by Scott, S. L.
“Oh, sure. Sorry.” I stand and let him by, ending our chat that started with him asking me if he can squeeze by and me being reminded how Dave and I were squeezed in the back of the 4Runner in the desert. “Good times,” I mumble to myself, sitting back and remembering that trip.
I want to say so much, to tell him all the feelings I’ve been burying for months. I don’t want to spend time with anyone else but him. I don’t know what’s come over me. I have everything I’ve been working for at my fingertips. I’ll be leaving in two days for a dream job. But here I am wanting to stay, to be with him.
Moving on top of him again, I hadn’t realized I had stopped. The gentle grip of his hands on my hips encourage me while I stare into his eyes, memorizing how even in the moonlight, they grow darker when we’re together like this.
I touch his cheek and then remind myself that I have to leave.
Pull back.
Protect yourself.
I close my eyes and let myself enjoy these last few minutes we’ll have with our souls as bare as our bodies.
The flight attendant taps my shoulder. “Another champagne?”
I’ve had three. That’s probably enough. I don’t want to be drunk when I see Dave tonight, or I’ll be passed out and miss all the reunion fun we have planned. “No, thank you.”
We’ve come so far . . . I have come so far in giving him my heart, something I never thought I’d give anyone. But there’s just something about him. I tighten my belt around me, my nerves calming from the thought. It’s becoming easier to fly knowing I’ll be in his arms again soon.
I open my e-reader and start reading my book again. I’m a sucker for a rock star romance, and then I realize I’m smack dab in the middle of one.
Happiness is Dave.
When we land, I make my way to baggage only to find a man standing with a sign that has my name on it . . . well, technically, it reads: Cliff Carson. I’m pretty sure it’s meant for me, though.
My phone dings with a message that Dave had an unexpected meeting come up with Johnny Outlaw and the other guys, so he sent a car to pick me up. Stopping in front of the man with the sign, I point. “I think that’s for me. My boyfriend’s got jokes.”
My boyfriend also still makes me squeal in delight.
* * *
I’ve been in Los Angeles all of four hours and thought Dave would be back to the suite by now. After being promised a date night out, I’ve been sitting dressed forever, so I text him: What’s going on? Are you on your way?
The three dots flash on the screen before disappearing again, then a message pops up: Soon.
Me: That’s not a time. I’ve been ready for almost two hours. I’m starving.
Dave: That’s the best I can give you, sweetheart. I’ll text you when we’re leaving.
Me: You told me you’d be here.
Dave: We’ll talk about it later.
Me: I’m going out.
Dave: Adios.
Me: Rude.
“So rude.” I grab my clutch, pouting, and slip on the Louboutin shoes my sister gave me for Christmas. I never get to wear them in Austin, so I made sure to grab the tight black dress I bought for Dave and to pack the shoes. Now I’m all dressed up and have nowhere to go. I spent over an hour getting dressed, trying to look drop-dead gorgeous for him, and it hurts to feel that he’s blowing me off.
I popped a bottle of champagne, and I’m two glasses in to keep me in the mood. A lot of good that did me. Now I feel a little lightheaded, and I’m getting tired. If I stay here, I’ll fall asleep, so I’ll let him find me in the bar downstairs.
When I enter the bar, it’s bustling—great music, a few celebs hiding in the dark corners, and dim lights that create a romantic ambiance.
I feel the weight of eyes on me as I make my way to the bar. I slip onto a barstool and order a glass of champagne. Might as well stick with a good thing. I’ll charge it to the room since I’ve been stood up.
Another hour passes and another drink has been ordered. I laughed when I was served an endive salad that consisted of one leaf with two diced grape tomatoes and a sprig of chives set on top. I thought I should get food in my stomach, but it seems I’ll have to order more.
The bartender’s been great about shooing away the men who keep working their way over here to talk to me. One guy asked how much I charge. I didn’t know if I should take that as a compliment or be offended, but I decided not to worry since I have bigger fish to fry. Namely, Field Fellowes.
I’ve been checking my phone what feels like every five minutes since we texted earlier. Nothing. I’m well past mad and have been stuck in disappointment for the past thirty minutes; the night I had planned in my head ruined.
I get it. He’s busy. But I flew here to be with him. I should have gotten a call or, at the very least, a text update. It’s almost eleven at night, for crying out loud. One a.m. Austin time. I’d take a smoke signal at this stage.
I’m ready to throw in the towel when I get a bright and devious idea. I finish the rest of my champagne and decide to screw around with his head like he’s screwing with mine.
Me: You around? I’m horny. I was thinking anal might be fun to try.
I wait a few seconds, cackling from the joke. But to take it to the next level, I don’t torture myself waiting for the infamous three dots. Instead, I type: OMG! That message wasn’t meant for you.
There. And now I wait . . .
“What the fuck is this?”
I jump, startled by the commanding tone behind me, and then swivel around on my barstool to come face to face with the man himself. “Well, well, wellllll. Look who anal dragged out of hiding.”
Dave is holding his phone toward me with my message on the screen. “What the fuck do you mean this message wasn’t meant for me? Who the fuck was it meant for? And for the record, I wasn’t hiding. I was working.”
He’s sexy when he’s angry. Actually, he’s always sexy, but that clenching jaw does things to my nether region. He’s making it really hard to play hard to get, so I stop trying and touch his chest, though I want to hump it . . . and that mouth. God, I love that mouth.
I drag my fingers over his mouth and let his bottom lip rebound under my attentive gaze. His eyes start to glaze with lust, and he grabs my hand. “Meadow,” he says in that hot and commanding voice. I mentally dust my hands. Job well done. Go me. “Am I in trouble, Mr. Fellowes?”
“So much trouble.”
My eyes dip from his to that jaw again, and I watch with rapt attention to his impatience as it clenches.
Tic.
Tic.
Sigh.
So hot.
Popping off the stool, it’s time to play the game again. I pat his chest, and reply, “I’ve been sitting here for hours. Alone. Long, lonely hours. I wanted company since my date stood me up.”
“I didn’t stand you up. I got held up in an important meeting. There’s a difference. I couldn’t just walk out because we want to have dinner. This is my career.”
“But I’m your girlfriend who you made a commitment to.” Wait, that sounds heavy. “Made a date with. Look.” I spin for him but almost lose my balance. Damn shoes, I think the bubbles are affecting my balance. “I got dressed up for you.”
“And you look incredible,” he says. “Edible.” Pulling his wallet from his pocket, he tosses money on the bar and nods at the bartender like they’re old friends. “Close her out.” Turning back to me, he leans in, his lips to my ear. “So incredible that I can’t wait to see how amazing you look under this dress.”
Dragging my hands over his shoulders, I whisper, “Your Ding Dong ways may have won my heart, but I’ve been working out.” Okay, it’s only been three weeks, but I don’t have a food baby anymore. “And just to give you a preview . . .” I drag my hands over my waist and hips.
“You win. Let’s go.”
“How are you going to punish me?” I raise an eyebrow. “Do we get to have anal?”
“Goddamn it,
Meadow.” He adjusts his package, not even caring that everyone can see, including me.
I struggle to stop from laughing, but I’ve got him right where I want him. Since the hotel enforces its strict paparazzi-free zone, I lay it on heavy to wrap this up with a bow. “What? Don’t be so uptight, Ridge.” Shrugging, I say, “I thought anal would be fun.”
Staring down at me, his brow is furrowed like he’s looking at a crazy person. “Are you drunk?”
“Maybe. What does it matter if I am or if I’m not? You didn’t care until I brought up anal.”
“I care because you don’t seem to care that the entire bar can hear you right now.” He eyes me from head to toe and back again. “Fuck me. You can’t go out in LA looking like this. You’re like a lamb—”
“A lamb? Like a lamb headed for the slaughter?” My hands anchor on my hips. “Don’t keep me waiting next time. Anyway, I’m not that innocent, but it seems that talk of anal embarrasses you. So you’ve never done it either?”
Looking around again, he says, “You’re feisty right now. Are you wanting to fight? Because despite being late, I got here as soon as I could.”
“Admit it, Field.” Poking him three times in the chest and once on the chin, right in that cute little indention, I smirk. “The anal brought you here.”
“Jesus H. Christ, Meadow. Keep your voice down. I was valeting the car, for your information, so I was already here. As for the anal, what do you know about it?”
“Nothing. That’s why I thought it would be fun to try.”
The bartender sets the change down, but Dave leaves it, taking me by the elbow to lead me away. I did this to get him sexually wound up, but it seems I’m the horny one. Even the hefty tip he left is a turn-on. Sexy as fuck and generous. Yes and please.
Everything about him is sexy as hell right now, making me forget why I was mad at him in the first place.
“Fun to try?” he replies with widening eyes. Rubbing his left temple, he shakes his head and leans in. “You don’t just do it. You have to prepare.”
“Seems you know a lot more about anal than I do. And I guess you have done it, considering you know so much about anal,” I say, emphasizing the last word loudly for others around us to hear.
“How about saying anal a few more times?”
I hear his sarcasm and laugh. “Anal. Anal. Anal.”
“Let’s get you out of here before you get us thrown out or, worse, arrested.”
A lady—mid-thirties, low cut shirt, friendly smile—says, “Try the anal, honey. Just make sure he lubes you up beforehand.”
“Fuck me,” Dave grumbles under his breath. “What the fuck is happening?”
I drape myself on him before he has a chance to drag us away. His muscles are taut, the veins in his forearms bulging, like another part of his body. “You hear that, babe. All you have to do is lube me up good and—”
“Annnd we’re outta here.” His arm comes around my waist, and he holds me close.
Protective.
Strong.
Caring.
I feel it all when we’re like this, even if a ridiculous text kicked it off. “So that’s a yes to anal?”
A group of guys laugh when we walk by. This time my hand is taken, and we weave through the tables toward the exit. “C’mon. We can’t talk here.”
His anger flares like his nostrils. “Are you mad because I want anal? Or are you mad because I sent a message to another guy about trying anal?”
Cutting through the lobby, he stops just as we reach the elevators. He pushes the button and glares down at me. “First of all, if you want anal, more power to you, sweetheart. Secondly, you didn’t send that message to another guy. You sent it to me, and I have no doubt it was always intended for me. So if I’m deducing this whole anal situation correctly, you want anal because you think it will be fun. I’m happy to fuck you however you want to be fucked, Meadow. But what you’re not going to do is play some game to fuck around with my head.” He turns to face the lobby and raises his voice, “See? I can say anal really loud, too.”
The elevator doors slide open, and he walks inside. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stares at me. “Are you coming?” he asks. I see a smile trying to peek out.
Scurrying inside next to him, I laugh, but as soon as the doors close, I ask, “Dave?”
“What?” He glances down at me.
“Does that mean anal’s off the table?”
Rolling his eyes, he chuckles. “You’re ridiculous. You know that, right?”
I nod as I walk into his open arms. “The power of alcohol. Anyway, I got your attention.”
“You already had it, sunshine.”
33
Ridge
Meadow is definitely tipsy, if not drunk.
She’s wild tonight.
Feisty.
Sexy.
Fantastic.
I can’t take my eyes off her, though. Like at all. First, she turned up the music, blasting our band’s latest album, and then she opened the curtains in the suite. Fucking hell, I’m a lucky guy. But with her almost naked and the lights on, I’m not okay with the world watching my girl.
With only a bra and a string that doesn’t cover much on her lower half, she’s been dancing around the living room with a glass of champagne in hand. She’s only spilled twice, which is impressive, considering some of her moves. “Do you like what you see, Davey Babe?”
Davey Babe? Okay, she’s definitely drunk.
I set my beer down on the side table when she comes over to me. Her eyes are closed, her body relaxed and swaying to an easy rhythm of a slower song. Sitting on the couch, I reach forward to hold those swaying hips and pull her a little closer. When she opens her eyes, I can see the lust swimming in them. “I like what I see.”
Lifting her hair off her neck, she leans back and lets it tumble down. “I like the way you look at me.”
“How’s that?”
The languid roll of her head forward tells me it might be time for her to go to bed. Her hands hold my shoulders, and she straddles my lap. Simply irresistible. My calloused guitar-playing hands against her soft skin make me even harder than I was watching her dance for me.
“Like you believe in me.”
“I do believe in you, baby.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t hide from me. I see how you drink your tea with just a dash of cream. How you twist your hair up in an elastic band when you study. How when you start your car, the same Crow Bros song is always playing.”
“And which one is that?” The sly tip to the corner of her lips gives her away.
“The song I wrote that has my solo.”
With a casual shrug put on for me, she laughs. “Maybe I’m really into a great guitar solo.”
“I’m hoping you’re really just into me.” I get a good grip of this great ass on my lap. “Anyway, I see how you watch me sleep, and the way you look at me.”
“How do I look at you?”
“Like you love me.”
“You know I love you.”
Draping her arms over my shoulders, she brushes her lips against mine, but I whisper, “I know.”
I turn her so her back is against the arm of the couch and lean over her. Kissing her feels different these days, like somehow she’s let me in. Not just in her mouth or body, but behind the wall that used to keep me out. God, it feels like I’ve been waiting forever for this. For her.
“I want you,” she says, resting her head back and looking into my eyes. With her arms tightening around my neck, her breathing deepens. “I want you inside me. I want you beside me. I want you every day.”
Fuck. Yes.
But she’s drunk. I pinch the bridge of my nose. Fuck.
I lift her into my arms and start for the bedroom. “Lights off.” The lights dim until they’re off, the music still filling the suite. “Music off,” I add, the music fading into silence.
Not even trying to help me out, she’s complet
ely relying on me to support her weight. Since I have her here, I weight curl her a few times to pump my biceps much to her amusement and mine. I like her laughter.
When I reach the end of the bed, I could toss her but decide to set her on her feet instead. “You can use the bathroom first. I’ll wait.”
“You don’t have to wait out here. I’m not embarrassed.”
I actually don’t think much would embarrass her in her inebriated state, but I don’t want her to think back on this and feel it. “It’s fine. I’ll wait unless you need help.”
“I’m good,” she says, waving over her head as she heads for the bathroom. As soon as she reaches the door, she slides it until it’s almost closed and peeks out. “Don’t miss me too much, rock star.”
“Too late.”
“Charmer.” The door slides closed, and I sit on the end of the bed. Looking at my hands, I wonder if they’re too rough to touch such beauty. Are they worthy of the silkiness of her body? Her barriers are down, and suddenly, I’m worried I’ll damage her in ways that have nothing to do with her skin.
Am I to blame for my last relationship going up in flames? Did I not care enough? Was I not attentive enough? Fuck, that’s why she was on tour with us—so we could spend time together. I didn’t realize until after I found out the truth that she was there to spend time with the other guy she was fucking.
When Shannon told me she’d been cheating on me, I struggled to believe it. I didn’t miss the signs because there were no fucking signs. I just blindly served my heart up on a platter, and she stabbed it.
Glancing toward the bathroom, I can hear Meadow humming. She sounds happy. She looks like the worries that have weighed on her are gone. It took us a year and a half to get this point, five months into us confessing our feelings and committing to make this relationship work. Here she is in LA for me.
Me.
I deserve her.
I deserve to have someone in my life who wants me for me.
I deserve this happiness.
She loves me. I don’t care if the confession came on the end of a drunk tongue or in the middle of the night when real emotions shine brightest. It was my eyes she was looking into when she spoke those three words and me who she wants to be with.
