Connected (Connections, #1)(54)
Actually, I think my dad would have liked him a lot. River has the same taste in music as he did. He likes a lot of the same bands my dad used to like, and of course the same bands that I do, with the exception of Maroon 5. They have been one of my favorite bands for years. I wonder if it’s some kind of a band rivalry that makes River indifferent at the mention of Adam’s name, or just the fact that Maroon 5 is so mainstream. If the answer is the latter, River is very much like my father was. My dad always pushed for the underdog, supported all the Indie bands, and loved to watch them perform.
The only disagreement my dad and I ever had about music was concerning Top 40 songs. My dad disliked Top 40 music as did Ben, but I love it. Ben disliked it because he didn’t ever vary his choice of music. He listened to the same thing since high school. However, my dad disliked it because he didn’t like the commercialization of songs or bands that occurred with popularity. I’m not sure how River feels about Top 40, but from the songs I’ve seen on his playlists, I’d say he’s not a fan.
A thought makes me smile as I throw on my running clothes, having decided to make a quick trip down to the hotel boutique in search of some clean clothes to wear for the day. Grabbing my briefcase, I pull a sharpie marker out of it and pick my ripped white cotton panties up off the floor. Under the bow on the front of the panties I scribe the words, “You can push me up against a wall and do dirty things to me anytime.” Before laying the note at the foot of the bed, I pull out my girly pink lip-gloss, apply it heavily to my lips, and kiss the bottom of the note. Leaving a large pink pair of lips for my signature, and grabbing my now-charged phone, I finish the note by adding my cell number and head out the door.
Dashing into the boutique, I quickly purchase the outfit fitted on the mannequin, shoes and all as well as an extra pair of jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Having selected some revealing undergarments including a pair of slinky black lace boy-shorts, a slinky black lace push up bra, garter belts, and thigh high hose, I change in the dressing room. My cell begins to ring as I reach for an elastic hairband in my purse. It is flashing blocked caller, so I decide against answering it and throw my hair into a messy bun. Applying a flick of powder and a touch of blush, I stop to look at myself. Wow, what a difference a few days can make. I stare at myself in the mirror, no longer wincing at what I see because what I see now, looking back at me, is sexy. Sure I’m still soft and boney with no breasts so to speak, but none of that seems to matter to the adorably charming and attractive man waiting for me upstairs. Feeling very happy with my purchase of a short flared black skirt, a gray fitted off the shoulder sweater, and low-heeled, black studded ankle boots, I set off to get us some coffee and breakfast, feeling better about myself today than I have in a very long time.
Setting the coffees and scones down next to the door, I search for the room key I found in River’s wet jeans pocket before I left. Pulling it from the small purse crossed over my body, I unlock the door. As I open it I can hear chords of a guitar being played. Bending to pick up the coffees as I open the door, my mouth drops open and I almost dump the plastic lidded cups down the front of my new outfit.
There he sits in faded worn blue jeans, shirtless, his guitar on his lap. The hot Nevada sun streams through the open glass doors, highlighting the magnificently lean muscles of his perfect chest. He’s the epitome of sexiness. He glances up at me, and motions with his head for me to come sit next to him, but I stand there mesmerized by the view and the sound of the music. As I watch him play, my eyes dart to his nimble fingers picking the fret board on the neck of the guitar. His fingers flow with such ease and the sound they make is so mesmerizing. My eyes travel upward to the muscles in his forearm, flexing sexily with each move. Continuing my visual journey up his spectacular arms, I eventually land my gaze on his taut biceps, and then finally his adorably beautiful face so engrossed in the music.
His whole body seems to be moving to his own beat. His sculpted definition and full soft lips work together in one single beautiful rhythm. Obviously staring at him, I’m unashamed. I can’t help myself, but as soon as the words, “I want you to want me,” leave his lush mouth, I close my eyes and absorb his tone, his music, and join him in his own beat.
Opening my eyes when he stops singing the lyrics, I glance over at the couch. I see his Cheap Trick t-shirt lying on the back of it and smile. Now I know where he got the inspiration for the song he’s singing, or at least I think I know. As he continues to sing the chorus while strumming his guitar, my body comes alive. My cheeks blaze and my pulse quickens. Sauntering toward him, I bite my lip hard, and my heart skips a beat as I feel the need to kiss his songful lips, to touch his bare chest.
Raising his head, he scans my body. When his eyes reach my short flowing skirt, he immediately stops playing. We stare at each other, and he cocks his head to the side as he sets his guitar down. His eyes are simmering. The look on his face tells me everything he wants. He actually looks like he wants to devour me. His tongue slips slowly out of his mouth to lick his bottom lip and when he pulls it back in, ever so slowly, I nearly faint from the raw sex appeal of his simple non-verbal statement.
I’m a few steps away when he combs his fingers through his disheveled hair, leaving strands sticking up here and there.
Setting the coffees down, removing my purse, and placing the items on the coffee table, I straddle his lap. “Hey sexy.”
He kisses the very corner of my mouth as he runs his hands from my boots to the bottom of my skirt. “Hi yourself.”