My jaw comes unhinged, clanging to the floor. He’s asking me for this? “You want a deal?” I sputter.
“I enjoyed last night, and I thought you did too.” He hums a worried note. “Shit, Ally. Did I fuck up by asking this?”
I answer at the speed of light. “No. I just want to be sure I understand what you’re asking.”
And confirm it’s the thing I’m fantasizing about.
He breathes, sounding relieved. “Good. Because what I’m saying is this—what if we could keep the friendship and also enjoy some delicious red Skittles?”
“Courtesy to speak English.” I need to know I’m not interpreting him through my own wishes. My face is hot. My bones are humming, and I’m this close to running a hand down my breasts because I need touch.
He takes a beat. “I want you naked. I want you naked and under me. Naked and over me. Naked and coming. Again and again.”
There isn’t a thermometer on earth that goes high enough to record my temperature. It’s shot beyond the stratosphere. “That’s English,” I manage to say.
“What do you think?”
I think I’m an electric line and I could power a whole city. “Yes,” I blurt out, because I want that kind of benefit. “I say yes.”
“Can I see you later?”
I can’t even process what I’m doing in the next ten minutes. “I’ll text you when I’m done.”
I return to the booth, floating on a cloud of climactic possibilities. Sliding on my headphones, I open the book file on my iPad. I clear my throat, ready to tackle the next scene, when my phone buzzes. I need to turn it to silent.
But I catch a glimpse of the message on the screen.
One word.
Ribbon.
I slide it open to read.
Miller: One of the benefits is that I’m going to tie you up with that red ribbon, and I'm going to kiss you everywhere, run my tongue down your breasts, spread your legs, and devour you till you come on my lips. And then I will fuck you like you wanted me to last night. Till you’re mindless with pleasure.
I stare, slack-jawed at the screen. Flirting is one thing—dirty texting is entirely another, and it’s ridiculously arousing. I wriggle in the chair, wishing I could race out of here this second.
Instead, I close my eyes, take a breath, and will away the images, so my young adult book doesn’t sound like the sixteen-year-old heroine walked into the NC-17 version of prom.
Though that’s where I want to go tonight.
And I want to enjoy every single benefit.
Chapter 21
Miller
To say I'm eager would be an understatement. What I am is fired up.
It’s not only because I’m going to learn if Ally tastes like cherries, or like honey, or like the woman I’ve wanted to touch for a long time now. Hell, maybe it’s all three, and I’ll take a triple latte of Ally, thank you very much.
It’s also because I have an idea for a song.
After I talk to Ally, I meet up with Jackson in the lobby of my building and hand off the birth certificate.
“Dude, you are the man,” he tells me.
“How’s Grandpa?”
He taps his chest. “Ticker works fine, and blood pressure is normal. He’s doing well.”
“You are the man for taking him to his appointment.” I point at him. “Also, I know you're going to nab that scholarship, and your documentary is going to be awesome.”
“If you and Honey keep breaking out the hits, it sure will be.” Jackson tilts his head. “Speaking of . . . any more songs up your sleeve?”
“Actually, I do have a particularly good idea for one.” I tap my skull. “And that means I need to work on it right now while my brain is the Lincoln Center Fountain of ideas.”
Jackson’s dark eyes sparkle, and he beams. “A brand-new one. Can I record you putting it together?”
“It’s going to be raw. I haven’t even written anything down yet. You’ll be watching the sausage get made, my friend. You cool with that?”
He pumps a fist. “It’s sausage time.” He shakes his head like a dog then looks at me sheepishly. “You need to pretend I never said that.”
I laugh as we head to the elevator. “It’s already been erased from the gray matter.”
Once we’re upstairs in my place, he's quiet, the unassuming documentarian, as I grab a notebook, pace around my pool table, and jot down some ideas about chemistry, connection, and where it can take you.
I swear I can taste the song like it’s sugar, like it’s a swirl of sweetness on my tongue. The notes are playing in my head.
I head straight to my piano and tap out some notes and a few melodies.
That’s not quite right. But what if I tried this?
I experiment with a different chord progression. Soon, I lose track of Jackson, and the time, and the camera, and everything but the music. My fingers fly across the keys, and I play with words and lyrics.
It’s rough. It’s raw. It’s nowhere near a finished song. But it’s coming together.
“Coming Together.”
I like the sound of that, so I stop, scratch the words down as a possible title, then meet Jackson’s eyes. “What do you think?”
Jackson puts down his phone, the video shoot over for now. “This is going to be sick—the song, the doc, all of it. I can’t thank you enough, man. Letting me tag along to shoot videos? You are seriously a rock star. And that’s no lie,” he says with a wink.
I smile. “It’s nothing.”
He marches up to me and clasps a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve taught me a lot over the years, Miller. And one of those things is to be straightforward with your feelings. So, let me do the same—it’s not nothing. It’s everything.”
I practically shuffle my feet. Gee whiz. This kid. Damn. He’s one of the good ones. I knock his shoulder with my fist. “Anything for you, man. Anything for you.”
When he takes off, I check my phone. Five. Ally is usually done working by now. I’m so jazzed to see her that I can’t even waste time flirting. I need to know what she’s doing and hope that list includes me.
Miller: Are you off work? What are you up to? I wrote a new song.
Ally: Just packing up for the day. I need to pick up Chloe from her friend’s house in an hour and a half, then I’m taking her and Hailey out to dinner.
Miller: Full mom mode tonight, huh?
Ally: Seems that way. Did you want to talk later? About the song? Can’t wait to hear it!
Miller: I don’t want to talk about the song right now.
Ally: You don’t?
Miller: I want to use my mouth for other things. Can you come over before you pick her up?
She doesn’t answer right away. I pace, running my hand through my hair, muttering c’mon. A few minutes later, my phone buzzes. She’s in the Lyft, and she’ll be here in ten minutes.
I head straight for the shower.
Pretty sure I heard somewhere that women like it when a freshly showered man answers the door.
Or one woman does.
Chapter 22
Ally
The doorman knows me, and tells me Miller’s expecting my arrival.
When I step into the elevator, I’m ready to bounce off the walls, to leap out of my skin. Everything in me is tight, coiled, ready to pounce.
All I can think about is sex.
And skin.
And lips.
As the elevator rises higher, I wonder if I’ve become a nympho in twenty-four hours. How have I spent my whole day trying to stop a reel of wildly erotic images of my best friend?
At the ninth floor, I ask myself if I felt this way from the night I met him.
At the tenth, I’m considering if this is the consequence of six years of longing bottled up and finally let loose.
At the eleventh, I nearly vault out of the lift, sprint down the hall, and rip his door off its hinges.
Calm down, girl.
I raise my fist to knock, and I hear the faint rumblings of his voice shouting, “Coming.”
Make me come, I want to scream.
Once Upon a Sure Thing (Heartbreakers #2)
Lauren Blakely's books
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