I nodded to show my enthusiasm for the positive response he’d nearly awarded me.
“Let’s go slow,” I agreed. “I’ve got another three weeks on the road, and then we’re on break for a month before we start the next album. We can talk and text, catch up on the time we’ve lost. And when I’m back, we’ll see what this is.”
“Okay,” he said. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
I beamed, overjoyed that we were on the same page and I had bought myself time to deserve a full second chance.
“Okay,” I echoed.
I moved in slowly to embrace him. He fit so perfectly in my arms. His hair smelled like apples and cinnamon. I tried to memorize his scent and the feel of him against me for the long three weeks ahead. I kissed his cheek lightly, once, just a brush of my lips against his skin.
“Good night, Chase,” I said as I stepped backward to the car.
He ducked his head but gave me a shy smile. “Night, C. Happy dreams.”
Chase
THE day following the concert, I had a full calendar at school and then a music lesson for one of my students in the evening. By the time I was done, Carter was already into his second concert in New York, and their bus was scheduled to leave right after. It sucked that even with him in the city, we couldn’t see each other.
The next few days passed slowly, and we were texting almost constantly. Any time that I wasn’t in class and he wasn’t in sound check or doing a show, it seemed like the messages were flying back and forth. We talked about anything that came to our minds: what was happening during the day, movies we had seen lately, our families. Carter’s parents were still in Massachusetts, where they’d moved when we were in high school. His dad was career military and terrified of mandatory retirement in less than a year. His younger sister was a junior in high school, a softball player, the quintessential jock that his parents had always wanted him to be.
I filled him in on my family too; my much older parents were long since retired and were enjoying their house and surrounding large property. I told him about my older brother’s success in his craft brewery and my cousins, who were always around when we were younger, and their latest feats.
We talked about his tour and the antics the band got up to and my classes and career aspirations. We talked about music. New bands we were into. Old songs we loved and had rediscovered.
We grew up playing music together. My dad always had a guitar around, and old-school rock ’n’ roll records were forever on repeat in the background at my house. I think we were about six or so when we jointly approached our parents, begging for music lessons, dreaming of the band we would someday form together. While we both started lessons the next fall, Carter always leaned more toward plucking out single-note versions of 80s hair-rock songs on his guitar, while I leaped ahead on the piano, my teachers barely able to keep up with my appetite to learn. I started writing songs as soon as I knew enough notes to make a tune, the complexity of my melodies growing with my skills.
Carter’s passion for heavier music and rock and my love for softer ballads and pop songs frustrated both of us whenever we got the semiregular idea to try forming a band again. We eventually conceded artistic differences around the beginning of high school but kept supporting each other in our own individual musical pursuits.
When Carter had to get a fake ID to get into the dirty club where he played his first gig just before we turned sixteen, I was right there with him, getting my own ID to watch the show. When I opened my acceptance letter to the acclaimed Julliard summer music school when I was fifteen, a letter that would eventually catapult me into attending the program I was in now, Carter was sitting beside me on my bed, handing me the letter opener.
It was no coincidence we were both in the music industry; it had been a lifelong passion for both of us, grown out of our friendship.
Since Carter had been away, we’d kept the flirting to a minimum over text. I think we were both hesitant to go too far down that road. But our attraction to each other was always just under the surface. I had mentioned a couple of times how much I liked the stubble he’d rocked when I saw him and, with a little prodding, had admitted how much his gravelly singing voice did it for me in that first number of his concert. He was sweet to me, giving me compliments at every turn that made my pale skin redden and my stomach fill with butterflies.
A few times he said good night with kissy emojis that left me warm and unable to sleep for hours afterward, thinking back to how good it had felt to have him kiss me in his dressing room. I was under no illusion that friendship was all he was looking for, and as much as my heart was ready to leap right in with him, my head held me back.
This was the same boy I had loved since my earliest memories. The boy who had utterly broken my heart when I finally worked up the courage to kiss him before he moved away. The boy who called me a word out of hate, a word that I can never remember him calling anyone else, even in his most heated arguments. The boy who ran out of my life after I poured my heart out to him and left me alone for five years.
Like it or not, that was our past, and while I finally understood his reason for lashing out at me that day, I was still working my way toward completely forgiving him. I knew we would get there, though. But that was only the short-term excuse I had for not jumping into this thing between us feet first. The bigger issue was his lifestyle and the amount of travel that would always be necessary in his job. That was the more permanent hurdle I wasn’t sure I could get around.
Carter
LESS than a week left on tour and I was bouncing off the walls. I was so ready to be done with the whole thing. Ready to have my own space, my own bed. Hell, I couldn’t even wait to get back to my own kitchen! I hated cooking, avoided it by whatever means necessary, but the thought of eating when I wanted and throwing some nice steaks on my own grill by this time next week? Sign me up.
Most of all, I missed the fuck out of my guy. I had no idea how, but the two weeks we had been apart felt longer than the five years separating us originally. I didn’t know how things were going to go between us, but if I had any say in the matter, I knew what I wanted to happen.
Our schedules finally lined up, and we had plans to skype tonight after the show. We were playing our last back-to-back shows at the same venue this weekend, which meant we wouldn’t have to overnight in the bus, so I was going to call him from my hotel room when I got there.
Sound check passed uneventfully, but there was a holdup for a tripped fire alarm when the house was loading in, so the start of the show was delayed. I’m sure I pissed off every member of our touring crew and my bandmates alike asking every five minutes what the status was, like a child on a road trip incessantly wondering if we were there yet. Finally the opening band took the stage, and I texted Chase to let him know I was going to be later than I planned, but things were progressing. The rest of the show carried on without incident, and the second it was over, I hightailed it out to my waiting car.
I hopped in the shower when I was in the hotel room, taking longer than I intended, unable to resist the luxury of even-temperature water washing over me after a solid two weeks of scrubbing down hastily in horrible theater basement shower facilities. Once I was clean, I threw on some comfy pajama bottoms and a loose charcoal T-shirt and crawled under the covers in the massive king bed with my laptop resting on my legs. I let Chase know I was ready when he was and fucked around on social media for five minutes while I waited for him.
The distinct ringing sound was loud in the quiet room and made me jump, but I quickly settled and connected the call. His beautiful face appeared on my screen, and he looked just as good as he had that night two weeks ago.
“Hey, baby,” I said, the endearment slipping unconsciously from my tongue.
He smiled to himself, not seeming to have a problem with it, so I took that as a good sign.
“Hey, C. How did the show go?”
I proceeded to fill him in on the fire alarm and the re
st of the evening, reveling in the fact that I actually got to see his face, his expressions and reactions, filling my screen. He told me about his day—a funny story about one of the kids he was teaching beginner lessons to, and a paper that he’d gotten a better mark than he had expected on. With all the daily stuff gone through, we both paused for a second, laughing at the same time and enjoying getting to see one another. God, I missed him.
“So, um, I’ve been thinking about you. A lot,” he said, his cheeks and ears taking on a rosy blush.
“Oh yeah?” I flirted back, not sure where he was going with this but more than happy to hear his words, however they were meant.
“I can’t stop thinking about when you kissed me.”
I caught my breath quietly. I would have been happy with whatever direction his thoughts about me took; just knowing he was thinking about me in any context was more than enough to keep me smiling. But to hear he was thinking about me in that light made me feel amazing.
“Me too, baby. I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” I wasn’t sure how much I should admit to, but neither did I want to pass up the opportunity to see how much he would elaborate.
“I guess I always thought about it, what it would be like. And then you kissed me, and it was nothing like how I imagined it would be, and now I can’t stop thinking about that,” he blurted out adorably.
“How was it different?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Softer,” he whispered. “Slower. More intimate.” He closed his eyes for a brief second, touching his lower lip as if inviting the memory. “I dunno. Is that… lame to say?”
I fought back a groan at his description of our kiss, immediately aroused by his breathy tone and how turned on he appeared to be. I squirmed a little, my dick showing interest and pressing uncomfortably against my laptop through the covers.
“Not at all.” I shook my head, swallowing hard. “I want you to know how important this… you… are to me. I want you to know how special you are. How much you deserve to be cherished.”
I paused, suddenly scared I had said too much or come on too strong.
“Unless…. You don’t want it to just be… physical? Do you?” I hesitated, knowing I wanted so much more from him and terrified for a second I had completely misread the situation.
“No!” He blurted it out quickly, his ears growing even more red, endearingly, from his sudden outburst. “It’s just… just more feelings involved from the beginning than I expected. And that’s scary because I don’t know what we are, or what we can be. We have too much history for me to be okay having casual sex with you, but I’ve never really had a serious relationship before, so I don’t know how to do more than casual either.”
I paused for a second. “Can I be honest with you, Chase?” I said, gentling my approach a little, ready to lay everything on the line with him.
“Always,” he said without hesitation.
“Chances are you’re more experienced with this stuff than I am. I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing here. I’ve already hurt you once, and anything that might hurt you again isn’t a risk I’m willing to take.” I hoped he understood what I was getting at without my actually having to say the embarrassing words.
“What do you mean? Like, you’ve never had a boyfriend?” he asked, clearly not catching the wavelength I was trying to send him.
“Well, technically no to that too. But I mean, I’ve never really, um…. I was young and closeted and scared to death of men and myself, and by the time I wasn’t afraid anymore, enough people knew my name and face that I couldn’t go to a bar anonymously and pick someone up. So I just… never did.” I released the breath I didn’t know I was holding.
I left out the part about how I had been in love with him since I was a teenager and was convinced that no man could compare to how I imagined him to be in bed—or as a boyfriend in general. Besides that little omission, everything I told him was the simple truth.
I had often thought there was such a weird hang-up in our society about virginity being both something you should get rid of quickly and also something that you should hold on to as long as possible. A damned if you do, damned if you don’t scenario. That was a large part of the reason I had never been with anyone. I was afraid of being judged for not knowing what to do and admitting I was still a virgin at my age, especially since everyone assumed that because I was a musician, I was getting laid in every city I went to. The truth was, aside from a few chaste stolen kisses, I was as inexperienced as they came.
“Wait, what?” He looked more surprised than judgmental.
“This is all new to me. Relationships. Sex. Everything,” I said quietly.
He paused, processing.
“That’s okay.” His voice was soft and reassuring. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I just… didn’t expect it.”
I breathed a silent sigh of relief. I’d trusted him not to make a big thing out of my lack of experience, but his simple acceptance told me even more definitively how kind and open-minded he was.
“Are you opposed to…?” he asked, half joking, eyebrows raised, after a moment of silence.
I chuckled, letting the last of the tension drop from my shoulders. I was relieved, but not surprised, it was so easy to talk to Chase about something I would never dare to bring up with anyone else.
“With you? God, no. Chase, I want you so badly.”
He made a sound somewhere between a contented sigh and a sexy moan my cock really, really liked, bringing it quickly back to life.
“What would you want to do with me first?” Chase said on a breathy exhale.
He adjusted himself subtly on his bed, getting comfortable. Oh hell yes. I was completely on board with this.
“I’m desperate to kiss you again,” I admitted. “I want to find out your favorite way to be kissed. What you like. What… what makes you hard.”
Chase bit his bottom lip, his eyes closed. I doubt he was even aware he was doing it. He was so damn sexy, without even trying. His reaction motivated me to keep going. We had never really discussed sex as teenagers, which had been a conscious decision on my part. Easier to avoid the subject than risk him finding out he was the object of all my fantasies. But this didn’t feel unnatural, talking about it now. Quite the opposite, actually. It felt completely right, so I kept going.
“I want to feel your tongue in my mouth, to kiss you until you start to pant and beg me to go faster.”
His face was getting more and more relaxed. His arms were out of the frame, but the camera on the computer balanced on his legs started rocking a little. God, the thought of him touching himself, being that turned on by my words, had me reaching down to join him in giving myself some much-needed relief.
“I want to taste your body. I’d pull off your shirt and kiss you everywhere I could reach. I want to know where you’re sensitive. Want to touch you where you come unglued and where you… can’t help but moan. Want to feel all of your skin under my tongue. Make you feel so good.”
It was becoming more of a challenge to keep my voice even. The soft noises Chase was making were exquisite, and the feeling of my hand on my cock was making it difficult to think. His camera went crooked for a second, and then the angle changed so it was scrolling down his naked chest. I had a good idea about his intended destination for that camera.
“Wait!” I exclaimed.
The screen shot back up, and his expression went from bliss to fear in a split second. I hastily tried to reassure him that I didn’t want to stop.
“Can I… can you leave it on your face? I want to see you touch yourself so badly, but the first time I… I want to see your face.” I blushed, certain that it was a stupid and embarrassing request that would scare him off.
The fact was, knowing this was him was what was doing it for me. Seeing how he was reacting to me, seeing his face contorted in pleasure—that was turning me on so much. I wanted to watch Chase’s expression when he came more than I wanted my next breath.
> He whimpered, nodding, the muscles in his face easing once more.
“Yeah. That’s really… yeah. I wanna see you too.”
His eyes were a little unfocused now as he went back to pleasuring himself. His breathing became ragged, and the sexy-as-fuck sounds he was making grew more desperate, making me stroke myself faster in response.
“Fuck, C. Love seeing you like this. So fucking hot. Thought about you like this so much.”
His dirty words rocketed me closer to my climax. While I had never in my life gotten off with another person, I was fairly confident it was supposed to last longer than this, especially since we couldn’t actually touch each other. “Want to touch you so bad, Chase. God, baby. I’m so close. Please tell me you are too.”
“So close,” he babbled over and over, like the sexiest prayer I’d ever heard.
I was going to come any second. My cock was leaking like crazy, my balls tight and high. My whole body was coiled and tense.
“Fuck!” he shouted finally, his small frame trembling in release.
The incredible look on his face rocking in spasm sent me hurtling over the edge a second behind him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I echoed, my body rolling through the most intense orgasm of my life.
We both lay there for a good minute or so. My speeding pulse evened out, and Chase’s breathing slowed to something closer to normal, coming down from the crazy high we’d just shared.
And then the giggles started. His face broke into laughter, and he quickly covered his mouth with his—unused—hand.
“What?” I asked, laughing as well, unable to deny this man anything and finding every single thing about him utterly perfect.
“I never in a million years thought that would happen.” He smiled so wide I thought my heart would break.
“Me neither,” I replied, aching to touch him more than anything and knowing that I had just fallen even harder for my best friend.
Next to Me Page 5
