4. Aribel
1513 Words
4
Aribel
“Grant McDermott is walking over here,” Cheyenne whispered. “Grant McDermott is walking over here!”
She grabbed Shelby’s arm and started bouncing up and down. Her curly red hair flounced all around her. She was tall, confident, and outgoing with a killer body to boot.
Gabi paced a little. Her blonde pixie cut was as unruly as ever. She was generally quiet and had a bit of an up-in-the-clouds personality, but I still loved her. “Oh my God, he’s so gorgeous.”
“I just can’t believe it.” Shelby swished her brown hair over her shoulder. “He looks even better up close.”
“Do I have to be the one to ask?” I messed with the button on my cardigan. “Who is Grant McDermott?”
All three girls turned and stared at me at once. Yeah, I guess I’m that person.
“What planet do you live on?” Cheyenne asked. “I mean, I know Benjamin just broke up with you, but I can’t believe it addled your brain that much.”
“Aw, that’s cute, Cheyenne. You think my brain is addled.” I let my dark blue eyes grow wide as I tried to play the innocent act through my sarcasm.
“Don’t even start with me,” Cheyenne snapped.
“All right. It doesn’t matter,” Shelby said, jumping between Cheyenne and me.
“Didn’t you watch the show, Aribel?” Gabi asked.
“Um…kind of?”
Okay…I hadn’t really been paying attention. I’d had no interest in attending the concert in the first place, so I’d been going over the calculus lecture from yesterday in my head. This just wasn’t me. I preferred quiet places, like libraries, classrooms, and the privacy of my own room.
Plus, the beer was disgusting. I’d had one sip and decided to just hold it in my hand all night. Especially after that guy acted all creepy after I refused to suck his d**k—his choice of words, not mine.
“Grant McDermott is the lead singer of ContraBand,” Cheyenne filled me in with an eye roll. “He’s practically the whole reason we show up. I can just see his fingers playing across that guitar and imagine what they would do to my body.”
I held up my hand. “TMI, Cheyenne.”
“And he’s walking over here,” Gabi whispered, unnecessarily pointing him out.
I took a good, long look at Grant McDermott. He swaggered more than walked over to us with his dark-wash jeans hanging low, hugging him perfectly. Tattoos peeked out of his charcoal T-shirt, and dog tags hung loose from his neck. He was muscular but lean. His hair was long in the front, but it was shaved short on the sides, and looked purposely messy. His smirk was cocky and his eyes inviting.
His entire appeal from the clothes to his demeanor was contrived. Watching my friends obsess over him, I was pretty sure they were too far lost in a Grant McDermott haze to see through the playboy attitude.
Grant walked right through a crowd of women clamoring for his attention and straight toward me. I just stared at him with furrowed brows. He smirked when he saw that he’d caught my attention. I almost looked away, but his attention only infuriated me. I tilted my chin up and held my ground. What the hell did he want?
“Hey, Grant,” Shelby said when he finally stopped in front of us.
He nodded in Shelby’s direction, but his eyes were fixed on me. “What’s your name, darlin’?”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Darlin’? Really?”
He took a swig from his pint, unaffected by my laugh. “I still didn’t get your name, babe.”
“Grant, this is my friend Aribel,” Cheyenne said. “I’m Cheyenne, and this is Shelby and Gabi. Did Vin tell you that I know him?”
Grant outright ignored my friends and continued to talk to me as if there hadn’t been an interruption. “So, Aribel, you don’t like darlin’?”
“I might like it if you happened to be from a fifties Western movie,” I said.
Grant cracked a smile. “Not a Western, darlin’. Try Southern gentleman. Rhett Butler.”
“Are you going to try to peddle Gone with the Wind to me?”
Shelby bumped me. “Um…Aribel, now might be the time to not.”
I ignored her. “No, really,” I said, “have you ever read anything longer than a Penthouse magazine?”
Shelby smacked herself on the forehead and turned away.
“There are articles in Penthouse?” Grant asked.
I snorted and turned away. I had standards, and if he thought that calling me darlin’ and talking about Rhett Butler would make me fall all over myself to be another one of his groupies, he was sadly mistaken.
I started walking back to the bar. I needed to get rid of this drink and then get out of here. I was over this scene and wanted to get back to my life.
“Hey, where are you going?” Grant asked.
He tailed me as I walked to the bar.
I groaned. “Why are you following me?”
“Mouthy little thing, aren’t you?”
“Okay,” I said, stopping and shaking my head. “Let’s get this straight. I am not your darlin’ or babe or little thing. My name is Aribel, and usually when a girl walks away from you, you should get the hint and leave her alone.”
“I’m not good with hints.”
Grant’s smirk turned into a full-blown smile. The arrogance was still there, but what was underneath made me pause. The smile was genuine, not contrived like his smirk. I’d actually amused him, and he’d reacted in a way that showed me that few people did. His eyes lightened, and the gold ring around his pupil was more prominent. There was an openness, a vulnerability, in his expression as he dropped some of the playboy look that I was sure he didn’t actually want people to see. It kind of took my breath away.
He cleared the distance between us, and I retreated, my back pressing into the bar. I placed my beer down and tried to avert my gaze from his face, but it was a struggle with him staring at me so intently.
“So, how about you ditch the hints and just admit that you’re interested in me?” Grant asked matter-of-factly.
I opened my mouth to slap a retort back into his face, but for once in my existence, I had no idea how to respond. Most people weren’t as blunt as I was, and no one came up to bat when I was on the defensive. He was using my own techniques against me, and I was finding it hard to look away from those big brown eyes ringed with gold. I felt like he’d blown my carefully constructed world into tiny pieces.
“Aw, come on, princess. Words failing you?” He dragged his hand gently down my jawline.
I brought two fingers up to his hand and brushed it aside. “I’m not a princess. My name is Aribel. We’ve covered this. Keep up.”
He leaned forward, and I watched as he put his beer down next to my glass. His face was only inches from mine, and I could practically taste the alcohol on his breath. I should have been disgusted, but it kind of smelled good on him.
I had no idea who the person was thinking these traitorous thoughts. I was not attracted to someone like Grant McDermott.
“All right, Aribel it is.” He drawled my name across his tongue, like he was experimenting with the taste of it.
“Are you always this forward with someone you just met?”
“Only women.”
“How flattering,” I muttered sarcastically.
“Isn’t it? I could have picked any girl in the room, but I’m talking to you.”
Grant had said that as if I was supposed to appreciate the fact that he had just openly admitted that he was willing to sleep with any of these other girls, but lucky me, I was the winner for the night.
Um…no, thank you.
“Wow. I get the princess reference now. I feel like a f*****g Disney princess who Gaston chose instead of whoring himself out to the rest of the town,” I said, crossing my arms.
There was that goddamn smile again. He needed to cut that out.
“Belle wasn’t a princess,” Grant corrected me.
“Another thing we have in common.”
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
His hands tangled loosely in my blonde hair before I could even get a response out.
His lips were soft and tender, but they had a certain authority to them that I had never experienced. It was like being led through a waltz. We were both dancing, but he had absolute control of the situation. I found myself wanting to kiss him back.
No, I was kissing him back.
And just as I felt my entire body practically quiver with desire, he slowly released me, his lips lingering oh-so invitingly in front of me.
As soon as I opened my dark blue eyes again, my body straightened, and I snapped out of my trance. Oh, he was good. He was really, really good. But if he was going to be a total douche bag and then think he could kiss his way out of anything, he had another thing coming.
“So, are we getting out of here then?” Grant asked.
“Yeah,” I said, plastering on a fake smile.
I reached for one of the drinks and then promptly threw the entire thing in his face. He sputtered, but I was already walking out of the bar. Good riddance.
- Writer
