Page 94 of Silver Sweet

Too much of what I want.

My pulse beats with the jackhammering tempo pumping through the club. Phoenix trashes his vodka cran and pulls me through the sweaty throngs of bouncing and gyrating bodies. Behind me, my bodyguard trails like a shadow, but I don’t keep track of him. Not as my mind fixates on my drummer holding my hand…okay, my wrist. Same thing, right?

When it becomes impossible to shift farther in the pit without elbowing our way through, Phoenix lets go of me. We have just enough space that I can bring my drink to my lips without bumping into anyone.

We’re throwing our heads and bodies into the music, and it’s been clear since I first met him—Phoenix has strong, impeccable rhythm. He might be a pillar, but when the music courses through his body, he is the heady beat.

I ache to move with him on and off the dance floor. The crowd jumps and grinds, getting more animated. The remixes are flaming my lungs. From “Be My Lover” by La Bouche to “Can’t Get You Out of My Head” by Kylie Minogue. These songs—the universe is seriously fucking playing with me.

Not funny.

I should’ve invited Eliot and Luna. Less temptation tonight, but I just thoughtPhoenix and I are so close to the goal line. Do not need to introduce a powder keg yet. Let’s wait.

I take a bigger swig of rum to cool off. Hair sticks to the sweat building on my forehead, and I slide my fingers through the damp strands, brushing them back.

Phoenix turns to me and cups a hand around my ear. I rotate more toward him. His warm breath shoots electricity through me, and the hard muscles of his chest press against mine. “Do you feel that bass?”

I’m mostly focused on his hand against my ear, but I nod.

“It feels like it’s travelingthroughmy body,” Phoenix says, energized. “I want that feeling for seven.”

Seven.The seventh song. His love of music fists my heart. “I want that too!” I yell over the DJ. His shadowed smile dizzies me more than the hypnotic thumping around us.

Bodies suddenly crowd closer as more people pack the dance floor, and instead of being pushed apart, Phoenix shifts behind me. I can feel him dancing with the hive-like masses, and I stay in the beat with him.

I start losing myself to the moment, to the crimson strobe lights sweeping us, to the brush of his chest against my back, and to the tantalizing closeness of his hands against my hands.

He rests an arm on my shoulder, giving me the best view of the tattoo on his bicep. Inked in an old Roman script are two words:play on.

I’d asked him one night during a writing session what it meant. We were sitting next to one another on the same side of a booth, my laptop flipped open in front of us and headphones around both our necks.

“It’s a quote,” he said. “From Shakespeare.”

“Yeah, right. You’re just saying that because?—”

“Because it’s the truth,” Phoenix said, cutting me off. He knocked his knee against mine, and his eyes fastened on me. “But please tell me why I chose it, since you were there with me three years ago in Boston.”

I stifled a grin. “Fair. But you do know my family loves Shakespeare, right? It’s basically a Wiki fact.”

“I basically don’t care,” he told me, but he held out his bicep for me anyway. He let me graze my thumb against the tattoo. “You know the quote then?”

I nodded. “Twelfth Night.‘If music be the food of love, play on.’”

His lips gradually rose into a smile. One that lingered and felt intimate in its existence near me. That smile slowly embedded itself inside my head.

Here, on the dance floor, the memory gives me a sudden idea for our album name. Before I can even consider sharing my epiphany, people begin shoving closer to the DJ, and Phoenix’s arm on my shoulder crawls down my chest. He draws me against him, my back melding against his chest and abdomen. Thank fuck he can’t see the flush scorch my face. My eyes are on the DJ.

I wonder if Phoenix’s eyes are on me.

I don’t twist around to see. I just feel him take bumps against his back as dancers crowd forward. He stays rooted in place, not letting me fall into the mini-skirt-clad girls in front of me.

When people settle into their spots, I try to drown in the music and not him, but he’s dancing right up against me and I’m dancing right up against him. Feeling him hold me from behind has my mind in a fucking blender.

I should stop thinking.

I should just enjoy this, right?

I’m scared. I think I’m terrified of what happens if I give myself to someone who holds the keys to my dreams.