by Jean Haus
My hands quit pushing at his chest, spreading over his skin instead. The lines of his face tense. The feel of warm skin over heavy muscles under my palms has sweaty images running wild inside my head. Watching the evident thoughts in my eyes, his breath catches.
I tell myself to step away. Now. My feet don’t move. His hands slide from my shoulders to my upper arms. I could be imagining it, but the movement feels like a caress. I lean closer.
His eyes flare with want and he yanks me forward.
Oh shit! I think before our mouths connect—more like slam together—and teeth clink. Tongues tangle and slide against one another while hands yank and grasp. I’m hyper aware of every eager touch. His fingers gripping and pressing into my hipbones. The hard chest pushing against mine. The tight line of his muscles as I dig my fingers into the back of his neck. Our bodies pressed closely together as our mouths move in a heated tune. The long kiss is wild and messy and desperate and wonderful. And perhaps inevitable. Maybe wrong but inevitable.
Tearing his mouth from mine, he catches my waist and before I can even figure out direction, he lifts me and sets my stunned body on the dresser. His chest expands in a deep breath as he holds me there with his hands trapping mine against the dresser top outside my thighs.
My heart beats erratically in the silence. Anticipation hangs in the air between our heavy breathing. Dark hair hides his eyes until he lowers his head and I catch the intensity in his gaze before his teeth nibble on my bottom lip then his tongue traces the curve of it. My shock dissolves as I melt into him. He lets go of my hands to reach up and gently cup my face as his mouth again devours mine.
We kiss slowly while fingers explore softly. His under my tank on the curve of my waist. Mine find the ridges of his abdomen. His trace the angles of my ribs. Mine discover the hard mass of his pectorals on either side of the ever-present necklace that hangs from his neck. Our lips and fingers wrap us in a languid, sensual fog, that even random sighs can’t dissipate.
Somewhere between the kisses and caresses and sighs, I wrap my legs around his waist and lock my ankles behind him. Slow builds into fast in seconds. Our kiss goes back to the frenzy of the first. He pushes into the vee of my legs and his hands cup my breasts.
My gasp breaks the kiss. I gasp again at the hard, rubbing pressure of him between my legs mixed with the sensation of the callused palms on my skin. “The bed. Move to the bed,” I say within a rush of air.
He buries his head into the spot where my shoulder meets my neck. His hands grip my waist tightly as he draws in a deep breath. The release of air warms my skin while the shake of his head has dark hair tickling my collarbone. “I don’t have a condom.”
His words slowly break into my haze of lust. Is that what I was thinking? Me, who made Aaron wait seven months? Yes it was. “How could you not have a condom?”
“I don’t carry them.”
“What?” I say in a long screech and the bubble of desire I’d been in bursts. My legs drop to the dresser.
His hands slip out of my tank top and he steps away.
My fingers dig into my thighs. “Um…are you looking for a disease or a baby’s momma?”
He slowly sits on the edge of the ceramic tiles around the tub. Bending over, he sets his elbows on his knees and steeples his hands over his face. The muscles of his back ripple with deep inhalations.
It slowly dawns on my dumb ass that he’s unworking what we worked up. I lean back against the wall and rub my temples.
“It’s not like that,” he finally says, sitting up, lifting a knee, and draping an arm around his leg. Long musician’s fingers wrap around a flannel-clad shin.
“Um…non condom use will probably result in one or the other. Maybe both.”
He sets his knee on his chin. “Contrary to popular belief I’m not like Justin or even Sam. I don’t sleep around. Thus the need for carrying condoms is unneeded.”
He watches as confusion filters across my face. He has no reason to lie. It’s not like he’s trying to get in my pants. Rather the exact opposite. I recall him coming home alone to the dorm the first night we kissed. I remember him leaving the bar alone. But then I recall all of the girls hanging on him including the two tonight. “Then why do you let girls hang all over you?”
He shrugs. “It’s expected. I’m in a band.”
My brows lower. “So you play the part?”
He nods.
I think of Kendra’s confusion at his flirting. “Ugh. Just when I’m starting to think you’re not an asshole.”
His full lips flatten as he gives me a questioning look.
“You’re leading them on.”
“I let them hang on me and flirt a little. I’m not promising them anything. And I’m sure as shit not Justin, fucking them and then moving on to the next one.”
“Still,” I say stubbornly.
“What if they came on to me and I ignored them? How do you think that would go over?”
“As long as the band remains popular, girls and their feelings are a means to an end?”
He runs a hand through his hair and the sexy flop that usually threatens to cover one eye stands at an angle. “I work my ass off to keep the band going. Justin sings. Sam plays. You play. I set everything up. I spend hours on the phone with contacts. I listen to music mostly for research instead of pleasure. I’m constantly at meetings for possible gigs. I’m not going to let pissed off fan girls screw with what I’ve built. It’s not exactly easy telling a girl who has some ridiculous notion about you after seeing you on stage that you’re not interested.”
Unrequited love—more like lust here—isn’t easy to deal with. Heck, my Marcus letdown wasn’t too suave. But Romeo’s band mentality is overboard as usual. I love playing in the band, but the band seems to rule his life. And because of that, I’m guessing that tonight is a onetime thing. It should be a onetime thing. Or I guess it’s a second time thing. “Well, maybe you could tone it down. You must have when you dated April.”
He nods. “It’s easier when you have a girlfriend. I do try to keep the flirting to a minimum. I don’t like fucking with people, but since the girls who hit on me have this preconceived notion about guys in a band, they tend to be a bit forward. So I just go with the flow and try to keep it light.” After giving me a look that conveys the conversation is over, he drops his knee, turns, and flips on the water.
As the sound of rushing water fills the room, I’m about to ask him why he’s filling the tub—because he is not filling that tub or getting into it in a condom less environment—but spotting the ink across his ribs, I blurt, “You do have a tattoo.”
He reaches down and sets the plug while looking over his shoulder but doesn’t reply.
Engrossed by the sight of the elegant writing between two small Celtic symbols that follow one side of his ribs, I stand. Instinctively I’m aware his hidden tattoo, unlike Justin’s noticeable body art, means something. “What does it say?”
He turns back to the tub and runs a hand under the water, checking the temperature. “It’s from a song.”
“What song?”
“Raglan Road.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s an Irish folk tune.”
“What are the lyrics on your skin?” I ask persistently.
He sighs. “That I had loved not as I should. A creature made of clay. When the angel woos the clay, he'll lose his wings at the dawn of day.”
My palms flatten on the dresser behind me at the realization that someone broke his heart. More importantly, I’m wondering if she still holds it. “Why those words?”
He faces the water, yet I can see his pensive expression in the mirror on the wall behind the tub. “It was my grandfather’s favorite song. I played it at his funeral. My mother sang.”
“Oh…that’s both lovely and sad.” Though I’m beginning to understand how much Romeo’s grandfather means to him, I’m not sold those haunting words don’t represent something else.
&n
bsp; The blast of water fills the silence until Romeo turns it off, stands, and flips on the jets.
I cross my arms and give him a level look. “Don’t tell me you’re getting in there.”
He shrugs. “I’m feeling a bit tense. Might as well use the facilities.” He gives me a half smirk. “Want to join me?”
I lower my chin.
Copying me, he lowers his chin. “I’m not the one who suggested we move to the bed.”
Humiliation hums under my stern expression but he does have a point.
“I’ll wear my boxers. You must have something that represents a swimsuit,” he says obviously referring to underwear. His eyes glint with a look of challenge. “And maybe we should talk about this.” He rocks his index finger and thumb between us.
That glint of challenge is what does me in.
***
Steam rolls off the whirling water. Romeo and I sit across from each other. Though we both sit diagonally, our limbs brush every now and then. I can see the blur of his blue boxers through the rotating water, but by the time I’d found enough bravo to exit the bathroom in a black sports bra and black panties I’d worn under my costume, he’d already entered the tub. Cute Riley would have jumped in that tub before four beats of a drum. But the Riley, who believed Romeo when he said she was beautiful, took her time. His eyes roamed, burned into my body, as I dipped a foot in the tub then slowly stepped over the edge and even slower lowered myself into the water. However, he laid back and closed his eyes with a content sigh as soon as the water covered me.
The swirl of the water is the only sound in the room except for the splash when I reach up and tighten my messy bun. I might as well be alone except for the infrequent brush of his thigh. Supposedly, we were going to talk. After almost ten minutes of silence, I decide I’m going to talk.
“So you’ve never, ever had a one night stand while in the band?” I ask incredulously.
“None,” he says, slowly opening his eyes.
I can’t stop the huff of disbelief that escapes me. Two years of girls throwing themselves at him and not even once?
At the look of skepticism on my face, he moves toward me and water sloshes. He pulls me by the waist until my legs overlap his and we’re sitting in the center of the tub. My eyes grow huge at the touch of his skin along with the intensity of his gaze.
He leans closer. A flaring hunger scorches in the depths of his dark eyes. “Sex can be lust, but it can be so much more when trust and respect and affection are layered into it.” His lashes lower and a wet finger traces my lips. “I once had enough lust to last a life time.” A callused palm presses against my cheek. Dark eyes burn into mine. Burn into me and sear me with their heat. “I want the more,” he says huskily before his lips cover mine in a searching kiss.
My head spins from both his words and his lips. If I was confused, I’m brainless now. Who gave him all that sex? April? And who does he want the more from? Me? He sucks on my upper lip. Yeah, a good guess would be me. I push at his shoulders and break the kiss with a gasp. “What about the band?”
His hands cup my shoulders as his lips curve into a frown. “I wanted you since that first time I saw you play. The other reasons I told you about not wanting you in the band were true, but that was the strongest one. I knew you were going to drive all three of us nuts, but especially me. The deal was no girl drummer unless we all agreed to keep our hands off.”
Since I already knew this, I just nod. It’s really all I can do after his admission of wanting me since seeing me play.
He leans his forehead against mine. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but could we just see how things go before we let them know about us?”
The gurgle of the tub whirls around us along with a hazy steam, and like our passion earlier it feels like we’re separated from the world.
My eyes narrow. “You want me to be your dirty little secret?”
Rearing back, his expression turns contrite. “Ah Riley, I’m sorry about that. It’s just…”
A laugh escapes me when I can’t hold it in any longer. One because of his regretful look. And two because I’m relieved that this isn’t a onetime thing. I’m relieved and ecstatic there is an us.
His brows lower in confusion.
I rein in my laughter. “What’s between us isn’t really any of their business.”
His full lips curl into a smirk. “Did you just play me?”
“Yes. I am a bit dirty,” I say, pulling at his necklace until he bends. I smile against his mouth and his wide eyes close at the touch of my lips.
Chapter 22
I wake to bliss —I’m lying in Romeo’s arms—and torment —someone is pounding the shit out of our hotel door. We both sit up at the same time, but Romeo jumps out of bed first.
“Fuck. That has to be one of them.” His shocked eyes travel around the room. “Take care of the bathroom. I’ll get the couch.”
He wrestles with the couch while I pick up towels on my way to the bathroom. I yank my damp bra and panties then his boxers off the shower rod. After a tame—compared to earlier in the night—make out session until the water got cold, we both changed then fell into an exhausted snuggle. The thought of Sam or Justin showing up in the morning didn’t cross our minds. Now it’s on our minds. Big time.
The addition of shouting reveals Sam is the one pounding on the door.
After shoving damp underwear still wet in my bag, I ask Romeo, “You ready?”
He dives onto the open couch. “You’d better not let him see you in those PJ’s for more than two seconds.”
I roll my eyes and go to the door. My fingers play with the chain longer than necessary. “What the hell? Is the mafia after you?” I mumble, opening the door.
“Whoa,” Sam says with a whistle. “I like the little nightie thing.”
“Shut up,” I say, stepping into the bathroom. “It’s shorts.”
While I brush my teeth and get dressed, I can hear Sam exclaiming something about a hot tub, something about a hot drummer, and something about Romeo being gay. My vote is a definite no on that one.
They’re watching TV when I get out of the bathroom. Romeo’s still lying on the folded out bed and Sam is sitting on the edge of the king bed. He frowns at my sweatshirt and jeans. “I liked the nightie better or maybe that outfit from last night.”
Ignoring his clothing choices for me, I ask, “Where’s Justin?”
“MIA. Went home with some girl last night.” He throws a pillow at Romeo. “Get in the shower so we can go to breakfast.”
Romeo gives him the finger but gets up.
During most of breakfast, Romeo ignores me as usual. Sam flirts. Romeo looks like he wants to stab him. The diner is busy. The food greasy. I start hungry but as Romeo keeps ignoring me, I push scrambled eggs and hash browns around my plate.
Romeo sends Sam to pay the bill then leans over his plate. “I’m sorry. This is harder than I thought it would be.”
I wave my fork. “Don’t worry. I get it. But I’m going to be honest. I can only deal with the pretending crap for so long.”
Nodding, he tears open a sugar packet. “You’re not the only one.” He stirs the sugar into his coffee while studying me with darkening eyes. “Want to study together tonight?”
Studying with him in the dorm room he shares with Justin could be dangerous.
As if reading my thoughts, he says, “I could come to your house.”
Sam slides into the booth. His eyes narrow on Romeo. “Why are you going to Riley’s?”
I shove my plate away. “Because I’m close to failing Calculus.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Ah, as usual boy genius to the rescue.”
Romeo’s only response is an eyebrow arch. Probably at the boy part.
After breakfast, we go back to the hotel and wait in the lobby for Justin to show up. We wait awhile. Romeo sends him several texts warning if he isn’t back within a certain amount of time, he’ll need to find a different ride home. Justin
shows up later than all the times threatened. Looking rough with blood shot eyes, he grins at Romeo’s scowl.
The ride back isn’t much different than the ride to the gig. Sam sleeps on me. Romeo and Justin talk band business in the front.
Romeo drops me off first. The house is empty. My mother left a note on the counter about her and Jamie going to the library then to dinner. Sunday’s are the one day my mother still acts like a mother. Well sort of. Cooking seems to be beyond her skill set of late.
Later when I’m in the laundry room off the kitchen trying to catch up on the mountain of dirty clothes that grew over night, I get a text from Romeo about coming over in an hour.
I stare at the text like it’s an alien life form. Though we all have each other’s numbers since we’re all in a band together, I’ve never called or texted any of them. Especially Romeo. The sight of his name over the text brings reality to me more than last night, more than this morning. I’m seeing Romeo. As in dating. As in possible boyfriend. As in holy hell what am I doing?
I fall on the bench below the hooks covered with raincoats and scarfs. Deep, deep down I want Romeo with an intensity that borders on insanity. But then there’s the band. The multitude of girls who hang on him. And lastly, my sorry little heart that Aaron stomped on. He may not have crushed the organ, but he sure as hell bruised it. Those bruises have almost faded away.
My fingers tap out a beat on the edge of the bench.
I’m an adult. Lately, I run a household. I’m going to be nineteen soon. I should be able to date a hot, slightly moody guitar player without falling in over my head.
Yet strangely, the fact that he doesn’t sleep around and doesn’t really date has me worried. Because of all the girls he could have, why me? What draws him to me? That I drum? That I don’t appear—even though I am—in awe of him? I’m afraid that whatever’s attracting him will soon fade away.
My fingers stop their rhythm.
I need to keep this light, fun, and carefree.
I can’t fall too hard. I can’t let it feel as deep as it already does.
