Perigee [bxb] | Bad Moon Book II

18; {Jaylin}: perigee

There was something about the ocean tide that pulled a person's energy away with it.

Two hours ago, Alex greeted them happily at the entrance to the hotel, dressed in a vest with a platter in his hands.

"Quen and I are helping the caterers, so I'll be sure to bring you guys up some food," he explained, buzzing at Sadie's side. Jaylin had fallen behind while the others made their way toward the elevators. The last thing he heard Alex say was, "you guys probably don't wanna be a part of this thing."

That was when Jaylin piqued toward the ballroom. He wanted to know what this thing was that Quentin had tried so hard to keep them away from. He wanted to know the happenings behind that furtive red curtain.

So once the others had gained distance, he snuck off to the ballroom and ducked beneath the velvet drapes. He didn't step any further than that, his back to the the gentle billow of the curtain walls.

The ballroom had been made into an inviting lounge; slow piano music dribbling from the stage, where a woman in a red sequin dress belted out the classic sounds of Billie Holiday—a deep, fierce bass to her voice that made Jaylin want to reach out and touch the sound waves in the air. She was beautiful. Something from a noir painting—her rich, red lips tugging at the corner while she swayed to the eloquent, slurring melody of a saxophone.

Couches had been brought in—aligned beside corner tables with candles boxed in mesmerizing mirror frames. A brunette pair curled up in the corner of one, grinning as they fed one another chocolate-dipped strawberries and kissed beside the candle light.

On the other sofa, a man laxed back with a woman between his legs. His hands kept to himself while she danced for him, twisting and moving like a flame. And just beside him, two women curled together with their legs entangled, fingers drifting up thighs—lips on lips, on necks, on chests.

Jaylin had flushed when he'd seen it. He was feeling nearly obtrusive in a room so full of people. He'd backed himself up against the curtains, but Jaylin didn't leave just then. Because, at the farthest corner of the room was Quentin, offering platters of foods to the guests. He was graceful at this even, lifting his serving trays  out of the way just when he needed to, balancing them so easily on his palms—even when empty glasses were set atop to be taken back to the kitchen, he simply adjusted the weight and carried on. 

Those trays didn't so much as wobble—not until a woman nearly knocked them from his hands when she snagged him by the sleeve to fraternize, biting slowly into the cherry from her drink. Much too slowly.

Jaylin boiled a bit, if only because of the grin he gave her. God, he'd seen it a thousand times and it still made his heart sputter. He wanted it to himself. That was a stupid thing to want to himself.

Quentin had noticed him not long after that. Those dark eyes locking on—instinctual to his presence still, even though they couldn't feel one another anymore. From that dark corner of the room, Quentin smirked—that look like he knew just what Jaylin was thinking, his face a shadowed sculpture, resplendent with the flickering glow of the plentiful red candles scattered about.

He knew Quentin could probably see the tint of pink he'd turned, so Jaylin left after that, back to his room to shower and sleep off the exhaustion. And he had, for a short time. Maybe an hour, before he felt it.

Perigee. He felt it like a fire in him. He wasn't sure why it had hit him so much later than the others, but it set in the deepest parts of him like an irrefutable itch. Once that feeling grew too hot to ignore, Jaylin left his bed—Matt still asleep beneath the sheets—and wandered the halls in hopes that he'd tire from walking. That the agonizing impulses would fade away.