THERE IS A LOT TO BE SAID FOR BREAKUP SEX.
No pressure. No worries about being perfect. Just give me one last orgasm please and thank you and goodbye. Have a nice life, or don’t. Peace out.
Not that I’m an expert or anything. I’ve only had sex with one person. But I’m pretty certain that the last time was the best time.
In Jaggerd McKinley’s case the breakup sex was decent enough that I was now having some firm second thoughts about getting back together just so we could break up again and have one last round. Lord have mercy, the things that boy could do with his hands. Apparently they weren’t just good for working on broken-down cars. He’d been holding out on me in the year that we’d dated.
“Dixie, that’s twice you’ve missed your intro.” My brother’s voice startles me. “Can you join us here, please? This space ain’t free, little sister.”
“My bad.” I feel my face heat from the attention of him and Gavin. Usually it’s Gavin getting distracted and screwing up—typically because some chick has caught his eye or rung one of his drumsticks with the underwear she’s flung onstage—and my brother would be glaring at him.
“You all right?” Gavin eyes me with concern. Last weekend we played at Midnight Rodeo, a nightclub downtown. My now ex-boyfriend had never been very supportive of our band, Leaving Amarillo, and had shown up drunk as Cooter Brown. Gavin and my brother both nearly pummeled him before security could escort him out and it wasn’t pretty.
“Yeah, I’m good. Sorry. Let’s go again.” I shrug and bring Oz, my fiddle, up onto my shoulder.
Two bars into the song, the music surrounding us cuts off sharply once more.
“Damn it, Dix. It’s three chords we’re working with here.” Dallas’s ice-blue eyes are laser beams and I am the target.
I lower my bow and sigh loudly. “Sorry.” Taking a deep breath, I shoot him and Gavin both an apologetic smile. “Promise I’ll get it together. I’m good now.”
“Did you ever get any sleep last night?” My brother’s gaze softens, and I’m slightly surprised by his unexpected show of concern. When we’re rehearsing or recording, the music comes first. Usually. I don’t know if it’s the dark rings around my eyes caused by long nights of caring for our grandfather or my recent breakup that has him worried, but he waits for my answer before continuing.
“I did. I’m really okay. Let’s go again.” I force a smile and raise my bow once more.
We play half of our set without stopping and I fight through the exhaustion and the non-Jaggerd-related painful memories plaguing me. Instinct honed by years of practice takes over as my bow flies across the strings.
“Hell yeah,” Dallas calls out, fist-bumping Gavin when we finally stop to catch our breath. “That’s what I’m talking about!” He grins at me and I smile back at his enthusiasm.
“Think we’re ready for Nashville?” I feel ten pounds lighter from playing, and from making my brother proud.
“We’re on our way, little sister. On our way,” Dallas tells me before turning to Gavin. “Okay, let’s pick it up at the top of ‘Ring of Fire’ and push through to the end of the set.”
It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes at the little sister part.
Despite the fact that I’m nineteen, Dallas acts like I’m twelve most of the time. And like he’s my dad. Since our parents were killed in a car accident when we were kids, he actually filled that role every now and then.
Gavin’s hazel gaze meets mine and he nods to make sure I’m ready before he counts us into the next song. My heart does the little stuttering flip-turn it likes to do on the rare occasions we make eye contact for more than a split second.