3.
As Paul Cramer sucked at her lips, Natalie's attention was diverted across the room, where she sensed John squirming in his seat. She closed her eyes and reengaged Paul's kiss, sloppy as it was. She was remembering a song she'd heard the night before on an oldies station cranked up in the back at Rodi's: "If you can't be with the one you love, honey, love the one you're with." The rest of the lyrics were the kind of unfathomable dopehead stuff you get on classic rock stations, but at least this one had a point.
John, meanwhile, had taken a long draw off his longneck when he saw Natalie drop a dose of whatever was Paul Cramer's party drug of choice. He figured, couldn't be a roofie or GHB, because, even though Cramer was fully capable of hiding it in a girl's drink, and probably had done once or twice in his life, it's not something he'd hold out to show her. Nah, had to be ecstasy or some other hallucinogen that would dull her eyes to what a slime he was while he reeled her in. And something that would make her more willing to give him what he wanted; which turned his stomach and made him shudder: that Paul was holding in such low esteem what John regarded as so pure and wonderful about her.
That Natalie Vega had walls around her that she was careful whom she let through. Her walls were built of hard won survival, fragile confidence, beauty, pain, and discovery. And she had shown herself willing to let John through; if only he'd drop his own walls to have her: walls whose every other brick had the name Caitlin engraved on it, whether they were made of sorrow, bravery, regret, street smarts, guilt or love. And that Paul was trying to bust his way through to Natalie's heart like a barbarian storming the gates was igniting an fire in his head... no, in his heart.
As the drummer sat down and began striking his set while the bass player stood his bass upright and plucked a few notes, the house light began to fade. Natalie took the opportunity to shoot the quickest of unnoticed glances at John, not to enjoy his softly chisled face and dark brooding hound-dog eyes, but merely to reassure herself her quarry was still in the game; though Paul's antics were diverting; it was the only thing that made Paul's kisses bearable.
He was looking downward; before the lights completed dimmed he'd picked up his cell phone and placed a call.
As Paul Cramer sucked at her lips, Natalie's attention was diverted across the room, where she sensed John squirming in his seat. She closed her eyes and reengaged Paul's kiss, sloppy as it was. She was remembering a song she'd heard the night before on an oldies station cranked up in the back at Rodi's: "If you can't be with the one you love, honey, love the one you're with." The rest of the lyrics were the kind of unfathomable dopehead stuff you get on classic rock stations, but at least this one had a point.
John, meanwhile, had taken a long draw off his longneck when he saw Natalie drop a dose of whatever was Paul Cramer's party drug of choice. He figured, couldn't be a roofie or GHB, because, even though Cramer was fully capable of hiding it in a girl's drink, and probably had done once or twice in his life, it's not something he'd hold out to show her. Nah, had to be ecstasy or some other hallucinogen that would dull her eyes to what a slime he was while he reeled her in. And something that would make her more willing to give him what he wanted; which turned his stomach and made him shudder: that Paul was holding in such low esteem what John regarded as so pure and wonderful about her.
That Natalie Vega had walls around her that she was careful whom she let through. Her walls were built of hard won survival, fragile confidence, beauty, pain, and discovery. And she had shown herself willing to let John through; if only he'd drop his own walls to have her: walls whose every other brick had the name Caitlin engraved on it, whether they were made of sorrow, bravery, regret, street smarts, guilt or love. And that Paul was trying to bust his way through to Natalie's heart like a barbarian storming the gates was igniting an fire in his head... no, in his heart.
As the drummer sat down and began striking his set while the bass player stood his bass upright and plucked a few notes, the house light began to fade. Natalie took the opportunity to shoot the quickest of unnoticed glances at John, not to enjoy his softly chisled face and dark brooding hound-dog eyes, but merely to reassure herself her quarry was still in the game; though Paul's antics were diverting; it was the only thing that made Paul's kisses bearable.
He was looking downward; before the lights completed dimmed he'd picked up his cell phone and placed a call.