“You’re the first person I’ve wanted to tell,” I say.

Then I lean in and kiss him.

It’s sweet and soft at first, my version of “thank you.” Our hands wander, brushing skin and playing with buttons. I run my hands over his beard and around the back of his neck, and an insistent need begins to spread through me. Trust and desire is a powerful cocktail.

The door inside me is open wide. I’m ready.

My fingers twist into the fabric of Ezra’s shirt and I pull him closer. Our bodies shift until we’re lying side by side on the bed, my leg wrapped around his hip.

The next time there’s a break between our kisses, Ezra whispers, “Are you sure you want to…?”

“Yes,” I say. “More than anything else right now.”

That’s all the prompting he needs. In seconds, he’s on top of me, peppering kisses down my jawline. His hand brushes the bare skin of my belly and he works my top up over my head. I gasp as he brushes over my bra, sending a ripple of tension down my body.

I return the favor in kind, working my hands between us so I can undo his buttons. Then we’re both shirtless, our chests pressed together as we kiss, and my body is tightening like a wire. His tattoos are alive and writhing over lean muscle and smooth skin. He’s so beautiful it hurts.

Ezra moves his hips between my legs and slides my skirt up my thighs, grinding into me as he does. I can feel his arousal against my own and I throw my head back with a gasp. It’s been so long, and I missed this more than I realized. Every touch is electric.

His fingers slip beneath my bra strap and pull it down my arm. He takes his time, brushing his lips down to my exposed breast. I arch up into his mouth, warm and eager.

Our mouths meet again and again as we shed the rest of our clothes, and suddenly I’m bare, completely open. His lips part as he watches me, eyes half-lidded, and the liquid heat inside me becomes a tidal wave. This level of handsome should be reserved for ancient statues. He is wicked and wonderful with his hands, a true artist. I’m nearly splitting apart at the seams, my body loose and languid. I brush my mouth against his ear, let him know I’m ready for him. He pauses long enough to get a condom out of his wallet, and then he’s over me, haloed by the light of my room, and he kisses me deeply as he sinks down.

We move together like two people with all the time in the world, rocking and aching. Our fingers twine together and he moves my hands above my head, squeezing tighter and tighter as the tension inside us mounts.

Our breathing goes ragged, the taste of drinking and dancing still on our tongues, and then the world around me goes white hot and I cry out, feeling as if I’m bursting to pieces and showering my walls with every imaginable color.

He follows me over the edge seconds later. His body shudders against mine as he hits his peak, brow furrowed and mouth open, calling out his pleasure.

For a moment, neither of us move. We just breathe, my arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers tangled in his hair. He lifts his head for one more kiss, then another.

After, as he’s snoring softly beside me under the moonlight coming in through the window, I’m amazed at how full I feel. He looked into my darkness and saw the light.

He saw it, and he stayed.