Beneath The Skin (A College Obsession Romance) (70 page)

Then her eyes land on me and her expression changes. The tension there drops away. The trace of a smile crosses her face and her stride becomes lighter.

Did I do that to her?

I’m fucking floating right now at the sight of her.

I hope I’m not grinning like a dumb shit, because I’m definitely grinning like a dumb shit in my mind.

“Dessie,” I say when she’s come to a stop in front of me.

“Clayton,”
her lips say.

I’m really holding back right now. I want to grab hold of her and claim her as mine in front of everyone in this room. I want every ogling dude in this room to know that she’s taken. I want to put my mouth on her pretty pink lips and taste her.

Her gaze shifts, and in the next instant, she’s greeting my roommates. Brant gives her half a hug, which is more than I even gave her, the big drooling ogre that I am, and Dmitri offers her a curt nod and a dimply smile after readjusting his glasses. The table only has two more chairs, so Brant offers his to Dessie, opting to just stand squished between Dmitri and her. Eric and Chloe take the two that remain, making our table an unnecessarily crowded one.

Eric reaches his hand over the table, introducing himself to Dmitri, if I had to guess. It belatedly occurs to me that Eric’s gay. I snort, amused at the prospect of anything happening between those two.
Good luck cracking Dmitri’s bisexual-slash-asexual egg
, I’d tell him.

Dessie touches my arm, getting my attention, then asks what I snorted about. I shake my head, smiling. “Nothing. Want something to drink?” She shakes her head and smiles back. I study the side of her face for a while as she watches the others chat away. I love how her eyes light up, her face turning as she listens to the conversations that break out over the table. I’m not a part of any of them, yet vicariously through her, I feel somehow connected to it all. Chloe says something and Dessie laughs. Eric reaches out and runs a finger down Dmitri’s tattoo, seeming to ask about it. Brant leans over the table to shout what I can only assume is something lewd and suggestive to Chloe, who doesn’t seem amused by the humor, rolling her eyes. Dessie, however, laughs so hard that she falls into me, her hands clinging to my shoulder as she laughs.

God, I want her to stay right there on my shoulder and make a fucking home. I love when she clings to me.
Before this night is over
, I vow to myself,
I’m gonna get her to claw those sexy fingers of hers down my back.

Over the next half hour, more people start to pack into the
Throng
, and I feel pretty fortunate that we all got a table when we did. What the fuck with Tuesday nights? It’s never this busy unless it’s a weekend.

Dessie seems to notice the same thing, because she nudges me and says,
“It got really loud!”

I smirk and take the opportunity for a joke. “Totally loud,” I agree. “Can you ask them to keep it down? Having trouble hearing my friends here.”

She laughs too hard at that, then slaps me on the arm and says something.

I focus on her lips. “What?”

She says,
“I’m happy I came.”

Squeezed into the table like she is, her breasts rise and fall with every breath. I don’t know if that’s due to her bra, or her top, or being squeezed between me and Brant, or fucking magic or what, but I’m enjoying the view as I peer down at her in all her glory.

I lean in and say, “Can’t wait ‘til you’re up there.”

She studies my eyes too long, her own glowing in the dim light that hangs above our table. If I’m not mistaking that look, I’m feeling a pull toward her lips. She’s inviting me to kiss her, just with that daring, mischievous look in her eyes.

Then she looks up at the stage. I look too, only to discover everyone applauding suddenly.

The very next moment, Dessie’s left my side. I watch as the guitarist relinquishes his stool to her, sliding to the side of the pianist as Dessie steps onto the stage. Everyone at my table is clapping, so I do the same, following their lead until I see their hands stop moving. Then the only thing in the room that’s got my attention is Dessie.

And she’s looking right at me from the stage. Her body glows under the harsh stage light. I have to say, from my experience in technical theatre, it takes a special kind of person to make ugly light look pretty.

And fuck, she does that job without trying.

Dessie’s hand runs up the microphone. She brings her lips to it, then introduces herself to the room.

But I can’t catch any of the words. Frustrated, I pull out my phone, determined to find that horrible speech-to-text app I’d downloaded. Then, coming to my rescue, Dmitri starts moving his hands for me, and I could kiss him for his keen intuition.

Hey, I’m Dessie,
my awesome roommate interprets for me.
Some of you know me from last time. Or last night. Or whatever, I’m not good at these things. Ha! These crazy musicians, Dirk and—what’s your name?—Lorenzo, wanted me back here to sing one of my little tunes. Want to hear it? I have something … but it’s a little angsty. I …
Dmitri stops, looking up at Dessie to gather what’s happening, because she’s laughing. When she starts speaking again, he resumes:
Alright, then! I’ll sing it. I hope you like it. I have no idea what the musicians are going to do, but they’re good at improvising. This one’s called, “The Liar”.

Dessie closes her eyes to bring herself to that place where all the music and beauty comes from. All that tension I saw the moment she came in, it’s like it was never there. Totally relaxed, loose as the breeze, she holds the microphone and kisses it to her pink lips.

And through Dmitri, I watch the words flow:

These nails that I wear,

the curls in my hair,

my talent and my flair,

it’s all fake. I’m a liar.

And the makeup on your face,

wearing leather or wearing lace,

or that cologne you embrace,

each just another lie, I say,

just another thing in the way.

You’re a liar, too.

That’s not how you really look.

Just another billion dollar lie

sold to you by a billion dollar book.

And that’s not how you really smell.

Whether from soap, cologne, or shampoo,

I don’t think you know yourself as well

as you think you do.

Just like me, an actress who lies all day

reading another line from another play

being some other person, some other name.

We’re all liars just the same.

And just when you’re ready to let it go,

too exhausted to keep up the show,

you get a glimpse inside another’s eyes

and you’ll finally see

the only way free

is to be a liar who never lies.

After the last lyrics are signed, the musicians seem to still be filling the space with music, the guitarist’s hands strumming as Dessie hums against the mic, her eyes closed and lost in the song.

And I’m lost in her, my arms folded and my jaw tight.

She opens her eyes and they find me.

I wonder if she sees my lies.

My truths.

My way free.

And then the room shakes with applause, and I lift my own hands to join them, watching as Dessie takes in the cheering with a laugh, a pink face, and then a grand, demonstrative bow.

She returns to the table and her friends explode with their reactions, offering compliments and happy faces and laughter. Dmitri tells her how beautiful her voice was, but was worried about what the lyrics meant:
If I’ve lied to you,
he says to her as he signs at the same time for my benefit,
then I’m totally sorry and, you know, please don’t write a song about me.

After some time, Dessie turns and says something. I look at her, waiting for her to repeat what she said when suddenly there’s a screen in my face:

Want to get out of here?

I smirk my consent, then slap Brant’s shoulder, telling him that we’re gonna head out. Dmitri takes note of my departure, waving goodbye. To him, I sign back:
We’re gonna need the apartment for a bit.

Dmitri’s response is a dimply flat-line for lips and a resolute nod.

Good boy.

After leaving the place, my skin feels a noticeable departure of vibrations and noise, drinking in the calm silence of the street like a cool glass of water. Or maybe that’s just literally the breeze of the night air on my thirsty skin.

We might as well be holding hands, but we’re not. We’re not at that point. Honestly, I’m not even sure I’m really the hand-holding type. I don’t know why I’m suddenly obsessed with that idea. Maybe it’s how close she’s walking by my side. Maybe I’m wondering if I should put an arm around her or—

No, fuck that. What am I thinking?

I look over at her. Either it happens to be the moment she looks at me too, or else she’s watching me as we walk. I chuckle dryly. Not sure if that laugh came out or not, but I felt it in my chest.

Then I notice her lips move. I might be wrong, but I think she asks if we’re heading back to my place.

“If that’s okay with you,” I say back.

To that, she nods.

I’m fucking floating right now.

When the door’s in my face, I can barely get the key in I’m so fucking excited. I’ve been desperate for another night alone with her for the past three days. I’ve craved her touch on my skin and longed to put my arms around her body. I want my hands on her skin so fucking bad that I’m practically hopping right now.

“Want anything to drink?” I ask automatically, edging quickly toward the kitchen while peering over a shoulder, keeping her in my gaze.

She bites her lip.

I stop cold at the kitchen counter, watching her. The world grows very, very still. “So … is that a yes?”

Her lips part. She takes a breath, her eyes lifting to meet mine. There’s something very intense about her. I think she’s expecting me to make the first move. She wants me to cast everything off the counter with a reckless swipe of my hand before gripping her and slamming her on the counter to fuck her. The fantasy is painted in her eyes. The yearning for it …

“Yeah?” I prompt her. “A drink?”

Then, the tears touch her eyes.

Uh, fuck. Misread.

“Dessie?”

She shakes her head, the tears sitting up there in her eyes, refusing to fall. Then she lifts her chin and, with a coldness in her eyes, she says something.

I don’t catch all her words. “
Liar
,” I think she said. “
Don’t deserve
,”
I think she also said. My insides turn to stone as I watch her, frustrated by her quick lips.