I try to push all my stresses and worries away, but I can’t push Xander from my mind. I don’t want to. Spending this time with him has me questioning everything. I feel like we’ve grown close, reestablished that friendship we once shared, but I’ve kept it on the surface. I’m afraid to let it go any deeper. He’s tried to talk to me, but I can’t handle talking about him with another girl. I know he wants me and I want him so badly, but I can’t let go of the past. Whenever he gets close, I see him with her. And I also can’t handle a casual relationship with him. He seems to have that with Amy, and who knows who else— That’s not what I want from him.
Everything is hazy, the room is hot, and I’m sweaty, so I excuse myself to use the bathroom. I splash cold water on my face and try to wipe him from my brain. I found the strength to forget him before and I have to find it again. I have to fight these feelings I have for him that just won’t go away. But when I follow the crowd back into the room, I can’t help but look for him. I scan the area. I see people drinking, dancing, groping. I spot the band. But I don’t see him anywhere. My gaze flickers around and finally settles on Leif, who’s talking to Nix and Phoebe. Popping over to him, I stand in the circle, but don’t really listen to the conversation. Instead, I continue to search for Xander.
When a sweat-clad Garrett taps me on the shoulder, he interrupts the conversation. “Hey, there you are. I think it’s a good idea for us to get out of the club before everyone else starts to leave. To avoid the crowds as everyone exits.”
I nod at Garrett, and he motions toward the door with his chin and takes my elbow. “Come on, this way,” he shouts over the music.
I’m not really ready to leave, but since he seems to have decided it’s time, I follow him to the car. When we start to drive away, I become alarmed. Turning around toward Nix, I ask, “Where’s Xander?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since the band started playing.” His lack of concern just pisses me off.
But Garrett seems to know. He mutters something about him being in a shitass mood and leaving, telling him to stop by and pick up the materials for tomorrow’s show when we got back.
“Why? Is he not coming?”
Garrett seems annoyed and just throws his head back. “Who the fuck knows?”
Since I’m pretty sure Xander’s foul mood has something to do with me, I tell him, “I’ll stop by his room. I need to talk to him about something anyway.”
“You’re the one opting to walk into the ring of fire. Just remember, I’m not the one who sent you.”
I give him a halfhearted grin as I think about how Xander hasn’t changed. His temper, his mood swings—they’ve only intensified. I need to apologize to him for snapping when he asked me about Damon. I think I should explain my financial situation and how important it is that I work things out with Damon in an amicable way. And now is probably the best time. I can tell he doesn’t care for Damon or trust him, but that rush I felt over his protectiveness that first morning on the bus has kept me from discussing Damon with him. I don’t want him to make any trouble for the band because just like Xander, Damon can be hotheaded. And since Damon’s demands keep coming and his calls get more frequent, I’m just not sure what he wants from me, but I know he wants something.
As soon as the car parks in front of the hotel, we make a run for it through the rain, none of us waiting for the doorman or an umbrella. Leif and Garrett decide to hit the hotel bar for one last drink, and Nix and Phoebe head to their room. I ride the elevator with them and exit at Xander’s floor.
Walking down the hall, I notice the slide bar of his dead bolt holding the door ajar. I knock lightly and swing it open. “Xander, it’s me. I don’t want to fight with you. And there are some things I think you should know . . .” I’m stunned into silence. I stop for a heartbeat as my gaze tumbles over him. He’s standing in the hotel room, his long, lean body turned to the side, as he shrugs out of his unbuttoned shirt. My eyes graze his body—he is still the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on. My breath catches at the sight of him. Seeing the lines in his muscles makes my heart beat so fast, and watching the flexing of his biceps has me biting down on my lower lip. The way his abs ripple down into the waistband of his jeans causes my body to clench with need. My memory of him isn’t nearly as powerful as the real thing.
I savor the sight, trying not to pant. I make sure not to deflect my stare, but rather I make it clear that I’m studying every single inch of him. I even notice the fraying of his shirt, which on most men would make me think they should mend it or buy a new one, but on him the imperfection only makes him all the more appealing. When that shirt drops to the floor, I watch it intently, and as the hem skims the ground, a small noise escapes my throat.