Insistent
Page 5
Only her.
Lifting my head and my hands, I cup her face. “I’ll show you, baby. I’ll show you we can be together. I’ll show you,” I say, my voice soft. She leans into me, and I can’t stop my lips from pressing to hers.
She pulls back, a look of sadness and hope in her eyes. “Oh, Gav, so insistent.” She runs her fingers through my hair one more time. “I should get to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” She pushes her chair back, causing my hands to fall away. I settle on my knees and watch her go. I wasn’t positive that my feelings for her were love, but after today, after just a small moment of time where she was mine, pretending or not, I know it’s love. I more than like her. I’m in love with her.
I tossed and turned all night. Sleep was not my friend as I replayed every minute of our day together, and then last night. I wanted to fall into his arms and let whatever happens, happen. I wanted to curl up in his arms and just… be. Instead, I pushed him away and retreated to my room.
We both admitted things we’ve never shared before. Made confessions that had my heart skipping a beat. He was right, though. We have so much in common, and if I allow myself to, I can see it… us together. It’s clear in my mind, but so are the memories of growing up and watching my mother sacrifice for me. One incident in particular stands out. I had a school Christmas play and was required to wear dress shoes. I didn’t have dress shoes. It was a luxury that we couldn’t afford. Mom’s shoes she wore to work were ragged with a hole in one toe. It was hard to tell how old they were. She needed them desperately and had been saving here and there to get a pair. Instead, she used that money to buy me a pair of black dress shoes. I cried and begged her not to. I knew how badly she needed those shoes, but she wanted me to feel like the rest of my classmates, just that one time. Luckily, the school provided a costume. I was a candy cane. All I was missing was the shoes.
I still have those shoes. They’re tucked away in the original box in the back of my closet. I was maybe ten or eleven at the time and have held on to them all these years. She gave up so much for me to have them. It was a shame to just throw them away. I never wore them again after that day. There was no reason to. We didn’t go anywhere fancy, not even church. Mom worked too much. We both did once I was of age.
Glancing at the clock, I see it’s a little after ten. We planned to leave at noon, to catch a few more bands. Shattered Heart takes the stage at nine, but there’s so much to see. The other bands, all the food booths, the local beers, the craft and retail tables that are set up. I was excited for all of it, I still am, but I’m worried about Gavin. Actually, I’m worried about me. Will I be able to hold strong and keep my head focused on the bigger picture?
Instead of dwelling any longer, I climb out of bed and head to the shower. I pick out a pair of white jean shorts that are frayed on the ends, and a pink tank top with a paisley pattern that flows, because it’s forecast to be a hot day. I slide my feet into some brown sandals and call it good.
“Hey,” Gavin greets me. “I was thinking since we both slept so late we could just grab lunch at the festival?”
“You’re not going to hear any complaints from me.” I offer him a smile that he returns. I take in a slow, calming breath. We can do this. We can know what we know, remember last night, and still be professional. We’ve got this.
“I didn’t think so.” He chuckles. “I’m ready when you are.”
“I’m good. Just need to grab my bag.” I gather my crossbody, slide my phone inside, and turn to face him. “Let’s do this.”
He holds out his hand and then lets it drop at his side. His face falls, but he recovers quickly. “After you,” he says, walking to our door and holding it open for me.
I choose to ignore the tension in the elevator. It’s different than yesterday, and I don’t want to think about it. So I pretend it’s not there. Somehow, we manage to make it all the way to the lobby without stopping. That’s how it happened yesterday, too. There have to be hundreds of guests at this hotel with the festival, yet we never seem to be interrupted. I choose to ignore that, too. It’s not a sign; at least, that’s what I’m opting to believe. When the doors slide open, we both rush out, and I swear I can hear him inhale the same time as I do.
“I thought we could get a cab today. I’m sure there will be plenty of local brews for us to try.”
“I was actually going to suggest that. It’s no fun to try them alone.”
“You’re never alone with me,” he says before asking the front desk to call us a cab. “I should have called ahead. I wasn’t thinking,” he confesses.
I don’t ask what was on his mind. I don’t need to. “So, any other bands on our radar?”
“Not specifically, but you know we’re always looking. Let me know if one stands out to you.”
“We pretty much have the same tastes,” I say without thinking. His eyes heat as he looks at me.
“Yeah,” he agrees. I can see the want there, and it’s so damn hard to turn away from it.
The cab ride is filled with chatter from the driver. He’s a huge Soul Serenade fan and talks Gavin’s ear off all the way to the festival. He badgers him with questions about news of making a new album and fist bumps him on his shoulder for being the last to holdout on marriage. I listen halfheartedly, but the question has me sitting up and taking note. So does his answer. It could be because he presses his leg into mine when he says, “Nah, man. I’m not holding out. Just waiting for her to realize she’s the only one I want.”
Thankfully, the cab pulls up outside the festival entrance. “Before you go, can I get your autograph?” he asks.
I busy myself with pulling a sharpie from my bag and passing it to Gavin. I’ve learned over the years to always keep a couple handy. The guys can’t go anywhere without someone asking them for an autograph. Once I hand it to him, I reach for my door handle to climb out and wait for him, but he stops me with his hand on my knee.
“Wait for me.” Quickly, he scribbles his name on the guy’s hat and a piece of paper, then gives me a nod to climb out. Instead of using his door, he follows me out of mine. That’s Gav. Hell, that’s all four of the Soul Serenade crew. They don’t fit the usual rocker “I don’t have a care in the world” vibe. I don’t have to ask him why he had me wait. I know why.
“You’re a beautiful woman in a crowd of drunk, rowdy, and horny men. Stay close,” he says, confirming what I already knew.
“You worry too much,” I tell him. He gives me a “don’t give me that shit” look, and I laugh. “Right, where should we start?” With the question I dismiss that part of our conversation.
“Let’s get you fed,” he says. His hand goes to the small of my back to guide me through the crowd. He’s done this hundreds of times, but today it feels different. It’s an intimate act, at least in my eyes, but today it’s as if he’s reaching inside and grabbing a hold of my heart.
It’s going to be a long day.
Gavin leads us to a french fry booth and I turn to grin at him. “It’s like you read my mind.”
“I know you, Cass.” His hot breath whispers against my ear.
My body shivers. It’s a good ninety degrees out, so there’s no way to pass it off on the weather. Gavin moves in behind me, his hands on my hips as we wait in line. To anyone watching, we’re together. My heart pleads with me, while my head reminds me there’s too much at stake.
Maybe I should start looking for another job?
If I can earn a salary close to what I’m making now, I could still afford to keep Mom in the assisted-living facility and keep my apartment. Then I could listen to my heart. Then I could lean into him without worry that it will lead to more than what we could ever have. I’d hate to leave the label as I love the guys, their wives, and kids, and I love what I do, but… Gavin.
Those little white shorts are going to be the death of me. If not them, then it will be all these motherfuckers I start throwing hands with because they can’t keep their eyes off her. Not that I blame
them, but fuck me. I want to pull her close, capture her mouth with mine, let them know she’s with me. Because she is. She’s mine. She knows it and I know it. She just won’t admit it. Not yet.
“I like this sound,” she says over the noise of the crowd and points to the stage. “I say we get a closer look.”
I nod. I was thinking the same thing but chose to stay back, out of the masses. Not because it bothers me, but I want her close and was trying to respect her boundaries. However, she’s asked, and I never want to disappoint her. Lacing her fingers through mine, I lead us into the crowd and closer to the stage. At first, her hand is loose in mine, but as we become engulfed by the crowd, her hold tightens. I stop about five rows back from the stage and guide her to stand in front of me. I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her back against my chest. “I need you safe and this is a rowdy bunch,” I whisper in her ear. She immediately relaxes into me, accepting my reasoning. She’s a smart girl. She’s also a tiny thing, and this crowd would swallow her. Not on my watch. I try to focus on the band, but I know I don’t have to. They’re not who we’re here to see, so instead, I focus on the feel of her in my arms again. How it feels to be holding her close. Satisfaction thrums through me that those around us know from how my arms are locked tightly around her, that she’s off limits.
Cassidy pulls her cell phone out of her purse and holds it up in the air recording them. I agree this song has a good beat and the vocals are on point. The song ends and she places her phone back in her bag. When a ballad comes through the speakers, I feel it. The beat of the drums, the bass, and I imagine my fingers over the strings joining in. Cass sways a little to the beat, and once again, all my attention is on her. I match her rhythm as the lead singer croons about the love of his life. I wish I could tell her that she’s mine. She’s not ready to hear it yet. We’ll get there.
The song ends and another begins. Cassidy turns to face me and I keep my arms locked around her. “Thirsty,” she says, sticking her tongue out.
I smile down at her. She’s so damn beautiful. “Stay close,” I order. Reaching out, she places her hand in mine, and I lead us out of the thick of the crowd.
“Water or beer?” I ask once we stop where we can talk without yelling.
“Beer.” She grins. “There are too many to sample.”
“How about we try that stout?” I point to a booth just a few feet away.
“Perfect.”
Her hand still in mine, we walk to the booth, and I order us both a beer. “Not bad,” I say after taking a drink.
“Meh, I’ve had better.”
She loves her beers. We spend the next several hours walking to all the booths. We don’t buy anything, but she loves to look and I love to be by her side, so we’re both content. By the time Shattered Heart takes the stage, we’ve sampled several of the food booths, and about six new beers. The final pale ale we tried is the one we’ve stuck with all afternoon and into the evening.
“Shattered Heart goes on in fifteen minutes. We should head that way,” she says, looking at her watch.
“We need to be close for this one.”
“Do you want to go backstage?”
“No, we have an open invitation, but I want to witness them from the crowd. See what kind of show they put on.”
“Good idea. I’ll record them so the guys can see it as well.”
Tossing our empty cups from our most recent beer, I reach for her hand. She takes mine as if it’s second nature and we make our way through the crowd once again. No other bands have really caught our eye, or should I say ear after that first one. I get us close, about five rows back just like before. This time, she walks in front of me without me guiding her. Most of these people have been here all day and have been drinking for hours. She knows to stay close.
They’re not the only ones who’ve been drinking all day. Although I slowed down to make sure I would be coherent when Shattered Heart took the stage, I’d say we’re both buzzed, but not so much that we don’t know what’s going on and can’t make a decision about if the band is indeed what we’re looking for.
My arms are wrapped around her as we sway to the beat. I’ve held her hand all afternoon. I expected her to pull away, but she didn’t so I kept reaching for her. I’ll always reach for her.
“HELLOOO, Missouri!” the lead singer shouts as the band takes their place on stage. “We’re Shattered Heart.” The crowd goes wild. This is the loudest I’ve heard them all day.
“They seem to be a crowd favorite,” I whisper in her ear.
“I can see why.” She giggles.
“Oh, yeah? Care to enlighten me?” I ask, nipping at her ear. I know exactly what she’s going to say. I’m a man, but I’m not blind. I know when another dude has what the ladies love. The lead singer, Brian, is covered in ink, has dark spiky hair, his arms are huge, and from the tightness of his T-shirt, he’s in good shape. I can hear the women sending catcalls his way.
“He’s hot,” she says over her shoulder, her lips almost touching mine.
“Yeah? Does he turn you on? Does he make you wet?” I ask, moving one hand to the waistband of her white shorts that have been driving me crazy all fucking day. I’ve never talked to her like this, but fuck me, she’s got me worked up and talking about another man, she knows what she’s doing.
“Gavin,” she breathes. If my face were not buried in her neck, I would have missed it.
“What, baby?” I run my finger under the waistline of her shorts. “Tell me,” I urge her.
“N-no,” she stammers.
I stop moving my hand. “Okay,” I whisper, defeated. I move to pull my finger from her waistband, trying to decide if I should release my hold on her, too. I can’t quite bring myself to do it.
“Stop.” She rests her hand over mine. Turning in my arms, she places her hands on my cheeks. I bend down so I can hear her. “No, he doesn’t turn me on. Not the way you do.”
Her eyes tell me everything I need to know. They’re filled with desire and longing. Leaning in just a little further, I capture her lips with mine. She doesn’t even hesitate as she nips at my lips. Her hands move from my face to grip my shirt. Her grip is strong as she pulls us closer. My hands clamp tight around her waist, holding her to my chest. My dick, which is hard as steel, presses against her. And when her tongue tangles with mine, she moans.
I need to get a hold of the situation before I fuck her right here, right now. Crowd be damned. Slowly, I pull away, kissing her softly on the lips, trailing my mouth toward her ear. “We have to slow down, Cass. I’m two seconds from taking you here.” She gasps, and I know that’s the moment reality of where we are comes crashing into her. She buries her head in my chest, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her close. As if the universe is cheering us on, Shattered Heart begins one of their ballads. I don’t let her go. Instead, we sway to the beat as I try to focus on the band. That’s why I’m here after all. Not to seduce my girl. Then again, if we leave here with her admitting that she’s mine, fuck the band. The guys will understand. It’s all in the name of love, right?
The song ends and the next one begins, this one faster, more upbeat. Cass doesn’t pull away, but she stops swaying to the beat. She’s holding on tightly, and no way am I letting her go. Not when I finally have her where I want her. I run my hands up and down her back, just enjoying the feel of her in my arms. We stay this way for four more songs before she pulls away and looks up at me. It’s now dark and we only have the lights from the stage and the surrounding booths, but I can imagine her sapphire eyes. I don’t need to see them.
Standing on her tiptoes, she presses a tender kiss to my lips. “I need to record them,” she says before turning and pulling out her phone. My hands rest on her hips. She’s given me no indication that she no longer wants me to touch her, so I’m not stopping.
As soon as the first chord is played, the crowd goes crazy. Our little circle gets even smaller as people crowd around us, vying to get closer to the stage, close
r to the action. I wrap my arms back around her waist, protecting her from the madness. Surrounded by chaos, my world is still as she rests her head against my shoulder, holding her cell phone in the air and recording the entire song.
One song bleeds into another, while she records and I hold her tight. No longer able to resist temptation, I slide my hand under her shirt and rest it on her belly. She lowers her phone, and I bury my face in her neck, kissing her heated skin. My lips trail up to her ear. “I can’t stop touching you,” I confess. Her answer is to tilt her head, giving me better access. I take it, not questioning what’s changed her mind, why she’s giving in. My lips devour her neck. Licking. Biting. Sucking. Kissing.
“How you all doing tonight?” The lead singer addresses the crowd.
“Fucking fantastic,” I whisper in her ear, causing her to laugh.
“This next one is new. We’ve got some special friends out there in the crowd tonight, and we wanted to show them what Shattered Heart is all about.” The crowd roars. “This one, it’s all about making love.” He laughs. “They tell me that’s the right way to talk about fucking on stage,” he admits, and the roar of the crowd is thunderous.
The song starts out slow and smooth. The beat of the drum and the bass guitar are in perfect harmony. Closing my eyes, I imagine making love to Cass with this in the background. She turns in my arms and wraps one arm around my waist, the other rests on my chest. I slip my hand back under her shirt, because the feel of her skin against my fingers is… life altering. She rests her head against me as she slides her hand lower until hers, too, is under my shirt. Only she stops once she reaches the waistband of my jeans. Her finger slides underneath, which causes her to brush the tip of my cock.
She looks up, eyes wide.
“That’s all you,” I say, my lips next to her ear.
She does it again.
And again.