Head Over Wheels (Steamy New Adult Romance) (9 page)

Spartan swung the girl around the stage like she was a light and airy windsock, then humped the air around her. The place went wild. They couldn't get enough of the warrior who'd captured the sexy girl in the glittering apricot dress.

"This has got to be a setup," I said. "They look like two exotic dancers."

"Yeah. She's a stripper too." Chest heaving, Yvonne flopped down on her seat and replied without emotion.

So Vanessa hung with rich bitches and strippers? She had both sides covered. I had to laugh.

Spartan gracefully lowered the girl off the stage, then his routine kicked into high gear. His hips beat faster, and he rammed the air with such force, I swore he created sonic sound waves.

"Give it to me, love king," Yvonne screamed, leaping to her feet again. "Take me up there. I'll show you my moves."

The women around us stared, laughed, then clapped their hands harder.

"Take her," they chorused again and again. "Take your woman to heaven. Give her your sword."

Yvonne didn't need encouragement; she'd already gone wild.

The place was turning into a mob scene. It was time to call in the riot squad, and that's just what happened next. The tempo picked up, and a dozen half-naked men came running through the aisles, colliding with the music, squeezing their awesome bodies between tables. Toasted buns were flying all over the place. Mouths unhinged like trap doors.

The squad wore jock straps and holsters slung low on spiraling hips. Handcuffs dangled from thick leather belts. A few of them twirled nightsticks. A table filled with older women, intoxicated by a mixture of alcohol and the show went berserk, shouting, "I need to be arrested." Laughing, the male strippers obliged.

"Laters," Yvonne said into my ear after planting a peck on my cheek. "Thanks for coming, sweetie. I'm off to collect my man. See you in class."

She worked her way through the crowd and up to the stage where Spartan lifted her in a bear hug.

By the time the night was over, I was emotionally and physically spent. Even though I'd witnessed a parade of the gods, only one had truly captured my mind, my heart ... please, not my soul.

B
ummed out of my mind, I spent my spare time draped across my bed. Indigo never called, which threw me into a mood worse than explosive PMS. I wanted to cry. I wanted to pig out on carbs. I wanted to throw a bigger tantrum than I did when I'd found out I had to repeat two classes and another round with professor onion breath. I didn't mind Bachman. I could stare at his ass when his back was turned. He was young and hot. I'd even run into him at the gym once, where I'd tried to flaunt my grade up.

Pacing around the living room, I felt like my life was falling apart, which made me feel ancient. I ran into the bathroom and stuck my face in front of the mirror, swearing new lines were appearing daily. In the process, I unintentionally shoved Emma aside.

"Why?" When I shouted, she jumped. "Why would he ask for my number and not call? Shit. I stored it in his cell for shit sake. Should I have dialed it for him too?"

"He's a busy guy, Jewel." Emma coiled the last shaft of her silky hair into a large roller.

"I bet."

"Try not to take it personally. I'm sure there's a good reason."

"Like a blonde bimbo?"

"Like the hospital. Believe me, I know what it's like. I've been there, remember? And getting my degree wasn't even half as difficult as what he's going through ... and still has ahead of him." She disappeared from the bathroom.

I followed her into the living room, where I stood at the window and tugged the curtain aside. Running my tongue over my smooth teeth, recently cleaned during my six-month check up, I stared at traffic in the street below. People walked their dogs. Taxis tailgated and cut each other off. Guys and girls strolled hand in hand. I couldn't help but fill with envy. I found Emma's rationalization distressing, because I knew she was right. I wasn't only facing a tug of war with another woman. Even if Indigo did call, I'd have to get used to ranking second to his profession. That was something I couldn't fight. With or without him I was screwed. I hated being trapped by my own emotions, and the fact that I couldn't run away from
me
.

"So, you going out with Bill or what?" Face down, I dove onto the sofa.

I knew I was behaving like a brat. I wasn't begrudging Em, but my heart literally ached.

"He could have at least called to say he was busy." I mumbled into the cushion. "You know, like, don't expect to see me till next week, Jewelia. I can't come out to play. I'm booked solid. I don't have time for you, or anything for that matter. My life's too full of
me
right now. And Vanessa. Poor Vanessa needs me to console her. Blah ja blah and all that crap."

Emma popped back into the room. With her came a soothing rush of Oriental fragrance. "What's Pete doing tonight?" As she moved, her scent flooded the air.

"He's going out with Casey," I replied idly, examining my nails, deciding if they needed another coat of plum polish.

"They've been seeing a lot of each other." Em sounded distracted.

"I know. I'm happy for him. At least somebody's making headway in a relationship."

Em had been dashing in and out, stopping long enough to grab a glass of juice and chat for a few. "I'm meeting Billy at the Prestige ... remember I told you? Of course not. You never listen to me unless we're talking about you. And then you don't listen to my advice anyway." She huffed. "It's our first real date. What should I wear? I've already been through my closet five times."

"Your silver bodycon dress. Have fun." The cushion muffled my voice. I felt the vibration in my throat.

"You're coming."

“I’ll be right here vegging out with carbs and a movie till you get back.”

“No you won’t.” Emma pulled my wrist out from under my stomach and tugged.

“Ow. You’re breaking my arm,” I whined. “What time are you meeting him?”

“Ten. And it’s nine, so drag your bones off that couch and get yourself sexy. You never know who you might run into.”

“Did Bill say Indigo’s going?” I leapt to my feet so quickly, blood rushed to my head and I had to sit back down to throw my head over my knees.

“When we last spoke, he hadn’t heard from Indigo.” She looked at me with sympathy. “I’m sorry, Jewel.”

T
he Prestige was a West Side club catering to all classes and persuasions. When booze and conversation flowed, legal age was of no consequence. Everyone shared one thing in common: a twenty-dollar cover charge. Hungry for food, drink, and excitement, we were all there to make the most of the night ... and lasting impressions.

Before leaving the apartment, Em and I made sure we'd be two of the hottest imprints, and we shimmered from head to toe. Our makeup and outfits made statements all their own.

We sauntered in shortly after ten, and the club was already in quake mode. Music blasted, people congregated, leaving not a cozy corner anywhere, which was fine with me. I needed some cosmic action to clear my troubled mind. The Prestige was just the place, and I was determined to drink my problems away.

Before ordering cocktails, we caught the beat, sidled way out to the middle of the dance floor, and started tossing our arms, bumping hips. Along with everyone else, we bounced our booties, slithering like reptiles.

We were a precision clan, forming a hugging circle of love and enthusiasm, but enough was enough. We were packed so close, I worked up a thirst real fast; thank goodness, not a sweat.

"Time for a drink," I screamed into the side of Em's face. When she didn't acknowledge, I danced around her and yanked her arm, hauling her toward the bar that stretched along the entire side wall.

A dusk-like atmosphere engulfed us. The only brightness came from a shower of multicolored track lights strapped to the vaulted ceilings, streaming a multitude of shades across undulating bodies of different shapes and sizes.

Mirrors lined the DJ booth. There was no chance of snagging a seat at the bar, and people lined up three-deep around it. This was where a sturdy frame came in handy, so dragging Em behind me, I elbowed my way forward until I could see my reflection in the bartender's eyes.

A gathering of Wall Street with loosened ties gave us the once-over. A few of the younger guys held up drinks, with head-tugs, attempting to pull us into their crowd, but we didn't bite. Em and I were on our own missions, and knew exactly what we wanted, which didn't include band-less married men out for more than a relaxing evening.

Blowing them off with knowing smirks, drinks in hand, we yielded so others could replace our bodies and try to catch a bartender's attention. My eyes searched every face, stares ricocheting with curiosity. Mine would remain bland until I found him. If I found him at all.

The younger crowd danced holding drinks. I was tempted to lead Em upstairs to the loft, where if you hung over the railing you could watch a fleshy tidal wave; a rolling sea of heads and hands.

"I'll never find Bill in here," Emma screamed at me.

"Tell me you didn't think ahead and agree on a landmark, like the front door, duh."

I'd never witnessed Emma's face snap into such a sneer. "I'm not an experienced party girl like you, duh."

"Follow me." I began leading her around the perimeter, closing the circle we made with each lap around the dance floor. The problem was, faces kept changing, blurring. "This isn't getting us anywhere. Let's try to grab a spot at the bar. Bill's got to show up there at some point."

So that's what we did. Pushed our way back to the bar, discovering the coast was clearer near the rear exit doors, the air cooler. I'd side-parted my hair, blowing it to perfection, and after less than an hour of the jostling, felt it fall further and further until the fullest part draped the side of my face. Kind of like Marilyn Monroe, but longer and darker. In the dim atmosphere, it flowed like black ink.

"There's Bill." Emma sounded tense, but her face radiated an indescribable glow. She shoved her glass at me so she could wave him on with both slender arms. He immediately spotted her. Who wouldn't? Thrashing around in a silver dress, she looked like a sleek jet caught in turbulence.

"Go get him, Em." I felt her excitement, and not an ounce of envy. I loved seeing her that way: outgoing, uninhibited, tucking responsibility into the back of her mind.

She turned to me, her eyes shining, then concerned. "Are you gonna be okay?"

I shot her
the eye
. "You're joking, right?"

She laughed and danced straight into Bill's arms. So there I stood, holding two drinks, wondering if I should slug them both, head into the ladies' room to rearrange my hair, or drop both glasses and aim for one of the exit doors.

The hand on my shoulder startled me. Then I felt the hot breath on my neck. A gasp caught in my throat, but a haughty tude cleared any anticipation from my face. Then I spun to gaze into the drooping eyes of some joker making a clown face he must have thought would turn me on. Instead, I blew out a "pfft" and laughed.

"Seriously?" I shimmied free of his hand. "Hit the road, pal."

"Aw. Come on, beautiful. Dance with me."

From the loosened tie, I assumed one of the Wall Streeters had ignored my earlier scowl and trailed me. With his unsteady gait, one push would have knocked him into a group of biker dudes not more than three feet away. I didn't have the heart to do it to him. The next best thing was to pretend to dump Emma's drink down the front of the white shirt tucked beneath his black suit jacket.

"Get outta my face." My mouth curled in a snarl.

He recoiled and without another word, faded faster than an object undergoing time lapse photography.

I figured I'd hang around until the dance floor thinned, maybe till the room spun, then flag a cab and head home, leaving Emma in Bill's care. We had an agreement. If Em decided to bring her Arkana home, I'd hide out in my room all night, my ears plugged by my iPod.

"I won't be able to function if I know you're in the next room, listening to everything." Emma had looked like a little girl caught checking out her mother's erotic romance magazines.

"I'll stuff my face with cookies and milk. You won't even know I'm here. Hey," I had said, popping my eyes, "maybe I won't be here. Imagine?"

"Be careful tonight, Jewel." Her face had warned more than her words.

"Both of us, sis." We'd hugged, then walked out the door and down to the club, arm in arm.

With Emma's drink finished, I gulped my own, intending to return to the bar to get more shit-faced than I'd ever been.

As I swung my head, he caught my eye. Dear Lord. Was it him? I did an about-face, plunked the empty glasses on the half wall behind me, fluffed my hair, blotted my lips and pulled a one-eighty.

Holy Shit. How long had he been standing there with his arms spread in welcome? Did he expect me to run into them and hug him? Hell yeah! But all I could do was stare.

Dropping his arms, he stood his ground, an adorable interrogating grin sliding across his face.

Just go with the flow, girl, I told myself as I zigzagged, pivoted, and in seconds, waltzed up to him, attempting to appear stunned to see him while remaining casual.

"Indigo." My presence didn't seem to surprise him, but what I said next sure as hell surprised me. "You didn't call." When my ears heard my childlike voice, my stomach fell.

The curl of his lips grew tighter. "You said you like spontaneity ... so here I am, unannounced."

"Nice try." My hands went to my hips.

His face dropped its earlier expression, but his eyes brimmed with atonement. He reached for my hands, gently tugged me toward him, and the next thing I knew we were standing soft breaths away. With an intentional stare, he drew me closer, like I was a long lost love. A chill rippled down the portion of my back exposed by my daring dress.

I worried his clear eyes clouded ... Didn't have to will mine to sparkle beneath the lights burning above us. I lost my voice. I mean, I went completely mute, but managed what I hoped was a smile, and not the sick look of stiff lips.

"Hey, you ..." his voice was smooth. "I've been around this club half a dozen times looking for you." His eyes were so intense, I almost froze. His fingers pressed mine with a firm grip, guiding my hands up and onto his shoulders, slowly dancing me backward, all the while staring into my eyes. Still pinning my hands in place, he brought his lips to my ear. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I really wanted to call, but I wasn't sure when I'd be free ... and I'd never want to break a date with you, Jewel."

A date? My heart broke loose, pounding like the hooves of a stampeding horse. I prayed he couldn't feel the earthquake inside my chest as his arms slid around my waist. Being a doctor, he'd spot a panic attack in a second. I'd be mortified. My legs grew weak. Hold it together, girlfriend. He's just a guy. He's human. Oh my God, no he's not. He's ... he's ...

His breath was warm on my cheek and light, lighter than I felt in his arms as we swayed to the sensual pulse throbbing from overhead speakers. The mind-cleansing scent of cool fresh cologne and peppermint gum rushed my senses. I heard no sound. Saw no other faces. Only Indigo's. And right then he was magically mine, about to become the victim of every electric spark coursing through me.

My fingers tightened, found their way to the back of his neck and up into his hair. Was I really doing this? The way he was holding me, it was like he'd missed me, had longed for me. His lips moved to my neck, softly caressing. My body molded to his in just the right places, my arms urging him closer. Was this a dream?

"It's okay." I heard my hoarse whisper. "I know you're busy. I understand."

"You smell so good. So sweet. Strawberries?" His lips inched up my neck, pausing at the hollow behind my ear where they played, stirring emotions I never knew I had. His hands ran the length of my back, fingers tightening and loosening, as if struggling with intent.

"Mmm. Strawberries." My arms, which had been loosely crossed, locked possessively around his neck. He was warm, gentle, firm, soft; he was every beautiful word I could think of.

"Can I take a bite?" His rich voice teased, so did his hands as they traveled, exploring every inch of my back, then dropped dangerously low. I wondered if he could feel the goose bump skin beneath the delicate fabric that clung to me like a second skin. The slim band of my sheer panties. The panties I prayed would hold up during what I hoped to be the longest night of my life.

"Be my guest." I breathed into his ear.

"You feel so good." His hands on my backside pulled me closer.

"So do you. I didn't think I'd see you tonight." With a mind of its own, my right leg inched around, the inside of my thigh rubbing against the outside of his. I buried my face in his neck, tempted to run my lips the length, then stray to his mouth.

"I wasn't sure you'd be here, either, but I took a chance," he whispered. "I'm happy I did."

"Do you usually work this late?"

"Depends on the shift. I left an hour ago, ran home, hopped out of my scrubs and into the shower. Hopefully I don't smell like a hospital."

"Alcohol doesn't bother me. It's kind of nice ... clean."

"Antiseptic," he corrected. "You don't want to smell what it's mixed with."

"I can only imagine. Must be rough."

"I grew up with it." He held me tighter. "I could stay like this all night." His breath on the side of my face came stronger, faster.

Uh oh. Did he mean? Was he saying he wanted to? An alarm went off in my head. Never go too far on your first date with a guy you cared about. Such a dumb contradiction: enjoy a one-nighter, but never share it with someone special.

Every girl knew the rule. Without exception, curtail the extracurricular activities, keeping the hands in appropriate places, lips only on neck, cheek and mouth.
Mouth.
I so wanted his on mine. I trusted my resolve, knowing I'd hate myself in the morning if I gave into exploding passion threatening to burst through the seams of my self-control.

“Tell me about it. You’ve very comfortable.”

He chuckled. “Comfortable? You have a delightful way of expressing yourself. But I think I know what you mean. You fit just right in my arms. Not an inch too big ... not an inch too small.”

“You know that we’re slow dancing to techno, right?” As I lifted my face to stare into his eyes, the scruff of his beard grazed my temple.

"Is there music?" His lips were moist on my ear.

My finger traced his jaw line.
"There sure is ... booty music."

He pressed his forehead to mine.

"You don't rock out, do you ..."

"I used to."

I pulled my head back. "Not anymore?"

He drew me back in. “Mmm. I like dancing with you. It doesn’t matter what kind of music, as long as I can hold you close. Do you come here often?”

“When the spirit moves me.”

“I like your spirit ... and your moves.  You’re a good dancer. Nice and smooth ... and confident. You’ve got it going on.”

“Dancing is the best way to release anxiety, express myself. I guess you could call it a homeopathic remedy.”

He tilted his head, gazing directly into my eyes. “Anxiety? What do you have to be anxious about?”

“You’d be surprised.” My chin dropped onto his chest.

“We’ll have to work on those anxiety issues, but I tell you, I do like your style of expression.”