Driving Me Crazy: A Rock Star Rom Com

by Lisa Suzanne

  “I love you, too. I love you so goddamn much.”

  Her eyes sparkle as I say the words, and then my mouth crashes down to hers. In the midst of the cruel truths she just learned and the bitter cold out here by the water in the middle of the snow, heat surrounds us as this kiss turns fiery hot in a matter of seconds.

  Her hips thrust upward like she’s searching for me, and mine dip down to meet her, my cock growing harder and harder by the millisecond.

  And fuck it all, we don’t even have a goddamn hotel room to go to right now to finish what we’re starting.

  Maybe I’ll just fuck her right here in the snow.

  I know I won’t.

  But I can’t help thinking it.

  Our tongues batter, a brutal battle where we both somehow emerge victorious. I want to run my hand along her body, but I can’t—partly because of my injury, but also because she’s covered up with a big puffy jacket and we’re in the middle of the snow by the beach.

  So we make out there for a while like a couple of horny teenagers. To be fair, we’re both horny even though neither of us is a teenager.

  When the kiss gets to the point where I either need to stop or I’ll have blue balls until one of us can do something about it (and my arm is getting tired from bearing all my upper body weight on it for too long), I thrust toward her once more and then I dismount and collapse on the snow beside her.

  She leans over and kisses my cheek, her lips warm on my cold skin.

  “Thank you,” she says softly.

  I sit up, and she mirrors me. “For what?” I ask.

  “For somehow knowing exactly what I needed.”

  I lift a shoulder like it was no big deal, but her words are exactly what I was hoping to hear.

  CHAPTER 34: AMBER

  “Where to?” Will asks. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat, and we’re both wet from our snow adventure and my teeth are chattering as I adjust the vent to point the heater directly on my face.

  I turn over to him, my brows dipping down. “I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought past what would happen once I met the woman who sent the letter. Do we go home now?”

  I also haven’t thought through what going home really means. Do I confront my dad with what I learned? Do I tell Adam or my mom first?

  Do I do nothing at all?

  I can’t do nothing at all.

  I can’t sit on the information I just learned and pretend for the rest of my life like it doesn’t exist. Even if she was lying, then I need to hear the truth.

  But I can’t imagine she was lying.

  She knew too much. She had the photographic evidence.

  It was one thing trying to forget about the letter, but to forget about her words, to forget that I really do have a half-sister out there who actually just wanted money from me...well, it’s just not possible.

  Though even as I think it, I realize Amanda wasn’t the one who asked me for money. If she’s anything like her mother, the request was surely coming...but I guess now I’ll never know.

  “Do you want to go home?” Will asks.

  I stare at the hotel in front of me. I don’t want to be in the place where they’re still so close...but I’m not ready to go home just yet. “I want to get out of Maine.”

  “Okay,” he says.

  He doesn’t punch anything into the GPS, but he shifts the car into drive and heads west on the main road.

  I don’t care where he takes me, but staying here in this place where I found out secrets I still haven’t processed isn’t an option.

  I stare out the window at the snowy landscape. It’s not snowing anymore, and the sun is starting to peek out, but it’s still cold and the roads are still icy. I’m nervous as we drive past the spot where we spun out earlier. He plays it safe and keeps a huge distance between his truck and the car in front of us, but it still scares me how quickly we could spin out of control.

  Kind of symbolic for life, I guess.

  He merges onto the highway. We’re both quiet as he leaves me alone with my thoughts—something I’m actually grateful for at the moment even though I don’t really know what to think.

  “Want to stop at the USS Albacore?” he asks, breaking the silence after we cross the border into New Hampshire a half hour later.

  “Is that where we’re going?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know where we’re going. I don’t actually have a plan.”

  I laugh. “That’s exactly what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

  He smirks.

  “If you want to stop at the Tuna Palace, go for it.”

  His brows come together in confusion. “The what?”

  “The Albacore. Tuna?”

  He laughs. “It’s not tuna. It’s a submarine in a ditch.”

  “If you want to see it, let’s stop.” I’m actually sort of liking the idea of random stops now that we’re on better terms with each other. Maybe I’m confused over what I learned today, but at least some of the confusion where Will is concerned has started to clarify. Or gotten more confusing. Hell, I don’t know.

  “Let’s keep going,” he says. “I actually do have a place in mind.”

  Just before we get to Connecticut, Will merges off the highway in Sturbridge, Massachusetts. He pulls into a gas station and taps around on his phone, and then he takes a little detour to The Bird Store and More instead of heading back toward the highway.

  “What are we doing here?” I ask when he cuts the engine in the parking lot. “Are you taking another pet on the road with us? Because I really don’t want a bird.”

  He laughs. “No, I’m not getting a bird. Wait. Are you scared of birds, too?”

  I laugh. “I mean, I wouldn’t say I’m scared of them, but I don’t like them.”

  “Come with me.”

  I get out of the truck and follow him toward the doors. We walk through the store and I don’t know where we’re going, but I start to notice he’s following the signs that say, “Secret Garden.”

  We’re the only two in the garden when he proclaims, “Here it is!”

  “Here what is?” I ask, looking around at the whimsical garden in confusion.

  “The largest cuckoo clock in all of New England!” He’s nearly giddy with excitement, and I can’t help but giggle at him.

  “You’re the largest cuckoo in all of the United States.”

  He narrows his eyes at me, but they’re twinkling with laughter. He takes a menacing step toward me that’s actually anything but menacing, and I take a step back just out of his reach. He takes another step, and I turn to run but find I’m out of room as I nearly topple into a short, cobblestone wall.

  He grabs me around the waist and jabs his fingers into my sides, and I squeal with laughter.

  “Stop!” I shriek. “Mercy! Uncle! What’s the safe word?”

  He chuckles and stops tickling me but he doesn’t let me go. Instead, he lifts me up into his arms and leans his forehead to mine for a beat before he presses his lips to mine, the laughter fading from both of us as this moment shifts into something warm between the two of us.

  It’s just a short kiss in front of the largest cuckoo clock in New England with the largest cuckoo in the US, but it seems to signify yet another change for us both.

  We’ve moved past the serious, dark part of our journey. Both of us have discovered truths that hurt, and we’re both in various stages of overcoming those truths. Somehow it’s bringing us closer. It’s allowing us to lean on each other, to trust each other, and, most importantly, to fall back in love.

  It’s dark out now, and I’m thinking about what tonight will mean for us.

  Will it be the night we reconcile? Or are we not there quite yet?

  The kiss on the snowy beach told me we’re heading back in that direction, and as we keep driving later and later into the night, I can’t help but wonder where and when we’ll stop. Is he driving until we’re both too worn out so it doesn’t even become a question?

  We d
rive through Connecticut and enter New York, where we hit some Saturday night traffic.

  We travel until we get to Times Square, and then he pulls up to a hotel.

  “It’s getting late,” he murmurs. I glance at the clock and see it’s already after ten. “Want to stay here tonight?”

  “Do you have a room booked?” I ask.

  He shakes his head, and he grabs his phone and clicks around. “There’s a ton of places nearby if this one’s booked. Have you been to Times Square before?”

  I shake my head. “I’ve always wanted to come here but never have.”

  “Then we’re staying here tonight. We’ll sleep in and explore in the morning. We can even stay two nights if you want.”

  I lift a shoulder. “Okay,” I say, and we get out of the car.

  The hotel is swankier than I realized, and as we step out of the car, I feel distinctly underdressed in my puffy coat, my hair a tragic mess around my shoulders after getting wet in the snow and air drying by car vent over the last six hours. A valet goes to Will’s side, and a bellman takes our bags from the back of the truck.

  “Checking in, sir?” he asks Will, who nods.

  We’re escorted to the front desk. “Welcome to the Chattington,” the clerk says. She smiles at us. “I just need a photo ID and a credit card and we’ll get you all checked in.”

  “We don’t have a reservation,” Will says.

  Her jaw drops a little, like she’s shocked two people could just find their way in off the streets to try to get a room at her fancy hotel. Well, believe it, sister.

  “Let me check our availability.” Her eyes seem to narrow at us for a beat, like she’s double checking whether we’re good enough to stay here, and then Will whips out his black AmEx. Her eyes fall to his exclusive credit card, and I nearly roll my eyes. “Oh, yes, I have one room left, but it’s part of our weekender romance package with a two-night minimum.”

  “Book it,” he says, and my cheeks heat.

  So I guess that answers that question about whether tonight will be the night we reconcile.

  CHAPTER 35: AMBER

  I shouldn’t be surprised at the rose petals on the bed or the chilled champagne with two glasses beside the bucket or the chocolate-dipped strawberries or the fake candles on the dresser that flicker in the dim lighting of the room when we enter. We did, after all, book the romance package.

  I shouldn’t feel a thrill of anticipation when I spot a large whirlpool bathtub in the bathroom, and I shouldn’t get excited at the notion of Will slamming into me from behind while my hands brace my body and my breath fogs the cold glass of the window overlooking Times Square in a view so unreal it almost looks like a painting.

  This is all just a little surreal, and it also feels a little meant to be—not that I ever believed in that nonsense.

  We just made up, if you can call it that. We just ran away from this huge secret that was unveiled today.

  Maybe after all that, we deserve this.

  A knock sounds on our door when we’ve barely made it through touring the room, and Will answers it while I take my jacket off and set it over a chair before I walk back toward the window.

  “Right over there,” Will says, and I turn around and see it’s the bellman delivering our bags.

  He leaves, and it’s just the two of us.

  “So I guess tomorrow we can make up for that spa day we skipped in St. Louis since it’s included in our big romance package.” He waves around the booklet the check-in clerk handed him. He’s clearly going for a light tone, but his joke seems to flatline when our gazes lock.

  I let out a soft breath. “I’m sorry about all that,” I say.

  He takes a step toward me, and another, and then he closes the gap as his hands take pause on my hips. “I know,” he says. “Stop apologizing for it. It’s behind us now, and I want to focus forward with you.”

  I want to focus forward with you.

  His words replay in my mind, and I think they might replay again and again for the next day or week or month or lifetime.

  Focusing forward just isn’t something I ever expected from him. He never seemed ready to settle down, but here we are.

  And I think he’s ready.

  And, odd as it sounds, so am I.

  Instead of responding with words, I tip my chin up and press my lips to his.

  In mere milliseconds, we’re on fire, sort of like we always are the moment our lips meet.

  His tongue thrashes against mine like he’s waited forever for this, his fingertips digging into my hips and somehow pulling me closer against him and pushing me toward the window at the same time. My ass bumps against the window and braces me there while he thrusts his hips against me.

  We’re fifteen stories up and I’m sure no one can see us, yet the thrill of kissing him in front of the window like this is intoxicating.

  And on top of that, the feelings this time are different. This is as intense as our kiss on the beach, and every time we’ve had sex has been good, but this has a level of emotion behind it that was missing before.

  Because we both said the words. We both meant the words.

  And now we’re going to use our bodies to express the real meaning behind those words.

  It’s like he can’t get me naked fast enough. He grapples with the bottom of my shirt and rips it over my head, and then he goes for the button on my jeans. He shoves his hand down into my panties, and his finger dips into my folds, finding my clit right away. He shoves in a little more until his finger pushes inside me, and I moan at the feel of him.

  I reach toward him to get a grope of his cock, but he moves his hips away, like he’s afraid if I touch him it’ll all be over too soon even though he’s driving his fingers in and out of me like he can’t move fast enough. I shriek with the pleasure of his touch as I settle for one hand reaching under his shirt and stroking those solid abs I never would’ve guessed he had hidden under there.

  He leans forward and starts kissing my neck, and electric thrills zip up my spine as goosebumps sprout on my thighs. He moves his face down into my cleavage, my bra pushing my boobs up, and he settles his face in between them for a beat as he continues fingering me. He pulls his fingers out and rubs my clit, and my knees nearly buckle at the feeling as an impending orgasm pulses just below the surface.

  “Oh, God, Will,” I murmur, and then he pulls his hand out of my pants. “Why are you stopping?”

  “Because right now I need to fuck you hard and fast right up against this window. Is that okay with you?”

  A slow, sly grin spreads across my lips.

  “Is that okay?” I ask. “Uh, yeah, I think that’ll work.”

  He laughs as he rustles through his bag for a condom, and then he pulls down his zipper, reaches in to pull out his very hard cock, and he rolls on the condom. He walks back to me. “Turn around and stick your ass out. Put your hands on the window and make sure everyone in Times Square can see how I’m rocking your fucking world.”

  His words make me shiver. He hasn’t typically been so commanding before, but I like it.

  A lot.

  I do what he says, and his fingertip runs along my entire slit. I tremble as he gets closer to the backdoor than he has before, and I hear a little chuckle behind me. Then he lines himself up and slams into me, and all the chuckling stops as he takes me and owns me up against that window.

  He bangs into me over and over, him still fully clothed behind me and me with no shirt and my jeans pulled down just enough for his access. I slap my palm against the window as I feel myself starting to buckle under him, as the pleasure becomes too much for me, and then I explode into a million pieces when he reaches around and brushes a fingertip against my clit.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I moan as I come hard, my body squeezing him inside and my fingers clawing at the glass.

  “Jesus,” he moans, and then he pulls out before he shoves all the way back in and holds himself there. His grunts fill the air around me as he
comes. I look into the glass at his reflection, memorizing the way his face screws up with pleasure, and then it’s over too soon.

  He strides over to the bathroom and returns with a washcloth for me, and then I pull my panties and jeans back up and reach for my shirt.

  His palm on my arm stops me. “Leave the shirt off,” he says, and I can’t help my giggle. He takes his off, too. “There. Now we’re even.”

  It’s late, and we’re both tired. We take our pants off, too, and sleep beside one another in our underwear, his arms laced around me the entire night for the first time this entire road trip.

  And it’s the best I’ve slept in a long, long time.

  The first peek of sunlight through the window startles me awake. We forgot to close the curtains last night, and Times Square looks incredibly different in the daytime compared to night.

  I can’t sleep when it’s this bright.

  Besides, I’m all...hot.

  And not because of the temperature in here.

  I decide to wake him up the way every man dreams to be woken up in the morning: with my lips on his cock. I move quietly down the bed so as not to wake him prematurely, and once I’m in position, I pull his dick out of his boxers. It’s semi-hard, and I work it with my hand until it starts to spring to life.

  I hear a soft moan from above me, and that’s when I suck him in.

  The next moan is a little louder as I start to go to work on him, sucking him in and pulling him out, one hand fisting him and following my mouth each step of the way.

  “Holy fuck, Amber,” he murmurs, and then his fingers thread into my hair as he lies back and enjoys what I’m delivering. It’s not long before he says, “I’m about to blow it,” and I can’t help but think with a little laugh that we need to introduce some new synonyms for coming into his vocabulary.

  Despite his warning, I continue to suck on him as he jets into my mouth. I swallow it down, lick him clean, and climb up the bed beside him.