Gavin frowns at me. “I didn’t notice. The only person I could see was you.”
It feels so good to hear, so much better than the pain of not performing with them that I lift up on my toes and kiss him without thinking.
Firm hands grip my shoulders and move me backward a step. “We can’t do this, Bluebird. You know that we can’t.” His voice is a barely coherent groan, but his eyes say something completely different. I drop my bag on the ground and let my hands slide into his hair.
“I know. You’re right. I know.” Those are the last words out of my mouth before I lift up to kiss him again.
What begins as a sweet gesture of love and understanding—maybe even of apology—quickly turns into the wettest, dirtiest most intense kiss I’ve ever experienced. We are lips and tongues and teeth fighting to get closer, to mark and claim. When he growls into my mouth and lifts me onto his waist, my legs wrap around him and I’m ready—ready for him to open the back door and take me in the backseat in more ways than one.
“Gavin,” I whisper when his mouth descends on my neck.
“Fuck me,” he says more in surrender than in demand. His tongue traces the outer shell of my ear before his teeth graze the sensitive skin below it as if he’s contemplating taking a bite. “Why do you have to taste so damn good?”
I shiver in his arms, and he sets me down.
He’s shaking his head softly side to side even as he rests his forehead on mine. I wrap my arms around his waist, attempting to pull him closer using his deliciously defined hip bones but he steps back.
He’s breathing hard and still shaking his head when he steps up onto the curb. “I promised him. I fucking promised.”
I look up at him from beneath my lashes. “Gavin, life is not black-and-white, right and wrong. Nothing about what we did is wrong. At least it didn’t feel wrong to me . . . It still doesn’t.” My heart begs me to shut up, to stop this before I put it in a vulnerable position it isn’t prepared for. It’s still reeling from watching them play without me and hasn’t had time to suit back up for round two. “Do you regret it? Do you regret me?”
Sitting out the encore has taught me about the sting of regret, about the weight of finality that settles onto your chest when you realize there’s nothing you can do to change what did or didn’t happen. You just have to accept it and try to move forward carrying whatever scars it left on you. I’m terrified he’s about to give me another one I don’t have room for or the strength to carry.
His brow dips as he glares hard enough to cause me to spontaneously combust where I stand, but he says nothing.
“Just tell me,” I demand, my voice rising uncontrollably. “Fucking tell me. Do. You. Regret. Me?”
Lust deepens in his gaze, giving way to anger. When he finally speaks, it’s through a clenched jaw.
“Remember what you said? About being the one I fall asleep needing, the one I want to wake up with, and the one I can’t stop thinking about?”
I nod because it’s all I can do when he steps closer and scrambles my brain.
“You are, Bluebird. You already fucking are. You always have been.”
My entire world shifts at his confession. The band, the pressure, my brother, even the music fades, breaking every bond I’ve ever made to this world. There is only Gavin, only us. Illusions of grandeur are blinding as they come to life behind my eyes. What we have is so much stronger now that I know I’m not alone in this.
He’s still glaring down at me, his eyes memorizing me as if seeing me for the first time. I pull my lower lip between my teeth and watch him watching me. We have everything to lose, but somehow that doesn’t mean what it once did.
I reach for him, to hold him, to kiss and console him, to tell him everything. That I am in love with him, that I’ll never sit out again, that he is so much more to me than he realizes. But I don’t get the chance.