Another night, another country, another city, and the same crowded club with the same faceless people. Sometimes all it took was catching a brief scent of perfume or the way a girl tossed her head as she danced under the flashing lights and he was hooked. Every time, he managed to get her alone in the shadows in the back of the room, arms around her waist as he closed his eyes and lost himself in the taste of her. He liked the ones who were quiet and tasted like whiskey or bourbon, but every now and again he’d find himself with an armful of a pretty redhead who’d had one too many pink Cosmos.
It didn’t matter that she probably wished he was Scott or Dan, because Scott was somewhere darker and more dangerous away from the dance floor, and Dan was back at the hotel playing cards with Michael and the crew. Clay was the one right here, right now, nibbling on her earlobe and pressing her against the wall. Every moan and sigh was a golden prize, and he pressed his lips against her throat, desperate for another. She reached up and twined her fingers in his hair, dragged him closer, and he obliged, pressing close so he could feel her heartbeat against his.
He skated his hands down her ribs, felt her arch up into his touch.
“Do you want me?” he breathed into her ear.
She bit her lip, moaned again. “Yes.”
“I don’t want you to,” he said, and captured her mouth in a kiss. It was hard, almost bruising, lips and teeth and tongues, and then she spun them around, slammed him up against the wall and did her best to pin him there while she marked a blazing trail down his neck to his collarbone.
He let her trap him, reveled in the heat of her skin and the softness of her mouth, and when she kissed him again, it was softer, almost affectionate.
“I know which one you are,” she whispered, “and you’re the one I want.”
He kissed her back. “Tonight,” he said, “you’re the one I want. For the sake of manners, my name is Clay.”
She smiled and leaned in so their foreheads were touching. “My name is Carol.”
His blood went cold, and he pulled back before she could kiss him, straightened up.
Confusion flared in her eyes. “What?”
Hot shame began to curl through his veins, and he pushed her away, stepped around her. He took two steps into the crowd and was gone.
(428 words)
2 comments:
I know he loved her, but wow. That was intense.
I like how she knew which he was and wanted him anyway.
If you watch most of the concerts, Clint is by far the more charming one, and once the boys get on their instruments he's often the MC more than Scott is, so I sort of ran with it, that the oldest two are the most popular (although Dave had quite the following back in the day). As such, I figured it'd be more likely than Clay thought, that a girl would be after him specifically.
And yeah, he is pretty crazy in love with Carolyn. I sort of need to work that into the later plot, I think.
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