She laughs again and I smile at her. For a moment there is no hostility, no tension . . . just us having a good time. I think I miss that most of all—the ease of being with her. Doing anything or nothing, we always had fun. She always made me laugh.
Garrett goes into detail about what the bartender put in the shot we just drank and then lists a multitude of other shots that have quirky effects. I’m not really listening to him—I’m thinking about Ivy and why she’d ask me about Amy, and about what’s going on with Damon. I just can’t stop thinking about her.
Finally, Panic takes the stage. It’s just them—no elaborate stage settings, no theatrics, just pure music. The kind of music I love. Ivy dances her way over toward Leif before I can bring us back to the conversation we left unfinished. He clutches her hips and starts dancing with her. He’s been pretty hands on since breaking up with his girl, and I’m starting to wonder if they do have something going on. As I watch them, the tension in my body starts to strain my muscles.
I try to direct my attention elsewhere for as long as I can. I watch the band, the people in the club, talk to Nix and Phoebe, compare notes with Garrett on the sound in the room, but my eyes keep landing on Ivy. Running my hand over the stubble on my jaw, I look at her with unrestrained longing, and she catches me. My heart skips in my chest when she sings along with the band and smiles at me. Watching her makes me weak in the knees. We stare at each other and I rock on my heels. She averts her eyes to pull her phone out of her purse. She glances at it and her smile fades quickly. When she shows the message to Leif, I can’t take it anymore. I’m going to drive myself crazy unless I talk to her.
Walking up to both of them, I address her. “Tell me what happened. I can tell you’re upset.” My voice comes out harsher than I intend.
“Everything’s fine,” Leif says, squeezing my shoulder.
I turn to him and with a scowl on my face, I hiss, “I was talking to Ivy.”
He puts his hands up in surrender and my gaze goes back to her. Her steely eyes stare into mine for the longest time, like she’s searching for something. Then finally she leans into me and on her tiptoes she whispers against my cheek, “It’s nothing, really. Damon just wants me back or he’s going to start legal action against me.”
Every muscle in my body freezes. How dare he threaten her! “Did you tell him to go fuck himself?”
“Xander, no, I didn’t. He’s serious. He doesn’t screw around. He says regardless of what my attorney says I’m in breach of contract—that I can’t just go out on my own without having the financial agreements prearranged. He’s going to sue me for everything I’ve earned on this tour.”
“I’m serious too, Ivy. You can do whatever you want. He doesn’t give a shit about the money—he just wants to control you. I hope you told him to take it all.”
Any softness in her gaze instantly drains from her eyes. “No, I didn’t. It’s none of your business anyway. I shouldn’t have told you.” She turns back toward Leif, who grasps her hips again as she runs her hand up his chest, leaning forward to whisper in his ear.
The front man’s voice booms through the room. “I am so relieved to finally be back,” he says. He’s dressed like the other three members of the band, in a vest and skinny tie. Personally I’m not one for band costumes, but from the cheers and screams the crowd seems to disagree with me. Applause drowns out his voice. He hits the floor with a bevy of dancers costumed in black and gold lamé, brocade with leather and feathers. The place turns into mayhem.
He starts his first song in the set and everyone sings and dances along, including Ivy. My eyes sharpen as I continue to watch her. She’s moving to the beat. When she raises her arms over her head and I see Leif’s eyes flow down her body—I’m done. I can’t take her flirting with other men, I can’t take the back-and-forth between us, I can’t take skirting the issues. I’m pissed as hell and I need to get out of here. I turn to Garrett. “I’ve had enough. Just make sure Ivy gets back safely and don’t forget to stop by my room. I have changes to the playlist for tomorrow’s gig.”
“Sure, no problem. But you’re not coming to the festival?”
“I’m not sure what I’m doing,” I tell him and turn without a second glance her way. I know it’s time again—time to let her go. But I can’t stop thinking about the choice I made so long ago—the one to set her free. As I push through the crowd of people, I don’t see any of their faces. Rather, I’m swept back to the first time I let her go.