Night shifts black

Day Seventeen: Part II.

I can hear the music blasting from Luke’s suite as soon as I step off the elevator. Aidan, the elevator boy, and I exchange a look as he holds the door for me. I know he recognizes me, even if he’s as surprised as I am that I’ve tried so hard to not look like me.

“You look great,” he offers, and I can’t tell if he means it or if he’s just fishing for a bigger tip. I give him the same amount as always, but he doesn’t seem upset. Maybe he actually meant it.

I don’t bother knocking on Luke’s door. Luke and I had done away with that formality a while ago, but I doubt this is the kind of party where anyone would answer a door anyway. These aren’t people who knock.

I’m not sure what to expect as I open it, but it’s certainly not what I find. “Some people” means something very different to Luke Craven than it does to me. Music blares, the lights are dimmed to an uncomfortably low level, and voices swell around me. Laughing, talking, shouting, beautiful people pressed together everywhere. And sex. Lots and lots of sex. Not the shocking kind from Roman orgy documentaries, but the obscure kind, the subtle kind oozing from every flirtatious interaction and scantily clad body. The kind I’d just seen saturating every professional image of Luke. The kind that doesn’t define sex as an act but as a lifestyle. It’s everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

I’m about to turn and leave when I feel a hand on my arm. I spin toward it, expecting Luke, and fear I don’t cover my disappointment enough when Casey leans close.

“Breakfast club girl!” he shouts toward my ear.

I force a smile. “Rock god!” I return, and he laughs. He’s clearly already well on his way to a great time, and I make the decision right then to stop fearing and resenting Luke’s world. How can I even start to understand him if I don’t try to understand what created him?

“Where’s Luke?” I ask, and Casey points toward the main living area.

“Come on! I’ll get you a drink.”

I can feel him looking at me as I pass, and I realize, in yet another self-shaming moment, that I don’t hate the attention. In fact, it feels good to be admired. To be wanted. Even if deep down I know I would do anything to have Luke look at me the way Casey is. I also find it hilarious that he’s trying to guide me through a room in which I spend more time than my own apartment. It’s a valiant maneuver, however, so I allow him to show me around.

A tour guide turns out to be more helpful than I’d thought. I do my best to take in the lights and sound, but the peaceful oasis in which Luke and I have spent hours in escape has been transformed into a club-like atmosphere I barely recognize. Women who must be famous for being beautiful sway and move to the music, cocktails in hand, smiles suggesting they’re waiting for something. I’m not sure what, so I quickly move on, still concerned that I don’t see Luke.

“Here!” a voice interrupts behind me, and I turn to meet Casey again. He hands me an empty champagne glass and holds up a sealed bottle with a mischievous glint.

“I can tell you’re cautious. You don’t trust us wild rockers!” he calls, opening the seal on the bottle. He pops the cork and fills my glass. He’s not wrong, and I smile in-spite of myself. I would not have accepted a drink from him, or anyone. Not unless I’d watched him pour it himself. I’m actually kind of impressed that he thought of it, but then can’t help but wonder why he’d thought of it. Some answers are more flattering than others, but there’s something about him that’s always seemed genuine, so I go with the flattering ones.

“To Luke,” he says, holding up his own glass.

I stare at the bubbly liquid and nod. Fair enough.

“To Luke.”

I take a tentative sip and am afraid I don’t cover my reaction fast enough. Casey laughs at my expression.

“Princess of Tanzania, my ass!” he cries. “You’ve never even had good champagne before!”

I shrug with a grin and empty the glass. “A girl could get used to this,” I agree. He refills my glass, then his own, before placing the bottle on a table and pulling me toward the music.

“Where are we going?” I cry.

“To dance!” he returns.

“What? No way!”

He rolls his eyes and clearly has no intention of accepting a refusal. It’s my turn to laugh, and I let him lead me to the tight pack of swaying bodies.

“Hey, darling!” a gorgeous brunette purrs as we work our way through the crowd.

Casey accepts her embrace and kiss on the cheek, but I don’t miss the brief shadow that washes across his face. Her arm remains tightly around his neck as they exchange more words, and I find myself getting slightly jealous. Ridiculous, since I barely even know Casey, let alone care who touches him. It’s probably just my insane fear that if he abandons me for this woman, I will have no idea what to do with myself next.

The interaction doesn’t last long, and the other woman eyes me with a mix of suspicion and disdain as he pulls away. She gives him another kiss, this one less polite and more determined, but he only smiles and ducks away with a very satisfying awkwardness.

“Sorry about that,” he says to me when I finally get him back. “Ex-girlfriend.”

“Ex? Does she know that?” I ask, and he shrugs with a smile.

“Sometimes the lines get blurred,” he explains. “Ok, enough stalling. Let’s dance!”

I manage to forget all about my discomfort, and even Luke, as Casey pulls me close. I know this means nothing to him, that this is yet another night in the life of a rock star, that I’m yet another decent-looking girl in a tight dress he can impress for a bit, but for me, every sound, smell, second, is like a dream I’m trying to absorb before reality dumps me back in my one-bedroom aimless existence.

Casey reminds me a lot of Luke, at least, according to the champagne, and as it works its way through my system, I start to find him extremely attractive. His hair is darker than Luke’s, almost black, and his eyes hold a constant amusement that’s the opposite of Luke’s saturated depth. I suspect that Casey would make me laugh if I let him. Humor without the constant eggshells. Right now, that’s exactly what I need, someone I can’t break, and when he pulls me against him, I suddenly remember the photos I’d just seen of him as well. Apparently, not wearing clothing is a popular pose for rock stars, drummers included, even though at the time I had skimmed over Casey’s images in search of Luke. Now, I wish I hadn’t. I suck in my breath at the a

Our bodies are close now, moving together with the music, pulsating in the sensual wave of light and heat surrounding us. Couples on all sides are touching each other, lips coming together, exploring, laughing, drinking. I glance up at Casey and am startled to meet his expression, very different than what I’d expected, what it was just a moment ago. I almost feel hurt as his constant smile fades and he puts some distance between us. He gives me a quick, almost apologetic, twist of the lips.

“I’m thirsty. Let’s go get a drink,” he shouts, taking my hand and leading me away from the group.

Surprised, and yes, disappointed, I nod and follow him toward the kitchen island which has been transformed into a full-service bar. Instead of more champagne, however, he asks for water, and the bartender pours a glass for each of us. Then Casey pulls out a stool for me, and drops to the one beside it.