Page 15 of Wicked Minds
The man’s smirk splits into a full-blown smile as he holds his hands out at the side. “This is my club.”
Tara splutters. “Bullshit. You don’t own a club.”
“I don’t think you’re in a position to know what I do and do not own,” he teases. However, it’s the wrong thing to say as it only infuriates Tara further.
“And whose fault is that?!” Hurt underlines her anger, and the smile instantly drops from his face, his shoulders deflating somewhat.
Spotting the injury she inflicted, Tara goes in for the kill. “I didn’t need your help with those idiots, and I don’t need it now,Dax.” Holy fuck, Dax? As in her old flame,Dax?Daaaaamn, no wonder Tara ispissed. “We’re out to celebrate, and if I’d knownyou’dbe here, we’d have gone elsewhere. So do me a favor and pretend I don’t exist. God knows you’ve done an excellent job of it all these years.”
Ouch.I wince in sympathy for the man as Tara pulls on my arm, practically dragging me through the crowd and away from the stranger.
Before he completely disappears from view, I look back at him. His stare bores into Tara with an intensity that reminds me a lot of how Royce looks at me.
Tara may have told Dax to forget she exists, but something tells me that now he’s caught a glimpse, he won’t be able to go back to forgetting her so easily.
“That was Dax?” I hiss when we’re on the far side of the room.
Her lips are pinched tight when she turns to look at me, giving a sharp nod.
“Did you really not know this was his club?”
“Fuck no. I’d never have suggested coming here if I had. He’s supposed to be a fighter, for fuck’s sake. What the hell is he doing running a trendy club?” She groans in exasperation. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her appear so flustered, with her cheeks red and eyes glassy.
“Are you okay?” I ask, worried about seeing her so put out.
She blows out a long breath. “I’m fine. Just… taken by surprise. I haven’t seen Dax in… It’s been years since I last saw him. Here, now, tonight… I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”
Sensing she needs comforting, I wrap my arms around her. She sinks into my embrace, her arms going around my waist as she buries her face in the crook of my neck.
“Why couldn’t he have been bald and fat?” she whines after a moment, making me laugh. “He was hot with a capital H.” She groans, her bottom lip pushing out in a pout. “As if my imagination didn’t already make him my dream man, then he has to go and outdo even my wildest fantasies. What a douchecanoe.”
“Total douchecanoe,” I agree, even though I’m barely restraining my laughter.
When Tara’s gaze meets mine, I can’t hold it back any longer and we both burst out laughing. “Ughhh,” she groans. “Out of all the clubs…”
Squeezing her hand, I say, “Hey, forget about him. It’s girls’ night. We’re out to have a good time and bring in the new year, right.”
A slow grin brightens Tara’s face, and with a fist pump, she declares, “Hell yeah, we are!”
We rejoin our friends, and when a staff member approaches our group and says we’ve been invited to make use of the VIP area, Tara simply shrugs her shoulders and accepts the glass of Champagne she’s offered before we follow the guy behind the roped-off area.
With a private dance floor and unlimited free drinks, all of us are laughing and living it up, and as the clock strikes midnight, we huddle in for a group embrace, sharing in the promise of an adventurous year ahead.
I roll back my shoulders, releasing some of the tension from a night spent on stage as I push out the staff exit and into the cold January night. Walking up the side of the building, the floodlight shines overhead when I reach the front and look out over the parking lot.
My gaze pauses on a noticeable black truck parked dead center in the lot. A veryfamiliartruck.
Royce.
Of course, I already knew he was here. As if I could disregard the feel of his eyes caressing my skin while I was on the stage. He hasn’t missed a shift since I started back after everything happened, and when I step outside at the end of the night, he’s always there, waiting to trail me home. Always watching but never overstepping. Keeping his promise to protect me but never encroaching on the space I asked for.
I never acknowledge him. Never look his way in the club, and I ignore his monstrous truck hovering out front, but tonight I glance toward the road—my usual route home—before making a split-second decision. Rather than heading for the dark street, I march straight to the black truck and yank open the door. I lean into the cab, staring at the dark-haired boy whose eyes I’ve felt on me all night.
“Don't take this to mean that I've forgiven you, but if you're going to follow me home, then I may as well take advantage of your heated seats,” I state with sass, climbing in and pulling the door closed behind me before I can change my mind.
His hands rest against the wheel as his eyes rake over me, a thousand pinpricks striking my awareness and causing me to shiver. “Noted,” he returns, lips twitching in what may or may not be the beginnings of a small smile. Only before it can gain momentum, he shifts the truck into gear and pulls out of the lot, heading toward my apartment.
The air inside the cab is thick with silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. If anything, it feels… like us. Going so far as to bring a nostalgic smile to my lips as I remember the night I sat while he drew me, days spent on the sofa watching Christmas movies, and the occasional couple of hours we had together when I read while he sketched. I’ve missed the comfort I found in his silence. How easy it was to justbewhen I was alone with him.
