Shane turns to me with a broad grin. “What do you think?”
I pause, listening some more. I can’t pin down any sort of melody or pattern to the music. It’s a mess. “Well, it’s…” I struggle to smile as I inch toward the bar. I don’t want to lie; I’m trying to be more myself. But… shit. This is awful. “It’s interesting,” I say at last. There, that wasn’t a lie. Not totally.
Shane nods, his handsome face looking thoughtful. “Isn’t it? It’s so avant-garde, so sophisticated, most people don’t get it.”
I try not to snort at how pretentious that sounds.
“I find it fascinating,” Shane continues. “So intellectually challenging.”
It’s definitely challenging, I’ll give him that. But is music supposed to be intellectual? He makes it sound like a physics lecture. When I like music, it’s because the lyrics mean something to me, or the melody hits me at an emotional level, or because I feel the beat in my body.
Suddenly I miss Bounce, with its dirty hip-hop on Thursdays, its eighties pop nights and the live bands that sometimes play. I haven’t danced there in ages—most of the time I’m in for a date and out pretty quickly when it tanks—and I miss it. How did things get so complicated that I wound up here, standing in a dark basement, pretending to like something that sounds like a cat being mangled in a garbage truck?
Shane hands me my drink and we sip for a while, listening to the music. I try—trust me, Ireallytry—to like it, to find some redeeming quality about it, but I can’t. And I know I’m supposed to be honest, but when Shane looks at me, I give him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Whoops. It’s a reflex.
He sets his drink down, his hungry gaze pinning me to the spot. Before I know what’s happening, he leans down, pressing his mouth to mine. It’s so sudden and unexpected that I stumble backwards. He thrusts his tongue into my mouth, then draws back with a grin.
I blink, trying to make sense of what just happened. Between the racket violating my ears and Shane’s tongue in my throat, I’m feeling strangely disoriented.
“You want to go?” he asks.
I give a swift nod. Anything to get away from this place.
Out on the street, I pull in a lungful of the warm evening air, delighting in the glorious relief my ears are feeling. It’s like they’ve been assaulted. They’ll be ringing all night.
Shane turns to me. “Let’s get out of the East Village.” A scowl pulls his eyebrows together. “I hate it around here.”
I flinch. “Seriously?” I might have chosen the restaurant, buthewas the one who chose that awful bar.
“Yeah,” he mutters, looking up the street for a cab, and annoyance settles over me. This isn’t the first time he’s complained about a place I like; he didn’t like Bounce, either. Besides, if I can put up with his ridiculous experimental jazz without complaining, why does he have to tell me he hates the East Village?
Shane catches my expression and tries to backtrack. “It’s okay. I can come here if you like it.” He leans in to kiss me then stops, cocking his head, and reaches into my hair. “You know, you’ve got something stuck… here. You must have brushed past a tree.” He hands the pink flower to me with a chuckle.
I take the blossom, staring down at it in disbelief. Does he really think I stumbled backwards through a bush, inadvertently snagging a flower in my hair? How stupid is he? I toss it into the gutter with an exasperated sigh.
A cab turns down the street and Shane lunges forward, flagging it down. I step up to the curb, then hesitate. This evening has been a bit frustrating, if I’m honest. Perhaps I should just head home.
But when Shane opens the car door and turns to me with a hopeful smile, I feel myself relent. Maybe we’re just having an off night.
I slide into the backseat with him. He gives the driver an address, then shuffles closer to me as the cab pulls away from the curb.
“Where are we going?” I ask warily.
“I figured you’d come back to my place.”
Right. Well, getting into this cab was clearly a mistake.
“You did?”
A dirty grin crawls across his face. “I was getting a vibe.”
“Youwere?”
But he doesn’t answer. Instead, he leans forward and kisses me suddenly, fiercely. Despite how sexy Shane is, I feel myself tense up. I try to pull away, but he drags me back so my lips are hard against his. There’s a bolt of anxiety through me at the aggressiveness of his kiss, at the way he’s holding my head and pinning me against the seat. And when he slides a hand up my thigh, my whole body recoils. Panic seizes me as I get a flashback to that awful night a year ago, in the back corner of a Brooklyn nightclub, pushing a hand away and searching desperately for someone to help me. It’s like I’m back there again, my lungs tight as I struggle for the air to scream for help—
We stop at a red light and relief floods through me as Shane draws away.
It’s okay, I tell myself.You’re just in a cab, everything is fine. I gulp in a breath, trying to calm my racing pulse as the light turns green and we pull away.
