Page 94 of Howl for Me
His hand lingers. Warm, and heavy, and real. I stiffen, heart thudding once in protest before speeding up in betrayal. But I don’t move. I can’t.
“Well…” I say, trying not to stumble over the words. “We have a party to go to. Hector wants you there and mingling. It’s going to be packed, producers, agents, the studio’s new execs. Everyone. They’ll even have the wardrobe department there.”
“Wardrobe?” he says with mock fear. “So not just pretty faces and expensive cologne, actual people I’ve annoyed.”
“Exactly,” I say, still very aware of his hand on my leg. “You need to do some major damage control.”
“So I have to play nice and kiss everyone’s ass,” he says, tapping my thigh lightly with his fingers like a drumbeat.
“Yes. But don’t look at it that way.”
“So you’re going clothes shopping?” he asks, too casually.
I raise an eyebrow. “Yeah. Why?”
“Can I come?”
That snaps the trance right in half. I scoff, amused, and push his hand off my thigh as I stand up. “No, you can’t. It’s my day off, remember?”
He growls, actually growls like the werewolf he is, and looks up at me “Why can’t I come? How are you gonna get around?”
I grab my clipboard and tuck it neatly into my bag. “I’ll ride the bus.”
He recoils like I said I was gonna hitchhike barefoot across the freeway. “No way. You can’t ride the bus.”
I shrug. “I like the bus. What’s wrong with the bus?”
“No one likes the bus,” he says, horrified. “It’s sticky. And slow. And smells like, like despair and wet gum.”
I bite back a grin and zip my bag slowly, savoring the way he watches me like I’m a live wire he doesn’t know how to touch. “Let me bring you,” he says, voice soft now, like he’s bargaining.
I roll my eyes but try not to let the smile bloom too obviously. Johnny wants to tag along with me shopping. Why?
“No,” I say, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “Now come on. I’ll let you bring me home.”
He stands, finally, dragging his hands through his hair with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. So you can see me naked, but I can’t see you?”
My jaw drops. “Oh, that’s why you were being so generous about taking me shopping. You thought you’d get a show.”
He grins, unashamed. “I tried.”
I snap my fingers at him and head for the door. “Yeah, yeah, come on, perv.”
He throws a shirt over his head and follows me out, muttering just loud enough for me to hear, “But you like it.”
I don’t reply. Not out loud. But… yeah. I do.
Chapter Seventeen
Johnny
Cleaning. I’m cleaning and organizing...
Never thought I’d hit that point in my life where alphabetizing records felt like a form of therapy, but here I am, crouched in front of my shelf, sliding Zeppelin behind Zappa like my sanity depends on it. Everything’s neat now. Rows of vinyl lined up like soldiers. I even dusted. Twice. Which is probably a cry for help.
I get up, stretch, and make my way to the kitchen. The fridge smells like something crawled in and died two months ago. I open it anyway, nose wrinkling, and start pulling things out one by one. Old takeout boxes with fossilized noodles. A bottle of ketchup that looks like it predates Nixon. Half a lemon that’s more mold than fruit.
Toss, toss, toss.
