Page 82 of Crystal Iris
He looks… different. He’s wearing an all-black outfit. His shirt buttons are… unbuttoned. Not all of them—just enough to reveal his muscled chest. The prism is nowhere to be seen.
He walks toward the back of the line, but I tell him, “We don’t need to get in line.”
He lifts an eyebrow.
“We’re… frequent customers,” I say, walking straight to the door, passing my fans as they yell nice things. For the first time, I don’t care about their words.
The instant I hear the music, my prism pulses. It’s hidden in my bra again. I’m wearing a tight, short black dress.
I have to be extra careful walking with Hoyt; there’s barely any space between us in the packed club.
“Drink?” I ask him, leading him toward the bar.
“Please,” he says, looking me over from head to toe. He lingers for a few extra seconds on my chest.
I welcome the stare. It feels good… to be… bad.
“To us,” Akira says, clinking her glass against mine. I repeat the gesture.
She clinks her glass to Hoyt’s without saying anything. I avoid getting that close to him.
We move to the dance floor.
I’m dancing, but I feel self-conscious with him around.I need something stronger.
Akira stays, but Hoyt follows me to the bar once again.
“I shouldn’t. My meeting is early in the morning,” he tells me when I offer him another drink.
I flip my shot glass upside down on the counter. The alcohol instantly does its job.
“Dance with me,” I invite him.
Then I let loose with the music. I close my eyes and let myself feel it, exactly like I’m used to. I move my body and hands with each beat, fully aware that Hoyt is watching. When I open my eyes, I see the hunger in his. I know he would take me right here if he could. The desire in his eyes… he can’t hide it. And I don’t want him to. I don’t care if others are watching, I only want him to see me—free.
Our distance invites others to approach me. He watches as I dismiss each one.
Akira says goodbye, mentioning she has to wake up early. She’s obsessed with her latest theory.
Hoyt dancing is almost irresistible. I have to keep looking away to remind myself why I can’t touch him.
“This is killing me,” he says, stepping a little closer so I can hear him.
“What is?”
“You, in that dress.”
“If only you could take it off.” I’m feeling perhaps a little too loose.
“Don’t give me ideas…”
“Consider yourself… challenged.”
“Fuck. Let’s get out of here.”
Nineteen
“Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.” – Thomas Merton
