Page 208 of Tempting-
"Okay." I slide into my seat. Click my seatbelt. Fix my smeared makeup in the mirror.
We're quiet as he turns the car on and pulls onto the street. We don't have to say anything. ThatI want to fuck youtension is hanging heavy in the air. It's all I can think.
Brendon pulls into the parking garage and stops by the elevators.
Emma bounces to the car. She's wearing skinny jeans and a ripped up, cropped shirt adorned with the logo of her second favorite band.Darkest Days.Its red logo matches her hair. And her lipstick.
She slides into the backseat. "Hey."
"Hey." ThatI need to fuck youtone seeps into my voice.
Emma shoots me awhat's up with youlook.
I shrug.
"Earth to Brendon?" She clicks her seatbelt. When he doesn't respond, she presses on. "You two get into a fight or something?"
Or something, yeah. "You know your brother and his music taste."
"Yeah." She looks to him. Examines him the way she examined me. "You can drop us at the show if you prefer that."
He doesn't say anything.
"Brendon? Hello." Emma taps him on the shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah." His voice still has that breathy edge. He shakes it off. "Why are you wearing another band's shirt?"
"Duh. Everyone knows it's lame to wear the same band's t-shirt to a concert," she says.
"Do they?" His voice is almost back to normal.
"Everyone cool," I say. "That must not include you."
He chuckles. It's too rich. Too hearty. Too full of affection.
Emma shakes her head. "I swear, if I didn't know better..."I'd swear you're fucking.
Something flares in her eyes.
Like she's considering the possibility of us fucking.
Like it's the only reasonable explanation for our behavior the last month and change.
Damn,this is one packed club.
There must be two thousand people crammed into a space that usually holds far less. Everything is black—the floor, the walls, the stage, the attire of most of the patrons.
The opening band is playing. I recognize the song from the radio, but I can't put a name to it.
The lead singer has his hand around the mic. He's pouring his heart into his performance. And he's cute. He has the rocker hottie thing going in spades. Skinny jeans. Black t-shirt. Leather jacket. Spikey hair. Facial piercings.
"Think he's got the tongue too?" Emma asks.
"What is that like?" I ask.
"Are you calling me a slut, babe? Because I take that as a compliment." She laughs.
"You wish you were a slut," I say.
