Saugatuck Summer (Saugatuck, #1)(13)
“I gotta run, angel, but I’ll be watching for you at the club tonight, whenever you decide to show.”
“Oh, I’ll definitely show.” I let the dick-joke innuendo purr in my voice and he laughed, then jumped up and jogged away.
I watched his ass as he went, satisfied to discover that my assumptions about his tattoos had been correct, and tried to decide—assuming we hit it off tonight—if I wanted to bottom or top.
I went back to the house to grab a nap before going to the club, because I really didn’t plan to sleep tonight if I could avoid it. It was too much to hope that I wouldn’t bump into Brendan as I went down the stairs, dressed for clubbing. I didn’t dress outrageously on a daily basis—it was my personality and mannerisms that gave me away to most people, more than my wardrobe choices—but tonight was special, so I’d gone for broke.
For all my determination to let my freak flag fly, however, I felt way too self-conscious when Brendan got a good look at me in a purple Lycra T-shirt thin enough to show my nipples, and painted-on black jeans slung so low on my hips that if they dropped a half inch more the world would know I shaved my pubes, because I damn sure wasn’t wearing underwear (though I had debated on a thong for a good long while, just as a sort of Easter-egg bonus to reveal as the clothes came off). My belt and low-heeled boots both had silver accents, and I had on a number of heavy silver rings and chains.
I’d gone all out and dusted glimmer powder over my cheekbones, and added a little bit of eyeliner and the subtlest hint of iridescent gold lip gloss. I’d even borrowed some of Mo’s hair chalk and added a few purple streaks to complement the shirt.
In short, I looked f*cking fine. And with any luck, I was so getting laid tonight. So why was I very much Not Happy with the idea of Brendan seeing me dressed to kill?
He looked up as I passed by the living room and rubbed his neck, clearing his throat a couple times before asking, “I take it you’re going out?”
“Um, yeah.” I gave a bobble-head nod. “Some people invited me to meet them at a club tonight to celebrate my birthday.”
“It’s your birthday?” He blinked, frowning. Damn, did he look hurt? “You should have said something.”
Ah, f*ck. It never occurred to me he’d want to know. Or maybe I just hadn’t allowed for the possibility. I mean, he’d been kind and friendly to me and all, but in an effort to make sure this crush didn’t explode into something problematic, I was really trying not to see his interest as anything more than polite.
“Oh God, I’m sorry.” I hastened to apologize, and came up with the first excuse I could to try to alleviate any injured feelings or insult. “I thought Mo would’ve mentioned it to you. If you want to have a celebratory dinner or buy me a cupcake or something tomorrow, I’ve got no problem with rain checks. Well, you know, after I get past the hangover.”
His frown deepened. “Will someone be driving you home?”
Once a dad, always a dad, I guess. It was kind of nice, actually. In my family, that sort of question would have been phrased in a way that assumed I would be doing the stupid or dangerous or just plain wrong thing.
Also, it gave me a good excuse for not coming home tonight that didn’t include f*cking a near stranger I’d picked up on the beach.
“If I drink too much, I’ve got an open invitation to use someone’s couch. I’ll be sa—careful. Promise.”
“Okay.” He still looked dubious, and this was getting to be more than I wanted to deal with tonight. There was an unreadable subtext to the tension here, and I didn’t know if it was just my stupid crush or what. “If you do need a ride, call me. No matter what time it is. Morgan gave you her key, right?”
“Yep.” Another deep nod. It was wedged in my very, very tight pocket, along with my debit card, my ID, and a strip of condoms. There sure as hell wasn’t room in there for a wallet. I’d even already taken my evening meds so I wouldn’t have to bring them. Thank God my psychiatrist and I had agreed when I started college to find a cocktail of antidepressants that would keep me stable while still allowing me to drink.
“If I do come back tonight, don’t worry about leaving the door unlocked. But, seriously? I’m turning twenty-one. I’d say the chances of me not crashing out there are pretty slim.”
“Okay. Well, have fun, then.” He still looked almost distressed, his brow deeply furrowed and a funny edge to his tone. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.” I almost ran for the door, eager to be free from the awkwardness. I stopped and turned with my hand on the knob. “Good night, Brendan.”
“Good night, Topher.”
As I shut the door, I heard him clear his throat again.
We were lost inside ourselves
But we didn’t care to get back out
There was a light that we rushed toward
And a bright and shining silver cord
—Casey Stratton, “I Promise Love”
Jace broke into a wide smile when he caught sight of me sauntering into the bar. Then his eyes raked up and down my body and he caught his bottom lip between his teeth in that unf! gesture I was pretty sure translated to: “Damn, you look fine.”
I definitely wasn’t the only one. With his dark hair and eyes and pale, pale skin, I would have half expected him to be wearing all black, completing the impression that he was rocking some goth. But his shirt was sapphire silk, unbuttoned deeply enough to display some of that gorgeous ink on his chest, and his pants were a dark silver-gray that took me a few (very enjoyable) glances to identify as leather.