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32
Sky
Jem fixesme with an intrigued expression, and runs his tongue along his top teeth, as he looks me up and down. "Nice dress, Sky. You certainly stand out." His low voice sends a shiver through me.
"Because I own clothing bigger than a handkerchief?"
He smiles. "Funny. Let's find you a drink."
Jem's American drawl is more pronounced than Dylan's, although Dylan's is stronger since he returned to this life. Someone bumps me, and a girl stalks past, heels clicking across the tiled floor.
Before I can react, Jem takes my hand and leads me towards a larger, quieter room. A wooden bar spans one wall, with a drinks selection worthy of a pub. Identical looking platinum blonde girls serve drinks, their large breasts barely covered in the cut off white T-shirts, shorts half way up their backsides.
How many more cliches can these people choose?
This is Dylan's house—did he choose the staff?
I hang back, near the opposite wall, as Jem approaches the bar. The girls head straight to him, and as I watch, I compare Jem to those around. He's wearing a grey suit similar to Dylan's and a few eyes in the room are trained on him. He knows this, and holds himself tall, looking aloofly at the matching girls in front. His presence is similar to Dylan's, but not as all encompassing—Jem’s star doesn't shine as brightly.
Jem returns to me, holding a glass of champagne. When passing the glass to me, he deliberately rubs a thumb along my hand. I gulp the champagne, shifting my look from him—this is the guy Liam told us is looking for a victim. Jem takes a long drink of the brown liquor in his glass then licks his lips whilst staring at mine.
My discomfort level grows by the second; is he flirting or threatening? What is it about this man that locks up the snarky, sure-of-herself Sky and throws away the key?
Jem places a hand on the wall and leans forward, breath on my face. As tall and muscular as Dylan, Jem evidently has the strength to match. I've experience of how strong Dylan is when he's touched and held me, but this never worried me as Jem’s does now. Jem's scent is different too—heavier with a hint of pot. Add to this the unfocused eyes, and I'm scared.
"What's the deal?" he slurs.
"Pardon?"
"You and Dylan, what's the game?"
"No game."
He sneers. "Kind of a big coincidence?"
"What is?" I retort.
"You—staying at the house with Dylan. Planned? What happened? Is Dylan Morgan not the guy you wanted him to be?" His tone hardens.
"That isn’t what happened."
He touches my nose with the tip of his finger. "Something went wrong. Did you want to try another Blue Phoenix guy?"
I pull my head back and scrutinise his face. He's not sober at all—his eyes belong to someone elsewhere.
"Fuck you," I snap.
His brown eyes widen, and then a grin sneaks across his face. "If you want."
Nice one, Sky. I side step but he places his other hand against the wall, caging me in. "He won't give you money."
"I don't want Dylan’s money.”
From the corner of my eye, I'm aware heads turn to us. A nearby girl in a red glove of a dress points, and looks are thrown my way. Do they think I've moved on to a new band member?
Dylan appears behind Jem, face hard as he claps him on the shoulder. "What the fuck, dude?"
Jem steps back and holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Just chatting."
