Blood Song: Refrain (Blood Song Series Book 2) Page 6

“Nobody said I let people see that. I just said I wasn’t embarrassed for people to know I like a song.”

  “Have you ever written a song and later on wondered what in the world you were thinking?” I asked.

  “Not really. But I did write a song on a dare once. I bet these other musicians that I could write a song based on nothing major and have it become a hit.” He chortled at the memory.

  “And did you?”

  “I did.” While we were stopped at a stoplight, he pulled out his phone and tapped in a bunch of stuff. He handed me his phone. The top of the screen said, “William Don’t Misplace My Digits”.

  ♪ Don’t Lose My Number by Phil Collins

  Frowning, I said, “I don’t recognize this song.”

  “Read down to the chorus.” He began to hum as I skimmed the words.

  When I reached the chorus, I said, “Oh. Not William, but Billy. I do know this song. How did you come to write a song on a dare?”

  “Well, they were arguing that lyrics are what sell songs. And I told them it’s about the right combination. Lyrics don’t have to be profound when they’re paired with the right catchy melody. One of the guys was named Bill. He challenged me to write a hit about him and my phone number.”

  We turned left, heading farther into the downtown area, where traffic was more congested.

  “And you met the challenge with ease, I’d say. And I’d say it’s a good thing you didn’t officially bet me that I couldn’t find a song without deep meaning in your songwriting catalog.”

  “Touché.” He chuckled.

  He turned the car off, causing me to look around. He’d pulled into a reserved parking spot. We’d already arrived at Club Night, in the heart of downtown. A line of people snaked around the corner of the building, waiting for the bouncer to let them in. I’d forgotten that Thursdays were college night at most bars and clubs, though it had been a long time since I’d partaken in a college night of fun.

  “This is your club?” I’d heard of the prestigious Club Night even before I moved here. But I hadn’t taken an opportunity to try to visit it.

  “Yep, come on. Let’s go. I want to look over things before the guys from the band arrive.” He came around to my door and offered his hand to help me out of the low seat.

  “The guys from what band?” I asked as I swung my legs out of the car.

  “Rage Rush is interested in the song you posted, and they want to discuss other opportunities. I told them to meet us here tonight.”

  I stopped midway through standing up. He said it so nonchalantly that there was no way I heard him correctly. The number one band in the country was not coming to hang out in Toven’s club tonight. There was just no way.

  “Did you say R-rage Rush?” I stammered as he tugged me upright and wrapped an arm around my waist.

  “Yeah. I think their names are Zeke, Chris, Mark and Dave. Though I don’t have my cheat sheet on me.”

  Holy hell. My eyes darted down to my attire. I wasn’t dressed to meet anyone of their status. “Those are their names. I just can’t believe they’re meeting us here at your club. I love their music. They are the hottest group out there right now.”

  “Yeah, they’re topping the charts in the US and Europe. And they have four singles currently in the top one hundred. I’d love to work with them.” With a squeeze of his hand on my hip, he urged my feet to move.

  He led us to the front door where the bouncer greeted him and let us in. Rather than walking down the hallway into the lights and thumping bass, Toven steered me to a staircase that was tucked out of sight.

  “The VIP section and my office are up here.”

  I followed him up the dimly-lit staircase. When we emerged at the top, another bouncer stood by the doorway that led to controlled chaos. Just beyond the archway was an unmarked door. Toven nodded at the bouncer then opened the door. With a flip of a light switch, an office was illuminated. He stepped aside, allowing me to enter first. The office wasn’t as big as his other office, but it was still bigger than a normal club manager’s office. A large metal desk sat on the wall to the right, and a long couch ran along the wall to the left. The wall opposite the door was all glass with a couch in front of it, overlooking the dance floor. Chairs were positioned around a table near the door. My eyes moved quickly over each detail, but they kept wandering back to the glass wall. Unconsciously, I moved to the couch, drawn by the flickering lights and hint of movement below.

  When I placed my hand against the glass, I could feel the vibrations of the music rumbling beneath my skin, but with the office door shut, the sound was barely audible.

  “Soundproof?” I asked over my shoulder.

  “Yep. I don’t spend much time here anymore. But I used to come and draw inspiration from the freedom people seemed to find on the dance floor. I couldn’t concentrate on writing new music with other songs filling my ears, so I had the office soundproofed and the window put in so I could watch in peace.” He sank to one knee on the cushion beside me, peering out into the moving canvas of color.

  I nodded my head in understanding. “Who’s hanging out in the VIP section tonight?”

  “Besides us and Rage Rush, maybe an actor or two. Some of our regulars are musicians who have homes in the area, so they hang out when they’re in town. The bouncers have a list of who’s approved up here, so no one has to let the club know ahead of time that they’re coming.”

  “Can we go sit out there while we wait?” I turned to him, anxiously.

  “Sure. Come on. I’ll have the server bring you a drink. What do you want?”

  “Two Hot Damn shots, please,” I said without hesitation.

  He arched a brow at my request but didn’t comment. He hadn’t seen me have more than wine and not very much of it. I wasn’t a heavy drinker, but I might need some fortification to keep from looking like a bumbling idiot in front of the Rage Rush guys.

  He ordered my shots and a glass of B-negative for himself. He always ordered B-negative—it must be his favorite. I knew it was the second rarest blood type, but Toven could afford to drink the rarest, AB-negative—my blood type. Maybe he didn’t like AB-negative, and that was why he hadn’t tasted me. I frowned at the thought. I couldn’t help what blood type I was born with.

  I walked over to a cluster of seats overlooking the lower level and shrugged out of my jacket. Turning my back to Toven, I draped it over the back of the chair. I didn’t realize Toven had come over to where I was until I heard his sharp intake of breath and growled curse. Instantly, I turned to see what had caused that reaction and found him staring at me.

  “What?” I asked in confusion.

  He shook his head as if he was trying to wake himself up. He stepped right up to me, so I had to tilt my head back to look into his eyes.

  “You look so damn beautiful,” he rasped out.

  Oh. So, the growl wasn’t anger; it was desire.

  “Thanks. But you saw me at the house.” I still didn’t understand the intensity of his reaction.

  “Yeah, but I didn’t see your shirt.” One of his fingers dipped inside the shredded area at my side, barely brushing against my flesh.

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot about it. Do you like it?”

  He leaned down to whisper in my ear, “I think this might be my new favorite shirt of yours. It wakes up my imagination and inspires me. It looks like I ripped it up in the throes of passion. Makes me want to do it for real.”

  A shiver ran up my spine as his breathy words caressed the shell of my ear. My heart hammered against my sternum, and my mind begged him to kiss me. It seemed as if he’d heard the pleas inside my head because he ran his nose along my jawline on the way to my mouth. I held my breath in anticipation. His lips had barely settled on mine before the server returned with our drinks.

  “Sorry to interrupt, boss, but here are your drinks,” she chirped.

  He kissed me softly then pulled back. The spell of the previous moment had been broken. I glanced over his shoulder at the wa
itress. She didn’t look sorry at all to have interrupted. She slowly leaned over to place our drinks on the table among the chairs. Here we go again. Toven didn’t even look her way.

  “I’m stationed up here tonight, so if you need anything just give me a holler,” her words dripped with innuendo.

  “Thanks. I’m sure the guys will want something to drink when they arrive. Just be sure that you’re beyond professional with them. No asking for autographs or pestering them, understand?” his tone was stern as he cut his gaze to her sharply.

  “Yes, sir.” She moved away but continued to hover nearby.

  “She likes you,” I whispered under my breath.

  “Well, I don’t like her. I just want her to do her job,” he declared.

  How did he not notice all the stunning women who constantly threw themselves at him?

  I sat in my seat. Toven took my hand in his, and we both watched the moving mass of bodies below us. “So, what songs did this scene inspire?”

  “‘Free’, ‘With Abandon’ and ‘Fevered’ are the biggest hits. There are still a few unclaimed ones in my repository.”

  “I really loved ‘With Abandon’.” I launched into the chorus of the hit song from a decade ago. “I was just standin’. Watchin’ you move with abandon. Wishin’ I didn’t feel so restrained. Needin’ freedom from my pain . . ..”

  He grinned at me as my voice trailed off.

  “So, watching people dance in your club was the inspiration for that song?”

  “Yes, you never know where inspiration will find you or what exactly it’ll inspire. But over all the years I’ve been on this Earth, I’ve found a lot just by watching people. You can learn so much by being observant. And people’s bodies portray so much when they dance.” He leaned closer to me, causing my nostrils to fill with the spicy scent of him.

  “I’ve never been good at reading people,” I admitted.

  “You can learn. For instance, see that girl over there in the pink dress?” He pointed to a girl dancing in a group of people.

  I nodded.

  “Notice how she’s with a group who seem to be her friends, yet she dances on the outskirts. Every so often her eyes dart to the sides to see if anyone is watching her.”

  I tilted my head to the side, examining the scene. “I see that.”

  “She hasn’t found freedom or abandon in the music or the dance. She’s self-conscious. I’d guess she doesn’t go out with this group of people often. She isn’t comfortable in her own skin or in having them see her like this. But she wants to fit in, so she’s trying.” He turned to see if I was understanding.

  “I can see that now that you point it out.” It really was obvious once he said it.

  “Now, look at the girl in the purple top with black hair. Tell me what you notice about her.” He sipped from his glass, waiting for my observations.

  I examined her closely, feeling like this was some sort of test I didn’t want to fail.

  “Well, she’s immersed in the group, not on the outskirts. If she isn’t the leader of their little group, she’s the beta. Her eyes are closed, so she obviously isn’t concerned about what anyone else thinks. Her movements are fluid and natural, almost like she’s absorbed the music and is letting the overflow pour back out of her through dance.”

  He looked at me for a long moment. So long, in fact, I was convinced I’d gotten it all wrong. It saddened me. I’d never cared to make observations about those around me before. I was comfortable fading into the background myself, so I’d never made a habit of watching anyone. When you watch people, you invite them to watch you back. And while it hadn’t really bothered me to be noticed years ago, in the past year, I’d become very self-conscious about what people might be whispering about me.

  “Good job. You nailed it. She’s definitely the alpha of her group. And she has that freedom about her. She moves with abandon. She couldn’t give two craps about what anyone thinks of her. That is the type of recklessness that inspired me. Probably because I haven’t been able to capture it for myself,” he confessed softly.

  He picked up his glass of blood again, and I grabbed one of my shot glasses. I ran my finger around the rim as I continued watching. I noticed a commotion. Catching sight of a head of curly black hair, I realized the guys from Rage Rush had arrived. My nerves kicked up in full force. My mouth instantly dried, and my breath got stuck in my throat.

  I was going to make a total fool of myself in front of some very famous people. God, kill me now. I slammed back the shot before the band reached us. The combination of whiskey, rum and vodka burned on the way down, warming my belly when it landed. A little cough slipped out, causing Toven to raise his brow at me. I gave him a thumbs-up, letting him know I was fine. The lingering hint of rum and orange juice flavored my breath.

  “I didn’t expect you to slam that back like a pro. I didn’t think you were a big drinker.” There was a hint of awe in his voice.

  “I’m not a big drinker. My nerves got hold of me. I’m not used to being around famous people and I don’t want to look like a moron.” I stared down at the table as I muttered the last part.

  With one finger beneath my chin, he forced my gaze to his. “Let me be perfectly clear. You are not a moron. You can’t look like a moron. I don’t ever want to hear you refer to yourself that way again, do you understand me?” During his little tirade, his fingers had gripped my chin so I couldn’t look away. I hadn’t ever seen him look like this—like his irritation was barely contained. What did he care if I called myself a moron or not?

  “I care because you spoke of yourself in a negative light. There’s nothing negative about you, at least not that I see. I won’t tolerate anyone speaking poorly of you, even yourself.”

  “Did you read my mind just now? You said that you didn’t have that kind of power,” I asked, astonished.

  “No, I didn’t read your mind . . . I read your face. And it’s such a beautiful face. I could spend the rest of my life reading it and turning it to music.” He pressed a kiss to my lips, totally distracting me from the commotion heading our way.

  He pulled back as a myriad of voices invaded our quiet bubble. I looked up and found myself staring into the eyes of the sexy lead singer of Rage Rush, Zeke. He had a mop of curly, dark hair that begged for fingers to run through it and piercing gray eyes. A smile brightened his face as he walked up to us. The rest of the band trailed in behind him. A disappointed group of girls was halted at the top of the stairs.

  Toven shook each guy’s hand, introducing himself. He wrapped his arm around my waist and said, “And this is my girlfriend, Celesta. She’s responsible for the video you saw online.”

  Zeke held a hand out to me. “Nice work.”

  “Thanks,” I squeaked.

  I shook hands with the other band members as we all settled around table. The guys ordered drinks and began to discuss music business, while my eyes wandered back to the dance floor. My body began to subtly sway to the rhythm.

  What little I did catch of their conversation sounded as if they wanted to buy permission to use Toven’s viral song and pay him to write a couple more songs for their upcoming album. Happiness filled me at his success. And I knew I had a small role in helping Rage Rush find him. It gave me confidence that I might have what it took to do marketing and PR in the entertainment industry. I was loathed to be forced to market products—I had no passion for that.

  I kept glancing back to the guys seated around the table. Every so often, I felt more than one pair of eyes on me. Toven’s stayed on me. His felt like a gentle caress that I craved. But the other guys, especially Zeke and Chris, the drummer, seemed a little too interested in me. The meeting was going wonderfully. Toven didn’t need my help with what was going on. And I didn’t want to screw this up for him. I squeezed his knee where he’d planted my hand earlier.

  “What is it, baby?” he asked, turning his face fully to mine.

  I froze at the term of endearment. It stopped and restarte
d my heart in a span of seconds, but the beat was all out of whack. I couldn’t answer him.

  “Celesta, are you OK?” worry filled his tone.

  Snapping myself out of my stupor, I finally convinced my mouth to work. “I’m fine. I was just going to see if you’d mind terribly if I went to dance, since you seem to have more to discuss.”

  “Sure. Don’t leave the club. I’ll be right here if you need me. And all my staff are wearing red polos, so if you need anything, find one of them.”

  I stood and picked up my remaining shot and slammed it back, welcoming its warmth and the trail of courage it burned into me.

  “It was nice meeting you guys. Toven’s music is amazing. You’d be lucky to work with him. I look forward to hearing what you all come up with,” I addressed the band before turning to Toven. “Don’t worry about me, baby.” I tried out the term of endearment myself. It felt right on my lips. “I’ll be fine. Take your time and come find me when you’re ready to go home.”

  I planted a kiss on his lips before I headed down the stairs.

  9

  Toven

  I watched her until she disappeared down the stairs and into the ocean of bodies. Irrationally, I worried and didn’t like the idea of her being down there alone. It was an odd feeling for me. I knew she was anxious to let loose on the dance floor. If I wrapped up this meeting quickly, I could get her back by my side soon.

  “Dude, you just going to let her go down there alone?” Zeke asked when my attention didn’t return to the table.

  “Yeah, that type of dancing isn’t really my scene.” Without turning, I grabbed my glass and sipped. The thick liquid slid down my throat.

  “Yeah. I saw the video of you dancing with her at that fancy party. You’re more of a ballroom type dancer . . . not a twerker,” Mark commented.

  I whipped around to face them. “What the hell is a twerker?”

  The guys all laughed. “It’s the current dance move of choice in clubs. Um . . . maybe they called it booty-popping in your day?” Zeke filled me in.