▪️Saturday, December 19th, 2017▪️

▪️Los Angeles, CA▪️

The music is so loud; it takes place of my senses and pushes me into a head space I didn't remember existed. The fucking rules fall away, and I move around Angie's body. One hand on her waist, the other lost in the flashes of strobe lights coming from the ceiling. I shout in the voice that blends with what comes from the speakers. I'm drunk on Angie's company enough to leave my inhibitions and let my hair fly. Dancing like this is the closest you can get to the energy of sex without the actual act. It's the extreme surrender.

I scan Angie's body with my fingers. She digs hers into the waist of my jeans and pulls me flush to her. Her glittering clothes scratches me through my T-shirt, but I push into her more, the pain a minor discomfort but a perfect accompaniment to the whiplash of senses this evening has been. Still the first day with her, and I've felt more than in the weeks apart. The me I'm near her is unrecognizable, and I want to be the person she turns me into. Let her riptide sweep me further, and even if I drown, it was worth it. Drowning with her is better than the dry comfort of a day-to-day without her by my side.

"We're moving on." A hand on my shoulder. It takes me a second to recognize Poppy in the splotches of interchanging dark and light shapes on her face. "We have one more place we have to show up at. You two coming?"

Angie leans into the conversation. "We're coming." She hangs her arm around my shoulder. "We are, right?"

I've had two drinks over the course of the night. Angie had a glass of champagne to celebrate, but she doesn't seem to need the alcohol to let loose. "We could come?"

Angie hangs on me and plasters a kiss on my chin. Poppy looks at Angie, shakes her head and moves back to the couch where the rest of the band sit.

"I need to pee." It's not Angie's first bathroom break, but every time I tried to accompany her before, she gave me the same flippant reply about not needing a babysitter. I don't ask this time. I watch as she makes her way to the hallway and keep my eyes on the door she disappears behind. I want to go and stand by the door, but I stay put.

"Smart, lover-boy. Not letting her out of your sight." Neil is by my side, talking to me for the first time since he came to pick Angie and me up at the hotel.

Neil's sipping something from the glass but he looks the most sober of all of us. I lower my head and sniff the drink. It does not smell of alcohol. "Did they forget to add liquor to your drink?"

He takes a sip. "No. It's just the way I like it."

"And how do you like it?" The feverish floaty state dancing with Angie maintained for the last couple of hours doesn't not keep my dislike of Neil away. It only makes me want to punch him more. If only he gave me a reason to.

"Full of control instead of alcohol."

"Full of something, alright." I don't want to scowl at him but something in the way he's now eyeing the bathroom door Angie disappeared, like he's more worried than me, like I should be worried about her, rubs me the wrong way. The door opens, and Angie reappears, before I can do something stupid to Neil, I'd certainly regret later.

Angie wraps her hands around my neck, wiping the worried look off the British asshole. "You see. I made it back safe and sound."

Neil reaches into a back pocket covered by the long back of his ripped shirt and gives Angie a Snickers. Fuck. That damn thing again. I snatch it, rip the wrapper and take a bite.

"While your"—he waves in my direction—"boytoy is occupied, let me remind you we have our last writing session tomorrow at nine. Maybe you should head to the hotel."

"Did Poppy ask you to take care of me again?"

"All my doing this time." He gives a series of nods that draw a smile out of Angie, like there is a secret language they have I don't understand.

I should say something, but the stupid candy glues my teeth together. I need water and get us away from here, in whatever order I can get both accomplished. I wrap my arm around Angie's hip and walk away, to the table with the carafe of water and in the opposite direction from Neil.

"He's trying to rile you up." Angie hugs herself into my side. "He's a great musician, but being the arrogant ass stands in the way of him finding people who want to write with him. I let him pose, and Poppy is grateful for my high tolerance of Neil's douchbaggery."

My fists unclench. She's not fooled by this fucker. I gulp the glass of water down. "Good."

"I can take care of myself." Angie's voice sounds serious. Is she trying to convince me or herself? She shakes her hand, as if it's still wet from the bathroom. "I know what I'm doing."

I believe her, but my protector instincts are on high alert. All I've done in the last ten years is control myself, pretend I'm the man of the house. It's a hard habit to break. I want to protect her even though I'm not sure what I'm protecting her from. I pour another glass of water and give it and what is left of the Snickers bar to her.

Her mascara paints gray-black circles under her eyes. The disheveled hair and gold sparkles that migrated from her eyelids to all over her face should make her look messy, but instead I see fierce, defiant.

Fucking beautiful.

I'm back to being drunk.

On her.

My lips are the missile, hers-my target. We keep the connection of our eyes and meet in the middle. The collision of our mouths sends me into a tailspin. I'm a fucking sucker for his girl. She has me. I'd probably go do some fucked-up shit right now if she asked.

Whatever I thought I remembered about our kisses was a weak imitation. The real thing is like tasting a home-cooked meal after surviving on protein shakes. Her breath sucks my soul out only to push it back into me. She has no taste of her own. Chocolate, peanuts, caramel fuse into what should make me think about brushing my teeth, instead it reminds me of the improbable combinations of foods Ben sometimes feeds me.

Chocolate dipped bacon, mustard on watermelon, coffee-rubbed salmon. Angie tastes like a freak of nature, like things that should not mix. Like a fucking mad scientist created her for me by marrying the ingredients that don't go together, only to stumble onto a perfect combination. Perfect for me.

Our kiss is slow and sloppy and the least romantic one I've had with her but it's the best one. We stop. Angie's eyes, heavy and shiny, trace my lips. "The hotel sounds like a great idea right now."

"Your room?" I don't want to spend another night away from her, but she's in control, and I'll follow her lead. I really fucking want that lead to take us to her bed. Together. And not me to the couch. Alone.

"My room. And my bed."

"Good." I kiss her temple.

"Ready to go?" Poppy is at our side. She either missed our kiss or seen enough of them to not pay it any attention.

"We're skipping the last place," Angie says. "Need to be fresh for tomorrow morning's writing session." Her stare tells me she is not thinking about tomorrow. Her mind is in the same place as mine. Fucking gutter.

"Good." Poppy echoes my earlier sentiment. "You luvs have a fun night, and I will see you in the morning."

The group loads into one of the two giant SUVs that got us here from the stadium. They dispatch the second car to take us to the hotel. Kissing in the middle of the VIP lounge was a no-brainer. In the dark, cool back seat of the car we are back to the uncertainty of earlier in the evening. Maybe I imagined the last ten minutes. "I can take the couch. You don't have to—"

"I know. I want to." Angie's hand finds my thigh and dives into the pocket of my jeans. It's the repeat of the first day we met. Fucking unbelievable. We are not doing this in the car.

Her fingers find what they were looking for, and she clearly is doing it. In the car. I move my hand to her lap and play along. We return to our beginning. My mind is broken, unable to comprehend the full extent of today. Where we started, where were went to, and where we are ending. Each fucking minute with Angie is fuller lived than I dare to admit.

She's getting me off in the back seat of the SUV. If her lips tore my roof off, her hand on me threatens to tear my restraint down. I put my hand on her and stop what she's doing. It's been a month since I've seen her. Yes, I want her to continue, but this is not the way I planned for us to do this. We've rushed it the first time around, and I need today to count as fully as possible. I take her hand out of my pocket, kiss it, and hold it to my chest.

"I've waited a month. I can wait longer. For you, I'll wait however long you need me to."

She puts her other hand on my cheek and brings out foreheads together. "Thank you for being you."

This kiss starts like a whisper. We don't talk the rest of the way to the hotel because our lips are reintroducing themselves properly, one skim at a time, developing the full picture like Louka does with the images in his darkroom. I don't need light to recognize the textures of her mouth. This is our real 'hello' of the day. The radio's playing the oldies. If the driver suspects anything, he shows nothing when he stops at the doors of the hotel. I slide out and get Angie's hand to help her down. She adjusts her skirt, runs her hand through whatever disaster my hair is. I can't wait to see what the rest of the night will be like.

Fuckety-fuck.

Angie intertwines our fingers, shakes her head, and lets her hair fall lose along her back. "Own it."

She smiles wide and tugs me to the doors. We walk through the lobby, clothes, hair, and smiles in opposition to the orderly calm of the high-end establishment. This time I'm not self-conscious. I'm owning it as much as I can. I spread my shoulders, squeeze Angie's hand, and feel my smile grow wider as the elevator doors close, and I see our reflections in its glass walls.

Neither of us is sleeping tonight.