She spares me barely a glance. But at least I get a verbal response. “Yeah, well, we wouldn’t want you messing up that pretty face.”
I hesitate, wondering if I should let it go or push back like I would yesterday. With a quick tap of my thumbs on the steering wheel, I decide that it’s better to pretend like last night never happened. That’s clearly what Lauren wants. So I give the response I would’ve given yesterday. “You think my face is pretty?”
She snorts. But this time she actually looks at me, and it’s more than just a passing glance. She shifts so she’s centered in the seat, her head turned my way. “Please. Like you don’t know that already.”
“What makes you say that?” I can’t fight back the grin taking over my face anymore. This chick is more fun to banter with than any girl I’ve ever met. She dishes it out, but she can take it when I give her shit too. She doesn’t get all butt-hurt and pouty. No. Instead the fire sparks in her eyes, and she gives it right back.
“I’m quite certain you don’t need me to stroke your ego for you.”
“Maybe not, but I can think of something else I’d like you to stroke for me.” The dirty words are out of my mouth before I even think about what I’m saying, and we both freeze for a long moment.
Then she mutters, “You seemed to have a good handle on that last night. Not sure I could do any better.” She runs her hand over her ponytail, her gaze now focused out the window.
I hate that I’m driving, that I can’t just look at her and decide if she’s pissed or unaffected or if she wants another round. But I can’t. And we’re in the middle of BFE, so there’s not even a place to pull over to finish this conversation. No rest stops. No tiny towns. Nothing. For miles.
I have to content myself with darting glances at her. But she’s giving me nothing. “I’m sure you could do better.”
This time the look she gives me is pure venom. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Okay. At least now I know what she’s feeling. She’s pissed as hell.
I hold up a hand in surrender. “Nothing. Just …” Sighing, I shake my head, frustrated at myself for fucking this up. Again. Still. I don’t even know. “Nothing,” I mutter.
But that’s not good enough for Lauren. Now she turns, pulling her leg up on the seat, facing me as fully as she can in the tight confines of the car. “No. That meant something. And I want to know what. You already called me a cocktease at the wedding. So now you think I’m some kind of slut too? See, this is the problem with guys. This is why I swore off men until I’m done with school. This fucking double standard. You can jack off all over me, and that’s totally okay, but I’m some kind of slut—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I cut in, interrupting her tirade. “Hey now, I never said any of that.” I risk a glance at her. Her eyes are slits, her cheeks pink, her lips pressed together in a hard line. Still super pissed. “I just meant that … fuck … it’s always better when a hot chick does the job for you, y’know? Wouldn’t you prefer a hot guy rubbing you off or going down on you over doing the job yourself? That’s all. Jesus.”
She doesn’t say anything, but when I glance at her again, her mouth has softened. A little, anyway. And her eyes, while still narrowed, aren’t quite the angry slits they were.
I push on. Because for some reason I can’t keep my dumbass mouth shut. And I hope that I’ll say something to calm her down. “And, I mean, you weren’t exactly shy last night.” I glance over my shoulder and turn on my blinker to change lanes and pass the slower car we’re approaching. “So I don’t think I’m way off base in assuming you’re not completely inexperienced. Not that I have a problem with that, either way,” I hurry to add. “I like a little experience in the girls I hook up with, personally. Virgins can be rough.”
“So that, at the hotel, that was just a meaningless hookup.”
She makes it a statement, not a question, but she’s clearly trying to clarify what that was. Not that I have a real answer, unfortunately.
I tilt my head from side to side. “I don’t know that I’d call it a hookup. We didn’t even touch each other.”
She breathes out, and it sounds like a sigh, sitting back in her seat again. “Yeah. I know.”
That gives me pause. I wait till we’re back in the right lane now that we’re past the other car before saying anything. “Is that a problem for you?”
“Is what a problem?”
“That we didn’t touch each other.”
She shrugs, examining her nails. “It was just … I don’t know. I’m having trouble classifying what that was. So I don’t know what to expect now.”
Mulling that over, I decide to be honest. “It was fucking hot, is what it was.”
She snorts again, shifting in her seat. “Yeah.” Her agreement is barely audible over the road noise. “So what now?”
Giving in to temptation, I reach over and give her knee a squeeze, hoping I’m being reassuring. “That’s up to you.”
The look she gives me is all sass and fire. Which is so much better than the freeze out I’ve been getting all day. “It’s not entirely up to me. You acted like I had a contagious disease last night.”
I choke on that. “No. I promise you, that wasn’t what was going through my head.”
Chapter Seventeen
Lauren
“Then what?” The need to know has been gnawing at me since last night. What was that? Why did he do that? And why did he shut me out so securely afterward?
When he glances at me, a muscle in his jaw ticks as he clenches his teeth, and his hazel eyes are hot and hungry. He refocuses on the road, his thumbs drumming the steering wheel again, and he speaks through gritted teeth. “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about me attacking you.”
“Attacking me?” I hate that my voice comes out as little more than a squeak.
Another glance through narrowed eyes. “Fuck, Lauren, are you serious right now? I wanted to do more than just come on your tits. I wanted to clean you off then taste you everywhere, make you come on my face, then pound into you until I couldn’t remember anything but how hot and tight you are wrapped around my dick. That what you wanted to hear?”
I suck in a breath, suddenly feeling overly hot. And tingly all over. Especially between my legs. Crossing them, I give a little squeeze in an attempt to ease the ache that’s only growing the longer I think about his words.
How do I respond to that?
I open my mouth, close it, clear my throat, open my mouth again. But there are no words.
No. Words.
No one has ever said anything like that to me before. Ever. Never ever. Despite my so-called sluttiness, I haven’t had sex with a lot of guys. And none of them were dirty talkers. The overconfident douches that tried too hard to get in my pants always just sounded gross, not sexy, when they’d try to tell me what they wanted to do to me, so they never got the chance to act on it. The sweet, nerdy musicians I’ve actually had semi-successful relationships with were too shy to be so explicit. And filthy.
I’m completely out of my depth. I have no quips, no witty comebacks, no sincere replies. Nothing.
Brendan curses under his breath. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, don’t apologize,” I finally manage to croak out. I clear my throat again. “I just didn’t expect you to say that, is all.”
He gives me side-eye, then looks back at the road, his thumbs tapping the steering wheel once more. I wait, letting him decide what he wants to say next. Every time he taps his thumbs like that, I’ve noticed he makes some kind of decision or declaration right after.
Another sidelong glance. “I didn’t just freak you out? Make you want to cancel the trip and book a ticket on the next flight you can get at the nearest airport?”
With a laugh, I shake my head. “No. None of that. I just …” I look down at my nails again. They’re getting long for me. I haven’t played the violin in like two weeks, so I haven’t cut them as often a
s I normally do. It’s weird. But not as weird as this conversation. “I thought … last night … after …” I make a weird little gesture with my hand to indicate the whole masturbating/him coming all over me thing.
“After you rubbed one out and let me watch and then I came on your stomach?”
Now I give him a sidelong look. “Yeah, that.” I make my voice as dry as the Sahara.
He just chuckles.
“Anyway, when you wouldn’t even make eye contact, I thought maybe you were embarrassed or disgusted or … I don’t even know. But it felt like rejection, and I didn’t like it.”
He grunts in acknowledgment and shakes his head. “I wasn’t rejecting you. I didn’t think you’d welcome anything, especially after I …”
“Came all over my stomach?” I supply, eyebrow arched.
A grin slides across his face. “Yeah. I don’t usually force girls to give me a show and then ejaculate all over them afterward. That was new for me too, and I didn’t know what to do.”
I consider that for a moment. “Makes sense.”
Silence descends, this time more comfortable and less fraught than before. After several miles, Brendan glances at me. “What got you so hot and bothered you couldn’t control yourself?”
My cheeks are flaming. Literally on fire. I’m surprised there isn’t smoke filling the interior of the car.
The smile twitching up the corners of his mouth progresses to a wide, shit-eating grin. “C’mon, Lauren. What were you thinking about?”
Throwing my hands in the air, I heave a put-upon sigh. “It was all your fault, you know.”
His head jerks back, his mouth dropping open. “Wha—? How was that my fault?”
“You insisted on giving me a massage, rubbing me all over, your hands all over my skin. After you were totally checking me out in the hot tub too.”
“I was not!”
“Ha! You totally were. You couldn’t take your eyes off my boobs the whole time.”
He shifts in his seat and mutters something about bikinis so small it should be a crime.
I’m tempted to tell him that they didn’t have anything that would’ve covered more, but why bother? He clearly enjoyed it. And based on his performance last night and his little outburst a few minutes ago, he’s definitely attracted to me.
That only leaves one question, though.
“So what do we do now?”
“Uh, keep driving? What do you mean?”
With a sigh, I wedge my back against the door and cross my arms. “Obviously we’re attracted to each other. Just one night together in a hotel room, and we’re doing things we wouldn’t normally do. So what do we do about this?”
Brendan taps his thumbs on the steering wheel, his eyes squinting at the empty fields covered in snow as they whiz past, only broken by the occasional house or clump of trees. The sky is low, dense with gray clouds, but no snow has fallen today, thank god, and the freeways are relatively clear.
“Well …” he begins. But then he shakes his head. “No. Never mind.”
“What?” I prod. I want him to be the one to suggest it. For some reason I can’t bring myself to do it.
He glances at me, taps his thumbs on the steering wheel, firms his jaw. “I was going to say that we could just have some fun, indulge our attraction while we’re together, then go our separate ways once the trip is over.”
Just as a huge grin is about to spread across my face, he shakes his head. “But I somehow don’t think you’ll go for that. Which only leaves one other option.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
He shrugs. “Nothing. A few minutes ago you said that you’d sworn off men. So that means fooling around is a no go for you. I’ll make sure we stay in separate rooms when we get a hotel again. I’m pretty sure we can control ourselves in the car. It’s not like we can fool around while we’re driving.”
I repress the urge to flash him my tits, just to prove him wrong. But he’d probably swerve into the guard rail, and I don’t need that on my conscience.
“You caught that, huh?”
He glances at me. “Caught what?”
“The swearing off men thing.”
He chuckles, though it doesn’t sound like he’s very amused. “Uh, yeah. When the hot chick you wanna bone says she’s sworn off men, it sort of catches your attention.”
I open my mouth to respond, but I’m once again at a loss for words.
“What’s that about anyway?”
I wave a hand like I’m shooing away an annoying bug. I really don’t want to talk about all the details. Not right now. “Nothing. It’s just … my track record with guys sucks. And relationship drama ends up distracting me from what I need to be focused on. Although …” I pause for a long moment, deciding if I should fill him in on the loophole I’ve got at the ready.
Sighing, he looks at me again. “You are the worst kind of tease, you know that, right?”
With a laugh, I just go for it. “I’m not sure us fooling around on our little road trip would count. Because the point is that I’ve sworn off relationships, and since this would just be a road trip friends-with-benefits situation, there’s no risk, right?” That’s what I’m telling myself anyway. Because after last night, and the things he says he wants to do … I’m not sure I’m strong enough to hold out.
“Right,” he says slowly, looking at me out of the corner of his eyes. “Sure.”
I grin. “You don’t sound so sure, despite the words coming out of your mouth. You not the type of guy who likes no-strings sex?”
He shakes his head, his mouth pulling into a lopsided grin. “I never said that.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
His thumbs tap another beat on the steering wheel. “You’d really be okay with that? Fucking our way to New York and back and then nothing? We go our separate ways, no contact afterward?”
“No contact at all?” My voice cracks a little on the question, and I want to kick myself for that. “You wouldn’t even follow me on Insta or something?”
He chuckles. “See? This is why I didn’t sound so sure.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. No contact. If that’s the way you want it, that’s fine. It’s not like we’re on the way to becoming BFFs who’ll call and talk every night. And you’re right, it’ll be easier if there’s a definite end to this. We both know there’s no room for emotional entanglements.”
“Right. It’ll be just sex.”
“Exactly.” Exactly. I swallow and look out the window, trying to push out of my mind the fact that the last time I tried a relationship built just on sex, it didn’t end well.
This time is different. It’s just Brendan and me involved. We’re alone in our own little microcosm here. No one to brag to or hide from or call me a slut when they find out I’m hooking up with someone.
No room for emotions.
No room for him to decide I’m a slut when I move on.
It’s the perfect solution. We’re attracted to each other. It’ll scratch the itch that’s gone untended for far longer than I like. And once the trip is over, I can focus on school and competitions and my recital.
Perfect.
Chapter Eighteen
Brendan
Lauren’s gasp as we stand in line to pay for junk food at a gas station has my dick hardening. Which I wouldn’t care about, except we’re surrounded by people in some tiny town in Colorado and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it but grit my teeth and will my chub not to turn into a full blown boner.
Gripping her elbow, I pull her close to my side and bend down so I can hiss in her ear. “Rule number one of our new little relationship—no making sex sounds in public places.”
Her eyes dance with amusement as she tips her face up to me. “So many things to say about that statement that I don’t even know where to start.”
She takes my stone-faced silence as encouragement to continue. Grinning, she holds up a finger. “One—that wasn’t a,” her eyes dart back
and forth, and she lowers her voice, “sex sound. That was a sound of surprise.” Another finger pops up. “Two—relationship? I thought the whole point is that this isn’t a relationship.” A third finger. “And three—there are rules now?”
I want to kiss that smirk off her face, but before I can do or say anything, the cashier clears his throat. Stepping forward, I glare at Lauren. “Hold that thought.”
She gives me a cheeky grin and places her bottle of water, box of Hot Tamales, and package of peanut butter crackers on the counter, then grabs a trashy magazine off the rack and adds it to the pile.
Placing my own snacks and drinks next to hers, I give her a scathing look. “Seriously? Tabloids? I thought you were better than that.”
Her nostrils flare, and her grin drops, her lips pursing in annoyance instead. She taps one short fingernail on the magazine where multiple grainy photos of some celebrity grace the cover. “See anyone you know?”
Scanning the headline and the pictures on the front, my eyes widen. It’s Charlie—Charlotte James. “Oh shit.”
“Yeah. ‘Oh shit’ is right. I know these things are crap, but I want to know what they’re saying. She’s my friend.”
“Okay, yeah, I get it.”
The cashier has been watching our exchange, rapt, not bothering to scan anything we’re buying. When I clear my throat, he jumps into action, bagging everything up and muttering, “Sorry.”
After we pay and head back out to the car, Lauren thumbs through the magazine, getting more distressed as she reads whatever bullshit that passes as an article in those kinds of gossip mags.
I settle into the driver’s seat, cracking open my soda and taking a sip, then opening the protein bar and taking a bite, waiting for her to finish before getting back on the road.
When she makes another low sound of displeasure, I decide I need to intervene. “Lauren,” I say softly. “I know she’s your friend. But that’s all the more reason not to read the lies they’re printing about her.”
Overtones (Songs and Sonatas Book 6) Page 8
