The Drazen World: The Lesson (Kindle Worlds Novella) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Milana Raziel
neighbor set my former apartment building on fire with his makeshift meth lab, Coach forced the administration to nominally call me an RA, entitling me to reside in the dorm.
Both my head and my heart said, "Fuck it." So I hopped up onto Beau's lap and wiggled my ass for good measure. A girl, even a resolutely "not fun" girl like me, would have to be crazy or dead to turn down the chance to dance with baseball gods while Charles English spun in a purportedly haunted, abandoned theater. I may regret it come dawn, but I wanted to be reckless and young for a change. My college experience to date had consisted of swapping one prison for another. Maybe it was time to tear down some walls—at least for a night. Time to try on "flirty Missy" for size.
"Both of you better be prepared to dance your asses off. Well, maybe not off. They're both pretty hot—what I could see of them." Well! That got a reaction from Beau at least. A very healthy one.
My squirming and Beau's discomfort garnered us both a sharp look from Jon. Interesting. I instinctively snuggled into Jon's neck, reveling in his scent of sandalwood and soap, in an attempt to soothe him. The last thing I wanted was testosterone overload to ruin what was shaping up to be the most fun I'd had in Philadelphia.
We rolled up to what must have been the stage door of the theater during its vaudeville heyday. The alley was still partially cobblestone, and with the only light coming from the gooseneck fixtures hanging over the door, it could pass for the punk version of the portal to Hell in a pinch. Jon parked next to the door, the remains of a sign for a long-closed production of Aida flaking off the brick. He refused to relinquish his keys to someone who may or may not have been a valet, but he nonetheless tipped. He carelessly tossed his coat on the driver's seat, and Beau and I followed suit. Before we even got in the door, the thump of the bass was creeping up my spine, along with Jon's hand. It had found its way, hot and possessive, under my shirt. I locked arms with Beau and brought him close to me as well. We were all in this together. I was afraid of flying solo too close to the sun that was Jon Drazen, and if I had to, I'd use Beau as a buffer.
Through the door we went, down a narrow, dark passage that suddenly opened up in an explosion of light and sound. We found ourselves on the stage, its planks worn slick and smooth over a thousand performances. The promoters had transformed the stage into a dance floor with makeshift bars set around the perimeter. The DJ booth was set up on the catwalk over the stage, and from his perch, Charles English looked like a sorcerer using his music to work an enchantment over the throng of people below him. The setting was surreal, the tattered curtains still in place on either side of the stage and a dark, empty cavernous space where an audience had once sat. The lighting effects brought in for the party did little to dispel the eerie atmosphere, the shifting colors and strobes intermittently revealing the crumbling embellishments that hinted at the theater’s former opulence. The decaying beauty and hypnotic music created the sense of a place out of time—the perfect place to let my hidden self come out to play.
We stood at the edge of the throbbing crowd, their energy crashing over us like a tidal wave of movement and heat and longing. The sexual energy all around us was palpable and contagious. I grabbed them both by the hand, and we plunged into the crowd as the strains of The Damned Alone Again Or came over the sound system. Shimmying and flailing to the music, I let the beat carry me. I just didn't care if I looked silly—it felt so good. Neither of them let me stray more than a step or so, and they were both incredible dancers. It wasn't just their athleticism either; they were channeling the music. Beau was playful and joyous, flirting and cutting up. Not surprisingly, Jon was a bit more polished,
Both my head and my heart said, "Fuck it." So I hopped up onto Beau's lap and wiggled my ass for good measure. A girl, even a resolutely "not fun" girl like me, would have to be crazy or dead to turn down the chance to dance with baseball gods while Charles English spun in a purportedly haunted, abandoned theater. I may regret it come dawn, but I wanted to be reckless and young for a change. My college experience to date had consisted of swapping one prison for another. Maybe it was time to tear down some walls—at least for a night. Time to try on "flirty Missy" for size.
"Both of you better be prepared to dance your asses off. Well, maybe not off. They're both pretty hot—what I could see of them." Well! That got a reaction from Beau at least. A very healthy one.
My squirming and Beau's discomfort garnered us both a sharp look from Jon. Interesting. I instinctively snuggled into Jon's neck, reveling in his scent of sandalwood and soap, in an attempt to soothe him. The last thing I wanted was testosterone overload to ruin what was shaping up to be the most fun I'd had in Philadelphia.
We rolled up to what must have been the stage door of the theater during its vaudeville heyday. The alley was still partially cobblestone, and with the only light coming from the gooseneck fixtures hanging over the door, it could pass for the punk version of the portal to Hell in a pinch. Jon parked next to the door, the remains of a sign for a long-closed production of Aida flaking off the brick. He refused to relinquish his keys to someone who may or may not have been a valet, but he nonetheless tipped. He carelessly tossed his coat on the driver's seat, and Beau and I followed suit. Before we even got in the door, the thump of the bass was creeping up my spine, along with Jon's hand. It had found its way, hot and possessive, under my shirt. I locked arms with Beau and brought him close to me as well. We were all in this together. I was afraid of flying solo too close to the sun that was Jon Drazen, and if I had to, I'd use Beau as a buffer.
Through the door we went, down a narrow, dark passage that suddenly opened up in an explosion of light and sound. We found ourselves on the stage, its planks worn slick and smooth over a thousand performances. The promoters had transformed the stage into a dance floor with makeshift bars set around the perimeter. The DJ booth was set up on the catwalk over the stage, and from his perch, Charles English looked like a sorcerer using his music to work an enchantment over the throng of people below him. The setting was surreal, the tattered curtains still in place on either side of the stage and a dark, empty cavernous space where an audience had once sat. The lighting effects brought in for the party did little to dispel the eerie atmosphere, the shifting colors and strobes intermittently revealing the crumbling embellishments that hinted at the theater’s former opulence. The decaying beauty and hypnotic music created the sense of a place out of time—the perfect place to let my hidden self come out to play.
We stood at the edge of the throbbing crowd, their energy crashing over us like a tidal wave of movement and heat and longing. The sexual energy all around us was palpable and contagious. I grabbed them both by the hand, and we plunged into the crowd as the strains of The Damned Alone Again Or came over the sound system. Shimmying and flailing to the music, I let the beat carry me. I just didn't care if I looked silly—it felt so good. Neither of them let me stray more than a step or so, and they were both incredible dancers. It wasn't just their athleticism either; they were channeling the music. Beau was playful and joyous, flirting and cutting up. Not surprisingly, Jon was a bit more polished,
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