Beautiful Bastard Book 4 - Page 69

We fell into a rather easy routine of work and meals, and at night an unspoken ritual of pillow talk in between kisses until we were nothing but mumbles and nonsense and her soft sweet skin curled around me as we fell asleep. It was a flash of a fantasy life—I suspected we both knew it—where we lived in a gorgeous hotel, ate wherever we wanted, and could spend the entire workday as a couple, out in the open, managing quite functionally together.

So it was odd to find myself deep in a Tuesday without having seen Ruby once since she’d left my room early that morning. I’d been in an endless loop of discussions and conference calls to wrap up the first phase of the summit. From here until we left for London, my days would be far more relaxed than they had been, since I would essentially just be on call. I both feared and welcomed it. On the one hand, I wanted more freedom in my daytime hours to ponder everything that was happening between us. On the other hand, I wasn’t sure that I needed more time in my own head thinking about this new relationship, its stark difference to my life before, and how I would manage this abrupt change in my life when we returned to London.

Finally Ruby found me in the hall, talking to one of the city’s head engineers. In my peripheral vision I could see her waiting to talk, and it seemed to me she was practically vibrating where she stood. When I said goodbye to Kendrick and he’d stepped away, she lifted her hand from where she’d hid it behind her back.

Clutched in her fist were two tickets.

“What is this?” I asked, pulling one loose from her grasp.

Bitter Dusk, Bowery Ballroom, 8:30pm March 29.

A concert, scheduled for tonight?

“What is this?” I asked again, looking up at her enormous grin. Surely she didn’t expect me . . .

She turned to start walking toward the lift, pushing the down b.u.t.ton. “It’s the concert I was telling you about. By huge coincidence, it is also what we’re doing tonight.”

I winced a little, already imagining a roomful of sweaty bodies, rocking and swaying next to me, pressing into us as loud, screeching guitars a.s.saulted our ears. “Ruby, I really don’t think this is my thing.”

“Oh, it’s definitely not, and it’s every bit as bad as you’re imagining,” she said, tapping my forehead with a laugh. We stepped into the lift, and I was happy to note we’d enjoy this quiet ride alone together.

“Worse maybe,” she continued. “The club is small for such a big band and it’s going to be packed. Sweaty, drunk Americans everywhere. But I still want you to go.”

“I confess I find your sales pitch to be somewhat lacking.”

“I’m going to get you liquored up, because you don’t have to work tomorrow, and,” she stretched up to kiss my chin, “I bet you a hundred dollars you have an amazing time and want to reward me with o.r.g.a.s.ms afterward.”

“I want to reward you with o.r.g.a.s.ms now.”

“Consider the concert motivation, then.” She gave me a look, one that I knew said, This is exactly what we talked about. Do this with me.

I sighed in mock annoyance, stepping out after her into the lobby. As much as my skin burned to feel her sliding under the sheets beside me sooner rather than later—and as odd as it was to admit it—it was nice to think about going out. “Will I know a single one of their songs?”

“You’d better,” she said, turning to glare playfully at me over her shoulder. “And if you don’t, you will soon. This is my favorite band in the world.”

As I moved into step with her, she looked up at me, singing a few lines from a song I did actually recognize from the general popular music osmosis one gets in public settings. Ruby’s voice was thin and off-key—b.l.o.o.d.y awful, really—but she didn’t care at all. Lord, would there be a single thing about this girl I didn’t find endlessly endearing?

“You’re thinking right now that I’m a terrible singer,” she said, poking me in the side.

“Yes,” I admitted, “but I have heard that song. I’ll tolerate the evening’s activity.”

She threw me a mock exasperated look. “How n.o.ble of you.”

The exterior of the Bowery Ballroom reminded me of an old firehouse: simple sandstone, wide central arch, with a green neon sign illuminating the entrance to the side. As we emerged from the subway station just outside the venue, Ruby bounced beside me, pulling me toward the entrance. Inside the s.p.a.ce expanded into a much smaller floor than I’d been expecting, positioned less than a meter below a narrow stage lined on the sides with heavy velvet drapes. I could see in an instant why Ruby was so excited for the tickets: in a venue such as this, she would be closer to her favorite band than she’d likely ever been.