Below Unforgiven (15 page)

I thought about his text, my heart constricting at the name he hadn’t called me in so very long.

Are you there, beauty?

“No, we’re not singing happy birthday until midnight,” Keaton reprimanded, and Dean whooped as a group of guys filed out of the bar, leaving the pool table in the back vacant.

“Come on babe,” he tugged Robin to his side. “You guys want to play?”

“No thanks,” Keaton answered before I could open my mouth. He pushed the shot my way, lifting his own in the air. “To Vivian. For being the fairest one in all the land.”

I lifted the shot to his, letting the glasses clank softly before tipping it to my lips. The cherry bomb was sweet.

And tasted a lot like Keaton’s kiss.

“Okay, what’s your game,” I asked, forcing as much interest into my question as possible.

Stop thinking about Matthew.

He raised his eyebrows, his smile producing that enchanting dimple that the alcohol suddenly urged me to kiss. Matthew had two dimples, all the time, smiling or not.

Stop thinking about Matthew!
I contemplated slapping myself across the face. He pointed at the juke box as “Hotel California” was finishing up, grinning. “Okay, this is kind of like six degrees of Kevin Bacon.”

“Kevin Bacon?”

“You know, there is a theory that two people on Earth are, on average, about six acquaintance links apart.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of the game.” God, he was so cute when he was all excited, and the gold in his eyes kept catching the lights over the bar.

“Well, I’ll play a song, and then your turn. Since I’m going first, I have to connect the songs together in less than six degrees. If I fail, I do a shot. If I win, you dance with me.”

I was already confused. “So if I fail, I do a shot, and if I win, you dance with
me
. Either way we’re drinking and dancing with each other.”

“Very good,” he grinned. “What can I say, I made this game up while shitfaced.”

I reached for my hair and laughed, spinning a strand on my finger. “No one
else
is dancing,” I protested, glancing around the bar.

“Exactly. We’ll be the center of attention. So try hard not to lose.”

Oh, I was competitive, and he seemed to pick up on that immediately. I bobbed my leg on the floor as he picked up his phone. “What are you doing?”

“I have an app that controls the jukebox.”

I watched his lips curl into a decisive grin, and he stopped typing on his phone and pushed it my way.

As the Eagles song ended, The Beatles “Twist and Shout” began. I reached for my beer, tilting it to my lips.

“So, I have to play another song after this and connect the two in less than six degrees.”

“You got it.” He leaned forward, his finger tapping the phone. “But this game is timed. You have until the end of the song.”

“What? You should have told me that!” I cried, racking my brain. “What if I don’t think of the connection in time, and someone else plays a song?”

He nodded toward the bar, grinning as he sat back in his seat. “I bought out the jukebox for two hours.”

“How is that even possible? You have too much money to play with, Mr. Thorne,” I teased, quickly pouring through all the pop culture knowledge that I possessed. Movies, “Twist and Shout,” a
parade…

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.
The parade float.

“And if I don’t get it, and have to do a shot, you have to tell me the connection. Or you do a shot too.”

“I think you’re just making up rules as you go now,” I said as I quickly typed my search. The song was almost over, and I entered my choice, lifting my chin. “Oh, you’re going down.”

He leaned forward, his eyes raking over me once before meeting mine. “I’d be glad to.”

His flirty innuendos should have been irritating. They should have made me roll my eyes, conclude that he had absolutely no maturity, and irritate the hell out of me.

Instead, my body responded as it had earlier in the hotel room, and I was soaking wet as I thought about him going down on me.

He must have sensed my reaction, and his hand slid over my knee from under the table.

We stared at each other for a long time. I remembered what the stubble on his chin felt like beneath my fingertips, and I resisted the urge to reach out and trace his jaw. He leaned forward, as though reading my mind, and I lowered my eyes before glancing at the back of the bar. Robin and Dean were well into their pool game, and I watched her refuse another drink.

I’m sure she doesn’t want to be hung over tomorrow.

Between the heat in the un-air-conditioned bar, and the fire pooling low in my stomach, I was nearly sweating. “What’s your movie about? The one in the amusement park?” I clarified, listening to John Lennon’s scratchy voice. I couldn’t help but sing along under my breath, and Keaton sat back, amused.

“Did you know that Lennon had a cold when he recorded this song?”

“Really?” I liked the pleasant way the alcohol had anesthetized my anxiety, allowing me to focus completely on Keaton.

“Yes. And it’s about a serial killer, and the murders keep happening in amusement parks with Round-Ups. You know, that centrifugal force ride that smashes you up against the wall?”

I could barely keep up with him. He was always hyper and over-caffeinated, and reminded me of an excited little boy. I was learning that his energy (and maybe some acronym) kept him from focusing on one subject for too long.

“Ugh-barf. Yes, I know the one,” I lamented, making a face. “I’ve ridden the one at Idlewild. I’ve also puked in the bushes behind the Whip.”

“If you made it all the way to the bushes behind the Whip, you’re a strong girl,” he said, sitting up urgently. “It’s go time.” He winked and held his hand to his ear, and I smirked as the song ended.

Seconds later, “Stay” (which I’d just learned was sung by a group called Maurice Williams and the Zodiacs) began.

He chuckled, shaking his head. Before I knew it he was on his feet, holding out his hand.

“Wait, you didn’t give me an answer,” I protested as he led me to the space by the jukebox.

“This is a short song, and I don’t want to miss it.” He turned me around so that my back was pressed against his chest, and his arms wrapped around mine. I moved to the music, and the pleasant friction that I’d created by rubbing against him had me inevitably rocking my hips in his. The drinks had warmed my bloodstream, and I closed my eyes, grinning.

I had moves, and I could drop it like it’s hot with the best of them, but all hopes or calculated efforts to impress him with my dancing went out the door when his hand flattened over my stomach.

I could barely hear the music with the blood rushing in my ears. I moved with the way I was feeling; weightless, sexy, and so turned on. The patrons of the bar were watching us, and the unconditioned temperature made our bodies melt together, warm and damp. He danced like he was born to dance, and I grinned at his effortlessly cool combination of Adam Levine meets Patrick Swayze.

His mouth lowered to my ear. “The song “Twist and Shout” was featured in
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.
One. In the movie, his sister was played by actress Jennifer Grey. Two.” His palms slid over my hips, and I turned quickly in his arms, dropping slowly against his chest before lifting my face to his. “Jennifer Grey starred in
Dirty Dancing
, Three. “Stay” was from the movie’s soundtrack. Four.”

I was overheated, and as he tucked my thighs against him, my legs grew unstable beneath me. Dancing in the dark, hot bar was too much like sex, and his erection against my hips told me he was thinking the same thing. “You’re good,” I complimented, breathy, and he glanced over my head.

“And you can dance. You don’t care that people are watching us.”

“I’ve had dance lessons all of my life. And I like attention
,
” I admitted. I was having fun for the first time in forever. Even despite the overwhelming attraction that I had for him and the whole contract thing, I enjoyed his little game… and his company.

And him.

He gave my ass a tug, fitting me against him tightly. The heat of his body on mine, the clean smell of his skin, and everything about his eyes were setting off dizzying chemical reactions in my brain.

The song ended, and people whistled and clapped appreciatively. I took a calming breath and gave a little bow.

“I won, I get to go again, and it’s my turn to stump you,” he said gruffly, typing a song on his phone. “Alright, kiddo, hope you’re okay with the eighties.”

“Don’t hold back, boss. I might surprise you.”

He led us back to the table, and I reclaimed my beer. “V, you do nothing but surprise me.”

“Somebody’s Baby” began, and I narrowed my eyes. “I know this song. Who sings this?”

“Jackson Browne.”

I reached for his phone, trying to remember where I heard the song before.

Old movie… high school movie… Fast Times at Ridgemont High.
Who was in that movie? Focus… Judd Nelson, Sean Penn…
Nicholas Cage was in that movie.
I wondered if his good friend Keaton knew
that
.

“Oooh, hard one,” he grinned, finishing his beer and waiving to the bar. Two more shots were placed in front of us, and I groaned. “No cheating on IMDB over there.”

“No, I got this,” I said, typing quickly.

“I cannot
wait
for this.” He inched the shot closer to me, and I arched one eyebrow.

“Looks like I’m driving your Ferrari back to the hotel,” Robin said, appearing at our table and gesturing to our drinks. “Nice dancing, Viv.
Hot
. I almost punched Dean when he drooled on the pool table. I’m running to the car for his cigarettes-be right back.”

She waved and moved to the front door, and I turned to Keaton. “I really love your family,” I said, tentative, as though I was asking for his permission.

He reached for my hand, palm to palm, threading his fingers through mine. “You fit right in,” he said.

The song drew to a close, and Berlin’s “Take My Breath Away” began.

Keaton’s eyes grew shadowy, heavy, and he leaned forward in his chair. “
Top Gun.
”

“And?”

He sat back, narrowing his eyes and watching me intently.

I crossed my arms over my chest, tapping a fingernail on my wrist.

Finally, he grinned, throwing back the shot and standing. I lifted my eyes as he moved to my side of the table, holding out his hand. “Dance with me.”

“But I won.”

His hazel eyes focused and unfocused on my face, taking in my neck, chest, and settling back on my hand. With just the sweep of his gaze over my body, I forgot how to breathe evenly.

In… out.

My heart skipped a group of necessary, cadenced beats.

He put on his director face, his tone changing to a screenplay narrative.

“She goes with him anyway, because she
wanted
him to lose… just so he would
ask
her to dance.”

I let him pull me to my feet. We barely made it a step away from the table in the balmy, dark bar. He tucked my head against his chest, his fingers releasing my ponytail before sliding down the length of my hair. Familiar; sweet.

Loving
.

“Tell me the connection.”

I flattened my palm against his lower back… and my cheek to his heart.

“Your song was from
Fast Times at Ridgemont High
, and Anthony Edwards had a cameo in that movie.
One
.” I slowly moved my hands up his back and over his shoulder blades, liking that I could feel his sharp intake of breath. “He played Goose in
Top Gun.
Two
. This song was from the
Top Gun
soundtrack.
Three
.”

He backed away, putting just enough space between us to cup my face in his hands.

Robin appeared, nearly stepping between us. Her face had taken on the stern, no-bullshit expression that I was familiar with, and Keaton dropped his hands from my neck. “Viv, come to the ladies room with me,”

“I… okay,” I nodded, sharing one more fleeting glance with him before following her to the restroom.

As soon as we passed through the doorway, she slammed the door, glaring at me. “What. The.
Fuck
.”

“What?” I watched her fuming, completely confused. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s
wrong
?” She pointed at the wall. “I happen to flip through the folder that I was sitting on the whole way here, only to find some bullshit-in your handwriting-about a
contract
between you and my brother-…,”

“No… oh, no, Robin...,” I covered my mouth as anxiety punched me in the stomach. I wanted to vomit.

Her dark eyes were blazing. “
Legal and Binding Contract Between-
”

“Stop, please just let me explain,” I begged. She held her arms out wide, shaking her head.

“By all means, explain to me why my asshole brother is paying you to sleep with him for the weekend. But, better yet, explain to me why
you
agreed to
fuck
someone for money!”

“He’s not paying me to sleep with him!” I shouted, just as a woman exited the stall to our left. She hurried to the sink without making eye contact, washing her hands as fast as possible before running from the restroom.

“What, then? I care more about you, having only known you for a
month
, than I care about my brother, who I haven’t seen in
seven years.
I love you, Viv.
I won’t let you do this.”

“He just wanted… an escort… for the weekend. Nothing sexual. Just a… part to play. So he doesn’t look like a… loser… at the wedding…,”

My voice drifted off, and I couldn’t find the right words to defend myself to Robin. She took a step forward, toward me, and in that single movement my eyes filled with embarrassed tears.

“This is to pay Matthew, isn’t it?”

“Yes, of course it is! I’m not sleeping with Keaton-”

“-but you’re falling for him,” she concluded, shaking her head again with a breathy huff. “I can see it. I can see it when he kisses you, and when you dance, and when you sit so goddamn close and whisper to each other. Even my
mom
is fooled. You can’t be that great of an actress, Viv.”