Restraint is Useless Here

Chapter Eleven

Brian's intoxication from both alcohol and Anna evaporated the moment he heard that familiar voice.

"Boo!" Fucking Val. How did he not see her coming?

Considerably annoyed and empty, somehow, the moment Anna's hand left his skin, Brian felt like someone had ripped a joint from his lips before he could take a hit. No. He wasn't done yet. He needed to fill his lungs with her, hold her in until his vision blurred and his chest threatened to explode from the burn.

The way his skin still burned where she'd touched him.

And the look on Anna's face the moment she tore away from Val's embrace was enough to rouse something violent in Brian. It was pitiful. And her technique... God, it was all wrong. It pained the jiu jitsu fighter in him to witness. She had zero focus, flailing and clawing her way out of Val's grasp. Her defense was instinctual and sloppy and entirely fear-driven. She should've planted her feet and bent at the knees, then swung her left leg around the back of Val's knee. This would've effectively knocked her off balance so Anna would gain the edge.

But why would she feel the need to evade Val? The darkness from earlier in the week tugged at his mind, but he couldn't concentrate with Val's serrated stare slicing his head off.

Brian knew that look on her face, too: pupils dilated like a cat stalking a mouse, lips turned down at the corners and barely containing her canines. Or...felines. Whatever they were, they were sharp and scary and he'd hear about this later. Self-preservation told him not to turn his back on Val, but he also wanted to get the fuck out of dodge before anyone noticed the strain on his zipper.

So he raised his glass and walked away.

He'd rubbed one out in the bathroom after the show—auburn curls, leather pants, that fucking side boob— but even that wasn't enough. He tried to shut down the idea of her but, being the idiot that he was, he couldn't leave well enough alone.

Jesus Christ, he wanted that girl.

And it wasn't just the sex drought that had him hot and bothered. Watching her guard slip away as her eyes grew wild, rhapsodizing over the band and the music they created—the music he created—made his chest ache. It gave new significance to why he did what he did. He loved writing and playing music and lived for the fact that he had his best friends along side him, of course. But Anna's completely unbiased, completely unfiltered raving inspired him like...well, like not much else had in recent memory.

He was so inspired, in fact, that he may as well have broadcast it across the whole fucking bar. He could throw the egotistical bad boy image to the wind after admitting that, out of 14,000 people, he only gave a damn about her reaction that night. That, combined with her fire hot touch she etched into his chest, had shot straight to his pants and sent him reeling. And it took every goddamn ounce of restraint to keep his touch G-rated instead of sliding his hand down her side, his fingers memorizing the cinch of her waist like he so badly wanted.

Like he didn't have his pick of women to sleep with.
Like he didn't sell out stadiums of thousands.
Like their last album didn't go platinum.
But that was the kicker: Anna didn't care about any of that.
Furthermore, why did he care so much?

None of that mattered anyway. The chick had a boyfriend. She had a funny way of having a boyfriend. Not to mention he was a diabolical asshole. But still, not his business.

As he approached the table, he found Johnny and Jimmy engaged in a lively game of ashtray hockey between the platters of half-eaten pizza. Catching his friend off guard, Brian shoved his way onto Zack's lap with too much gusto.