by Susan Ward
I need out of this car, ASAP. “I know you’re capable of multitasking. Can you finish that inside so we—”
She cuts me off by holding up a hand. “One second.”
She starts tapping and my frustration blasts into oblivion the other things I shouldn’t have been thinking.
Avery clicks off her phone and shoves it into her tote. “There, done,” she announces as she turns her face toward me. “I’m all yours for the rest of the day.”
For the rest of the day—if only that were true and we were doing what I wanted. Not that I don’t want this—I remind myself that bringing her here was my idea—but only because where I wanted to go wasn’t on the realistic options list.
Her eyes widen as she looks around, like it’s a surprise we’re no longer driving, and then her smile when she stares through the windshield is well worth the wait it took for me to get it there.
“Is that what I think it is?” Her bubbly excitement fills me with feel-good having done something right.
“You’ve been bugging me to get you inside this place for months. We’re in LA. I figured I should do it.”
Her smile grows larger. “Wow. You’re full of the unexpected today.” She springs from the passenger seat and the door is closed in my face.
By the time I catch up to her, she’s already snapping pictures. Have I mentioned I hate her phone yet?
“This is going to make an incredible post,” she says cheerfully without glancing at me.
Shrugging, I shove my hands deep in my pockets. “It’s no big deal. It’s not that great. It’s like any other club we’ve been to.”
“Shame on you.” She looks over her shoulder and her eyes flash at me. “How many girls can say they’ve been in The Cockyard?”
Please God, help me with my mind. “A lot. Guys bring girls here all the time. You’ve just gotta be a male to be a member.”
“Male, famous, rich, or A-list to be a member. Jeez, it’s the most exclusive rocker club in So Cal. I’ve been dying to add it to my event portfolio since I started blogging about Black Dawn. Ordinary girls don’t ever get in.”
“You’re not ordinary, Avery. Far from it.”
She lifts her cute button nose. “I’m not fishing for compliments. You know what I mean.”
“No. I don’t.” And that’s the truth.
Her gaze locks on mine before she does an aggravated shake of her head. “The kind of girl guys in bands want to have seen on their arm when they’re out. You know. Flashy. Tall. The model type. That’s what I meant. I’m a different kind of pretty.”
“Wrong. You’re drop-dead beautiful. And I’m proud to be seen with you every time we’re out. Don’t you know—” I cut off before finishing what could have only been a gigantic mistake.
She steps into me, her face up near to mine and now her eyes are practically taking over her entire face. Those gorgeous eyes I want to get lost in.
“I’m what, Ethan? Don’t keep me hanging.”
No choice but total honesty here. Not with the way she’s looking at me. “You’re the kind of girl guys want to spend their life with, not just a night.” I run my fingers through my hair not to touch her, but, damn, if the way she’s staring at me isn’t an invitation to. “Anyway, you cool with going in there?”
Her expression changes into one I can’t read. “Having second thoughts about being seen in there with me, Ethan?”
“Shit. That’s whacked. No. Never.”
“Then what?”
Oh fuck, how did I get trapped in this one? There’s never a good out for a guy dumb enough to stumble into the feminism discussion zone. “You’re a bit of an activist. I didn’t want to offend you.”
She rolls her eyes and shudders, exasperated. “Not offended. I’ve been asking you for ages to bring me here, remember? And I consider it like a reporter going into a men’s locker room covering sports. You go where the story is.”
“I doubt that there’s a story in there, Avery. More likely a bunch of drunk musicians from back in the day behaving like fools ready to treat you like a piece of meat. It’s why I never come here.”
“But today you did and you brought me and it’s going to be an adventure. It’s always an adventure when I’m with you.”
The way the words fall from her lips makes it an epic battle not to kiss her. I grab her hand—something I never do and it causes Avery to startle—but I don’t let go because she’s with me, if only in my horny male fantasies, and I don’t want any of the wolves inside mistaking that.
Her fingers do a light flex around mine and I glance down at our joined hands as I feel hers slipping out. “Not so fast, mister.”
She’s stopped in the walk, hands on hips, looking indignant.
“Oh please, don’t tell me I’ve crossed into gender stereotypes or whatever it is you call it when you think I’m behaving like a guy. I was just holding your hand. I’m pretty sure two friends holding hands isn’t wrong.”
By the time I’m finished, I’m kicking myself. Damn. But accurate with what I’m feeling over her getting incensed with my holding her hand.
Her lids fly wide, then bubbling laughter erupts as her sexy smile comes fully. “Jeez, you’re touchy today. Not at all like you. You can relax. No lecture. All I want is a picture with you by the sign.”
That wasn’t a brush-off, but a cock block by her job. Some of my uneasiness wanes. “Oh.”
She sashays to the brick billboard, makes a dramatic pose, and I feel like a first-class idiot for that speech I just made.
“This is too priceless not to get for the photo collection.” She stands not covering the big gold letters: The Cockyard.
“Where do you want me?” I say, pausing to drink in the sight of her happy. When Avery is happy she sparkles from head to toe. It’s enchanting and painful when her eyes shimmer this way, but I love it.
“As close as you can get to me,” she announces, her tone very purposeful again. If only she meant that in a different way, and my errant anatomy refuses to believe that she doesn’t. Fuck, sporting wood behind my zipper now.
I’m beside her on the left, leaving a small distance between us.
“Closer, Ethan. Put your arm around me and bring your face in to mine,” she orders, holding the cell up in front of us and side-moving into me, pushing with a delectable butt cheek into where I ache.
Her gaze darts over her shoulder at me, and I tense because it’s too much to hope she’s missed that I’m packing.
“Move all of you closer,” she says.
I’m catapulted from uncomfortably warm into blistering hot as I press my full body up against her and drape an arm around her shoulders.
“I can’t get the whole name.” Her cheek rests against mine as she maneuvers the camera, and the delicious fragrance of Avery blocks out the smell of the city.
“Well, smile already,” she commands, amused.
Flash. Flash. Flash.
“That’s going to be a great picture. I know without even checking it. We always look perfect together.”
I turn my face toward her to ask if we’re done and unexpectedly run into her mouth moving in on me. This time I can’t stop myself. My hands fill with her hair. Those lips are finally right where I want them. I tell myself no man in his right mind would pass on this.
Chapter Six
My mind goes blank of everything but Avery. And out of nowhere, we’re here. But it’s not that how did we go from friends to kissing? type of jolt. It’s more like this is the moment we’ve always been in and just haven’t known it.
Being close to her is what feels natural, not whatever the hell we did before these heated seconds snuck up on us. All hands, mine fisting her hair and her fingers clutching my shirt. All mouths, mine demanding and hers softening in answer. Our hearts racing and our bodies melting into each other in a way that I can’t tell whose beat I’m feeling. Me rock hard and her molded there, urgent and wanting.
We kiss hard and hungry, fueled by my
months of pent-up desire and, surprisingly, hers as well. And I know, from her quirky, near-quiet moaning sounds punctuating this epic kiss that a nanosecond ago didn’t exist, that this was inevitable.
Trying to do the right thing and keeping my hands off her would never have stopped this from happening. It’s too intense, too right, and—fuck, I hate thinking it again—inevitable.
I grip her hair tighter and we kiss so deeply it’s like we’re going to go at it right here on the pavement beneath The Cockyard sign. There’s nothing slow or tentative about this from either side, no need to hold back or want to stop.
I turn her until she’s flat against the sign, grinding into her. I nip her lower lip and she moans, her hips arching up into me. That’s my cue to break off, because we’re outside, surrounded by people, and as great as our first kiss is, location makes it something going nowhere—for now.
I drag my mouth away and set my forehead against hers. “I’ve wanted to do that for six years.”
Her lids lift and I wait, nervous, for her eyes to meet mine. “Not as long for me, but almost,” she whispers, and I laugh. She’s blunt and badass and cool about everything, even this: a first kiss that’s knocked both our socks off. And no, not ego. There’s enough dreamy satisfaction slipping into her gaze to tell me it was good for her, too.
The sunlight is bright all around us and falls on her face like a spotlight on each thoroughly kissable feature. I like that we’re outdoors for our first kiss. I’m a screw-in-a-meadow kind of guy and something tells me Avery would be down for that.
She’s the colors of afternoon sunshine, and it’s like her reddish-brown hair and rich milk-chocolate eyes pick up the golden rays and hold them. For a split second I let my thoughts go with the vision of her lying naked in the grass and me riding her hard and drinking in each erotic change I bring to her face.
Damn, I’m all heat and want in my cock again. I cup her cheek and move in, and she doesn’t stop me. No games from this girl. What Avery wants she goes after, and I must not have been moving quickly enough for her. Her hands grip my shoulders, bringing me faster to her lips as she presses her tits against my chest.
And this time she takes control of everything. How her body fits mine. How her kiss fills my mouth. How she rubs against where I ache. With unwavering certainty, I know what Avery’s telling me with this.
As she devours me with the same urgency I pounced on her with, I know that tonight ends with us fucking.
The squeaky sound of the club’s front doors opening makes her take her mouth from mine and stumble sideways to no longer be pinned between me and the sign.
Inwardly I groan, but it’s probably best. We’ve put on enough of a public display for one day and how I want to finish this needs privacy. But it doesn’t make it easy to rein in my body knowing she’s hot for me, too.
My arm quivers pressed against the place Avery’s back was resting and I don’t turn from the sign because I fucking can’t. My body is rolling with need so much so that my muscles are weak.
I angle my face toward her. “I guess we’re holding that thought,” I joke because she’s biting her lip, her cheeks adorably pink as she stares at whoever is walking down the pavement behind me.
“For now,” she whispers with a happy sort of determination.
“Not for long, I hope.”
Her eyes shift to mine, vacant of their usual glimmer. “We’re off the road starting tomorrow, E. We’ve got lots of time to figure out what to do about us.”
Her words are not encouraging and my heart falls. What’s there to figure out? The chemistry’s been there beneath the surface of our friendship from the start. “Don’t make me wait long,” I implore, teasing but not, with a dramatic groan.
“That goes for you, too.”
That’s all I need to hear to make a check of my watch. “If we leave now, we’ve got four hours before I have to be somewhere.”
She laughs and slips her hand into mine. “I was thinking more along the lines of after the show. We need time to talk, too.”
I’m flattered—and aroused beyond sanity—that she thinks me in bed and time to talk can’t be managed in four hours. Then I wonder what she means by talk. What’s left for two people who know each other as well as we do to talk about? We’re not in getting to know you territory.
She tugs my arm and moves toward the door.
“We could grab something at a drive-thru and go to my place, and make talking dessert for after the show,” I suggest, partially joking because what I want to be doing with her after the show is exactly the same thing I want to be doing with her this second, and it’s not exchanging words. Though I do love talking with Avery. But fuck no, do I want to waste minutes doing it now that there’s finally an option other than talking on the table for us.
When I reach for the handle of door, she turns to face me. “I’m not saying never. I’m not even saying later. I’m saying we let it happen when it’s right, Ethan.”
Right? It feels pretty fucking right to me.
I exhale slowly, pretending not to be disappointed, and smile. “Fine. Holding thought. We’ll do it your way.” As if I have a choice here.
Her face lights up. “I’m going to love watching you on stage tonight, knowing it’s going to happen, and thinking about after.” After is said on a husky caress that rubs my cock like a hand job.
I go in for a fast kiss. “I’m going to love looking at you standing stage left and thinking what I’m going to do with you after.”
She sucks in a quick breath and wets her lips, and it’s pure agony.
I pause with my hand still on the door for another second to gaze at her. “No changing your mind,” I order.
Her brows shoot up. “No changing your mind,” she answers, flirty.
Her smile reassures me we’re on the same page, moving the same direction. “No chance of that.” I know that there isn’t. I’ve wanted this too long to stop it after having kissed her. Fuck, my self-control was on life support even before Avery tipped her hand that she feels the same way about me.
As she struts before me into the darkened recesses of the club, I rake back my hair. That single word—talk—slingshot’s back to hit me like a brick. I hope it’s not about defining us and the ground rules. Girls love to define things. Well, with me they do, and I’m not sure why because it doesn’t seem to be the case for any of the guys I know.
Eric says it’s because I wear my heart on my sleeve and that’s like a kick-me incentive. According to my brother, Mr. Fuck’em And Leave’em since Tara walked out on him, the good guy never wins or gets what he wants. That I’d do better if I were more of an asshole, the way he is.
I shutdown that thought and the natural trajectory of unpleasant memories it leads to. The no-go zone rule might’ve always worked with my brother but the hands off, she’s mine status hasn’t.
I wrestle Tara from my mind and my tangled history with Eric over my high school girlfriend. And I wonder why I’m thinking of that now that I’ve decided it’s pointless to pass on trying to get things going with Avery.
There’s no fucking way I’d let my brother do that to me again, but history has proven half of that resolve has to come from the girl.
And let’s face facts here.
I’m a badass drummer.
I’m not badass in relationships.
“Listen, Ethan, I think we should keep us as—” is a conversation starter I’ve heard more than my fair share. It usually ends with: “friends with benefits;” “no-strings sex;” “a one-time thing;” “I really like you but I’m not in the right place for anything;” or the dreaded “you’re wonderful but I’m hung up on my ex.”
I’ve been unlucky in every relationship since Eric screwed me over with Tara. And while all sex is good sex for guys—even with girls not up for anything more than a screw—I’ve always been a relationship kind of man.
The guy who wants the girl there in the morning.
The guy who wants wh
at his parents have.
My gaze focuses in the dim, packed club, and I find Avery staring up at me, a confused crinkle to her brow.
“Is something wrong?” she asks.
I smile quickly and shake my head. “Sorry. I like looking at you. Sometimes it makes me forget what I’m doing.”
She places a kiss on my cheek before we maneuver through the club, hunting for somewhere to sit.
Eric’s right.
I do wear my heart on my sleeve.
I haven’t even fucked Avery yet, and my thoughts are already racing with how this relationship might go wrong.
Chapter Seven
As I walk through The Cockyard, my hand on the small of Avery’s back guiding her past crowded tables and booths, I decide being with her makes it worth coming inside here again.
It’s been a lot of years since I’ve walked through the doors of this establishment. It’s not my kind of hangout. It’s more Eric’s turf than mine. He thrives in the fast lane, all the glitzy, showy memorabilia, the plush red furnishings, the dark wood walls, the pulsing vibration of music, the smoky air, and the dimly lit ambiance filled with scantily clad, centerfold-sexy waitresses.
My brother is a rock star every second of his life, but I’m the guy in the back and I prefer it that way. This kind of stuff I can take or leave. But there’s no confusion over Avery wanting me to bring her here or why.
It’s an institution in the southland, the kind of place you go to be seen on your way up in your career or in the twilight of fame to swap lies and tell stories. Blog worthy for a girl trying to make her mark as a music influencer, and I’m sure that’s why she wants this experience and not the less favorable reason girls usually press me to bring them here: to be seen to further their own fame ambitions.
No, can’t fault her for wanting to come here, though I would have liked our first date to be somewhere else. I remind myself that I didn’t know this afternoon would turn into something more when I brought her here.
