Page 69 of Dravin

He clearly doesn’t want to leave me here alone, but I’mnotalone. I have a group of the best women around me. To be fair, they’re quite progressive in their thinking and they’d love to see me come out of my shell and find myself. Dravin’s studying them like they’re going to unleash something in me that he can already sense is gearing up to make a bad decision.

Bad is a subjective term. I should probably say that he can sense my musings on shock factor, those seismic waves rippling in the underground of my being, before they hit.

If I had a few drinks and started dropping little Easter eggs to blow our cover, would he take me back to his place and punish me for being naughty? How many,exactly, would it take? Or would he just drive me back home, give me a boring lecture about needing more unnecessary distance, and tell me he’s going to drive by the place every few hours to make sure I’m okay?

If I kissed him right now, what would he do?

His brows crash inwards over his deepest frown yet. He leans in and whispers in my ear. “Behave, please. If you need me, ask where the security room is.”

“I could just wave my arms up and down and do frantic jumping jacks. Wouldn’t you see that too?” He sighs again. “Or you meandon’t have any fun.”

“You’re still supposed to be my sister,” he hisses under his breath while smiling at the women that are observing us closely, waiting for him to leave me in their more than capable hands.

I can tell they’re more than eager, so I give him my most innocent smile and wave him off. “I’ll behave.”

“Only one drink.”

“Yes daddy.” He looks like he’s going to stroke out. I shouldn’t do it, but I laugh and capitulate. “Okay. Two drinks. I’m more than capable of handling that. And I won’t venture out of this room.” I draw a dramatic line over my heart. “Cross it.”

He steps to the side, ready to leave, but I grasp his arm. Anyone watching us would think he’s my overprotective brother and I’m throwing a bit of a tantrum over his ground rules. Willa taps her foot impatiently, but everyone gives us space to talk.

“You know what my biggest fear is, Dravin? It’s not even about those men who may or may not remember that they’re supposed to put a bullet in my head. It’s not even grief, because I’ve been through the worst of that already. It’s getting trapped. Stuck. It’s the thought that I might never paint again. Never live again. Never love again. I’m far more afraid of that than I am of trying and failing.”

His face hardens and his lips thin out. His jaw ticks because he’s clenching it so tight. Other than that, he doesn’t give me any reaction. “That’s not…” He sighs. “Just ask for me if you need me. I’ll be back in a while.”

“Well…” I turn to Willa hopefully. “Are the drinks good here?”

***

Half an hour later, the impatient brat in me starts to tear her way out. I’ve only had two drinks, as I promised I would, and I’ve sipped them and made them last. It’s not my fault that Willa convinced Bullet to make the glass ninety percent gin and ten percent cranberry juice.

Okay, itismy fault.

I’m not drunk really.

The room isn’t swimming and I’m still walking just fine, but I’m starting to feel warm. My mind keeps trailing away from what Willa, Tarynn, Lark, and Ella are saying. It keeps going back over and over Dravin.

The thoughts I had earlier all solidify into one gin-fueled form of clarity that tells me that unless I force Dravin into making a move that shatters all the lines and restraints for good, he’s probably going to do everything in his power not to cross it again. I know I’m listening to my doubts and not common sense, but my patience is also at an all-time low.

It’s been a long week.

A frustrating one.

One where I’ve wished and ached to be close to Dravin with every single breath.

It’s why I glance around the lounge, spot one of the biker women who is currently unoccupied, sipping a drink and swaying to the music in a tight fitting shredded little black dress with strings hanging off it from every angle. She has a banging body and she’s beautiful in her own way. She’s rocking her bleached hair, tatts, and knee high black boots. She seems happy and confident, not desperate—as these kind of women are always painted to be.

Tarynn is talking about what I should get done to my hair and I feel bad about interrupting her, but if I wait another minute longer, I’ll probably turn into a volcano and go full-on active and erupt.

“Spoiler alert,” I tell the four women. “Dravin isn’t my brother, and I am every bit responsible for what is about to happen in here. I want to say that I’m sorry, but I can’t fully bring myself to apologize right now.”

They gape at me—even Tarynn, who already knew about Dravin—as I whip around, set my drink down on the floor since there aren’t any tables close to us, and stalk right over to the woman I was just watching.

“What are the odds that you’d kiss me just to drive a certain man of mine who doesn’t know he’s mine yet, insane?”

She grins, runs her tongue along her lower lip, then tugs me into her. We’re roughly the same height, but she’s much thinner, with fake breasts. They ram up against my chest right before she thrusts her long fake nails into my hair and seals her mouth to mine.

I freeze, but she knows what she’s doing, selling the hell out of the kiss.

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