Page 84 of A Dangerous Kind of Love

I turn it up.

“What the actual hell is this?” he says over the music.

I ignore him.

Korn fills the car, loud and heavy, and I let it take over. I move with it, no holding back, my head snapping forward as I start headbanging, my hair flying, my whole body into it.

“Holy fuck,” he says.

I still don’t look at him. I keep going.

My phone vibrates in my lap. I stop moving and look down.

Sarah: We are going out tonight. The club. I need to dance.

Yes. I text back immediately.

Me: Michael will be with me.

I wait.

Michael keeps glancing over at me. I know he’s trying to figure out what fucked up version of me he’s getting right now. The music shifts, the heavy bass gone, replaced with Celine Dion filling the car as if I didn’t nearly snap my neck five seconds ago.

Sarah: Good. Because Luca’s coming too. 9 at Voltage.

I send a thumbs up and toss my phone back into my lap, leaning into my seat. Michael keeps stealing looks at me. I don’t acknowledge him. I just lift my hand, reach over, and slide my fingers into the back of his hair, letting them move there. I start singing.

“There were nights when the wind was so cold…”

I don’t hold back. I don’t tone it down. I sing like I’m alone, like I need it out of me, like if I stop I’m going to feel everything I just shoved down back at that place.

Chapter 32

Michael

“We’re going dancing tonight,” she says.

I’m sprawled across her comforter, staring at the ceiling, but that has me sitting up. “Excuse me?”

Katie smiles at me through the mirror while she digs through the top drawer of her dresser. We’ve been back from visiting her mom for maybe twenty minutes.

She spent forty-five minutes of the drive singing at the top of her lungs, switching songs every few minutes, not letting the car get quiet once. I didn’t interrupt her. I didn’t say anything about it. I didn’t need to. It was obvious what she was doing.

“Yeah,” I say, watching her. “Let’s revisit that.”

She doesn’t slow down.

“We’re going out,” she says again. “To the club Voltage at nine.”

I stare at her.

“You’re serious.”

She meets my eyes in the mirror, one brow lifting. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“Doll,” I say, “I don’t dance.”

She crosses the room, reaches me, and pushes my shoulders back until I’m sitting upright. She swings one leg over my lap and straddles me. My hands grab her hips automatically, sliding possessively to span her waist. The moment she settles there, my entire body reacts.