“You don’t even realize you’re too good for all of us, for me.”
“Jesus,” I grip the frame, knuckles turning white. I bat all notions of giving up as the girl I sought out speaks to me from the other side of the door.
“I cried,” her mournful voice becomes clearer, as if she’s only a foot away, “the whole way to the airport.”
“I know, baby,” I whisper.
I’d opened the studio door after she slammed it on us to see her crack just before Joel shut her inside the SUV. I had to fight myself for ten minutes in my truck not to call and have him stop so I could drive to her, but I knew it would be pointless.
“Who does that? I felt like a lunatic.”
“You’re still not crazy,” I murmur, stepping back and ripping off my shirt before unbuckling my jeans. “Because if you are, so am I.”
I slip into the cool sheets and grip myself in my hand. Frustration and lust battle as I hasten my strokes at the memory of her spread out before me, post-orgasm, skin flushed as she reached for me. She murmurs my name a few minutes later, the need in her voice sending me over as I tense and shatter, holding in my groan as cum glides down my fist.
“I can’t fall for you, Easton,” she whispers hoarsely. “I’ll lose everything I’ve worked for…my whole life is in Austin, my future.”
“You’re already mine,” I declare, knowing that’s the truth for us both.
I Want You
Concrete Blonde
Natalie
A knock on my hotel door jars me awake, and I snap to on the mattress. Wiping the drool from my face, I look down to see I’m in a cami, my panties discarded nearby on the floor, yet I somehow manage to have kept one pant leg clinging to my ankle.
Dafuq?
How is that even possible?
“Uh, just a second.”
After pulling my jeans on and straightening my cami, I search and fail to find a mirror as the knocking resumes. Wincing at the thrum starting in my head, I embrace defeat and open the door.
Easton stands on the other side looking mouthwatering, hair darker probably due to a recent shower, two coffees in hand. His lips stretch into a smile as he extends one toward me in offering.
“Thanks, and don’t bother saying it. I’m sure I look like a freshly drowned rat.”
“Actually, I was wondering if you plan on sitting on your tuffet today, Miss Muffet.”
“Huh?” I wince, his words not registering as he scans my room, his eyes landing on my discarded panties before pinning me.
“While eating your curds and whey.” He lifts his chin, and it’s then I realize I may have mismanaged undressing, but I did manage to put my silk bonnet on.
Oh, fuck you, Grey Goose.
“Har, har,” I say before darting into the bathroom and seeing I also managed to take exactly half my makeup off with a remover wipe. Desperately trying to pull myself together, I scrub my teeth and start to clear the debris off the other half of my face while briefly going over the events of last night, heavily regretting the excessive vodka intake.
“Sorry I got a little buzzed last night,” I call out through the cracked door. “I haven’t let loose in a while.”
“You were a real animal. In bed by one fifteen,” he says, his tone indecipherable.
I eye the time on my cell phone where it sits on the counter. “Is everyone waiting on me?”
“No. We pull out in thirty. I was sure you would oversleep.”
My alarm goes off at that exact moment, and I hold it out of the bathroom for his view along with a middle finger and hear his chuckle in response.
“So, what’s with the action cap?” He asks from behind the door.
“If you must know—”
“I must.”
“It’s to keep my curls in decent shape.”
“Thought you hated them,” he jabs.
“I’ve recently reembraced them.”
Fresh-faced and feeling slightly better about my appearance, I open the door to find him sitting on the edge of my slightly rumpled bed. A smart quip dies on my tongue as I fully take him in. A black titanium cross dangles from his neck and peeks above the collar of his dark blue T-shirt which clings to his build in all the right places. Light denim jeans accentuate his muscular thighs tapering down to well-worn, dark leather boots. As if that wasn’t enough, inch-thick leather cuffs are secured by large silver snaps around his wrists, along with the titanium thumb ring and tiger’s eye pinkie ring he wore the day we met, making him look every bit the rock star he is. I feel his perusal as I pluck my tablet from the bed and begin to scroll.
“Well, do you want the good news or the bad news?”
“No news,” he clips, sipping his coffee.
“Tough shit, and it looks like all good news anyway.” I clear my throat. “And I quote, ‘REVERB blew fans away last night at the Civic Center during an eighty-three-minute set, cementing themselves as the act to see this summer and securing their place amongst this year’s top performers. I’m here to tell you to believe the hype because Crowne’s stage presence and delivery alone is worth the price of admission.’ I agree,” I declare, continuing my search and peeking over my tablet to see he’s completely unaffected.
“Ah, here’s another. ‘REVERB, specifically Easton Crowne are single-handedly giving mouth-to-mouth to a genre that seems to have been long forgotten, reviving Rock ‘n’ Roll one show at a time.”
“Please stop,” he says before I again lower my tablet.
“Why?”
“Because in about an hour, my mother will call and attempt to read me the same reviews.”
“Really?” I grin. “Stella does that? I love it!”
“Yeah, and I hate it when she does it too, so don’t take it personally.”
I take a sip of my coffee and gag, and he chuckles at my reaction to it.
“What the hell is in this, nitro?”
“Drink it and say thank you.”
“Geesh, thank you.” I take a seat next to him on the edge of the bed and nudge him. “Why are you so grumpy this morning? I’m the one with cymbal crashes going on between my ears.”
“Oh, yeah,” he stands, and I take immediate advantage of the view, my eyes focusing on the natural bulge at his crotch and drifting up to the dark hair partially covering his face as he dips into his pocket before producing a pack of Advil. “Got these for you downstairs, too.”
“Oh, you rock, literally,” I can’t help my laugh at the roll of his eyes as he starts to fight the package. “You truly don’t care about the reviews?”
“It’s not that.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s just…personal to me.”
“Okay, I get that.” I shake my head. “Maybe I don’t. You do realize this is praise.”
“It only truly matters when it comes from the people that matter most to me,” his eyes sweep me, and a shiver runs up my spine, “and from those I respect.”
“It’s just the things they’re saying,” I read his unwavering expression and toss the tablet on the bed. “Fine. You’re no fun.”
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not,” I grin as he opens the package and hands me the pills.
“Thank you,” I say, tossing the pills back and sipping my coffee. “For last night, for putting me up. For all of it. I honestly can’t wait for the show tonight.”
“I read your article,” he completely throws me off guard, “about that couple from Houston who got lost on vacation in Australia.”
I gape at him as he leans against the dresser opposite the bed.
“You read my article?”
He nods. “Yeah, and honestly, I’m relieved. You write so much fucking better than you speak.”
I glower at him. “Many writers do, jerk, and I don’t know whether to slap you or…”
He lifts a brow at option two, which I decide not to verbalize.
“I could feel their desperation,” he adds thoughtfully, “because of how you wrote it. It’s pretty miraculous how after two days of panicking and arguing, they said ‘fuck it’ and adapted to their surroundings to survive until they were rescued.”
“And they were on the verge of divorce,” I grin. “It’s crazy how it didn’t push them over but brought them back together.”
“That’s my favorite part,” Easton relays softly.
“Maybe there’s a song in there?”
He nods.