Tracks (Rock Bottom) by Sarah Biermann Read Free Book Online Page B

And back to reality. I’m sad at the thought of leaving him, because in the back of my mind I doubt I’ll ever see him again. And the memories of last night that made me want to run from him have faded.
    “I’ll take you home,” he says, running his hand down my arm. It’s a sweet gesture, not sexual, and I smile at him. He takes out his phone and sends a text. He waits until his phone beeps, pauses a minute to read, and puts his phone back in his pocket. He grabs my hand again and leads me to the back door.
    “Why this way?” I question him.
    He looks at me and shrugs as we walk. “Apparently , there’s some press at the front. The back is pretty much clear.” We reach the back white door. Jeremy takes a key out of his pocket.
    “ Pretty much clear?” I say as he opens the back door and we walk out into a sea of people and flashing lights. Jeremy holds my hand tighter as he turns quickly, locks the door with ease, and steps in front of me. I throw my hands up over my face to try and protect my eyes from the flashing.
    “Jeremy! Jeremy!” people are screaming. Girls are grabbing at his clothes. Microphones are being thrown in our faces. “Jeremy, who’s the girl? What’s your name, Miss? Is this your new girlfriend? What about the girl you were seen with last week in Texas? Are you going back to her house? Any updates on the new album?” We are pushing through the people. I hear a ripping sound. Hands are everywhere; all over me. I feel a hand tangle into my hair. The person pulls hard and I scream in pain and surprise. My head whips frantically as I try to shake their hand. Eventually, I’m able to wiggle out of their grasp and hop into the black car behind Jeremy. He leans over me and shuts the door quickly, but I’m in so much pain I’m not even able to enjoy his close proximity. The car speeds away and Jeremy sits back down in his seat.
    I’m holding the top of my head wh ere my hair was yanked. It hurt-really badly. Jeremy’s eyes are wide with concern. “Dylan? Shit. Are you alright, baby?” he grabs my hand on top of my head and holds it as he strokes my hair with his free hand.
    “Yeah,” I whisper, still able to love his hands on me. “But I’m starting to think you’re dangerous for my health.”
    His worry fades and his icy eyes smolder. His hand pauses on my head. “Yeah,” he says deeply. We stay frozen like that, his hand on the back of my head, his other hand holding mine. Somehow, it’s very sensual. I feel the electric charge between us increasing in power. Finally I can’t resist and place my other hand on his leg, running it slowly up towards his stomach. He closes his eyes.
    I look down and realize his shirt had been ripped completely open, the buttons torn off and a sleeve half gone. His chest, white and hard, marked up with green tattoos, is inches from my touch. I almost want to salivate.
    While I’m looking down at my hand and his chest, he leans closer and I tense, stopping my hand. Slowly, sweetly, he kisses my forehead. I close my eyes and love the feel of his warm, wet lips on my skin. His scratchy face rubs down my hair to the side of my face, so that we’re almost cheek to cheek. My breathing speeds up. “Dylan,” he whispers. His hand is still on the back of my head.
    I know I’m now shaking, and I know it’s noticeable. My mouth is co mpletely dry. “Yes?” I whisper.
    He breathes warm air into my ear. I sigh. “The car stopped…” he whispers again in his melodic tone.
    My eyebrows come together. I open my eyes and look out the window opposite me. I see the sidewalk in front of my townhome il luminated by the street lights.
    I sit up st raighter as he drops his hand from my hair and lets go of my hand. He turns and opens the car door. He steps out on to the sidewalk and I scoot to the door, stepping out behind him. As soon as I’m on my feet, he grabs my hand again, like it’s so natural now. My heart is heavy. What happens from here?
    He pauses