Page 50 of Revelry

“Aww, you poor baby, do you need me to take you home and take care of you?”

“Err …”

I sigh, about to hang up the phone when he whispers “Hurry Ali, please? Oh ... wow okay, that’s a really nice pair of breasts you have, but why don’t you put your top back on and we can go get a drink?”

“Oh I love a guy with an accent,” she purrs.

“I need you, now,” he whispers into the phone and I grab my key card and some cash, and practically fly out of my hotel room in order to save the hot rock star from himself.

Ten annoying minutes from cab to curb, and a torturously long elevator ride later, I’m standing at the entrance to the hotel’s nightclub. I push my way into the crowd and search out the bathrooms, but my wrist is caught instead. I turn, about to whack some handsy guy in the face, but then I find Cooper, holding onto me for dear life, looking drunk and dishevelled, but still alive. Just.

“I thought I told you to wait in the bathroom?”

“I got mauled by a fucking were-cat in the bathroom. I barely made it out alive. Please get me out of here.” He leans into me—or he attempts to lean—but instead, he stumbles and uses his hands to steady himself. By holding onto my boobs.

I raise a brow at him. “Really?”

“Shit, ssorry,” he slurs. “Fuck they’re nice tits.”

I shake my head, about to tell him that I know exactly what game he’s playing at when a woman with huge boobs, bad ratty extensions and nails like talons grabs Coop from behind. “There you are, rock star. You ready to rock my world?”

His eyes go wide as saucers, and then he shoots me a panicked, pleading look before he turns to face her. “Guess you found me.”

“I sure did, big boy.” She touches one of those long talons to the tip of his nose and her free hand slides across the front of his jeans. Coop lets out an undignified whimper.

I roll my eyes. “I’m sorry, but if you could take your hands off my boyfriend’s cock, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Boyfriend? Oh no, honey, the things he just did to me in that bathroom—he ain’t nobody’s boyfriend.”

“I didn’t do anything, I swear,” he says, holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Save it, Ryan.” I grab his collar and try to look as if I’m not about to lose my shit laughing. “You can explain yourself back in our hotel room.”

I’m kind of surprised she doesn’t follow, but instead calls out something about how his band sucks, and she’ll never illegally download another copy again because they’re not worth the risked jail time.

I’m still dragging him by the collar when we make it to the elevators and hustle inside before Ivanna Be a Big Kitty can come out after us.

“Well, that was totally worth getting out of bed for,” I say.

Coop slumps against the wall. “Shit. Is the room spinning?”

“How much have you had to drink?”

“A lot. Or not enough. I hate elevators as much as I hate airplanes.” He pushes the button for the ground floor repeatedly, and then he leans back against the mirrored wall, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. “Zed kept plying me with shit, and then we thought it would be fun to go to the bar like regular joes. I lost Zed after the third shot to Urtha Kit’s friend, who thankfully for him was a lot better looking than Urtha was, and then I got stuck at the bar and she followed me into the rest rooms.”

Does that mean he wouldn’t have called if Urtha had been hot? I let out a sigh and fold my arms over my chest, glaring at him.

“You know you’re really going to have to stop drunk dialling me, Cooper—”

Coop crosses the elevator, he clumsily shoves me against the wall, but there’s a bar at my back, so I shriek. “Ow … what the hell are you doing?”

“Distracting myself.” He pulls the pen from my hair and tosses it aside and then he slides his fingers into it and he presses his mouth down on mine.

He pulls away.

A beat passes. We stare at one another, and then we’re both moving. I rake my fingers through his hair and pull him down to me. His mouth covers mine, tongue thrusting past my lips to tangle with my own. Coop pushes his body against me, and I push back as his hands move down to my arse and squeeze, hard.

He slides one hand over my hip, his fingers digging into my flesh. I moan against his mouth and then it dawns on me that he tastes like alcohol, and I probably taste like toothpaste, because he’s been drinking and I haven’t. And that means that no matter how much I want to strip, to shove him up against the elevator wall and ride him like a mechanical bull while shoutingyeeehawwwat the top of my lungs, I can’t. Because Cooper is inebriated, and I’m not. I need to back away … right after he gropes my boob. I mean, his hand is already under my shirt, it would be rude not to let him.

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