Play (Stage Dive, #2)(38)

“It’s good.” His smile came ever so slowly.

Someone knocked on the wall from Nate and Lauren’s side. “You two okay?”

“We’re fine,” I called back. “Thanks. Carry on.”

I could hear barely subdued laughter. My face felt hot. Flame-worthy hot. You could probably cook a steak on that sucker. Crap, everybody would hear about this. And I do mean everybody. We were never going to live this down.

“They’re mocking us,” I said.

“Nonsense. We just f*cked so hard we broke your bed. They wish they were us. The natural order of sexual status has been restored.”

We both laughed. It was all so ridiculous.

But then the laughter kind of dwindled away to nothing and we were sitting there staring at each other. His face was in shadows. It impossible to read him. But his thickening cock made its presence known against my thigh. What I wouldn’t have given to know what he was thinking. All of my awareness went directly to between my legs and oh shit, it felt good. I wished he’d do something because I wasn’t sure I could. He reacted to me but what did that mean? Dicks did stuff. Mysterious stuff, like getting hard for no reason. Sex was most definitely not part of our agreement. He’d been specific. And yet, all the kissing and teasing tonight…

I’d never been so confused in my entire life. Confused and horny.

Next door, the noises started up once more as they took my advice and did indeed carry on.

“I’m pretty sure they’re not thinking about us at all,” I said.

“Just out of interest, how drunk are you?”

“The room is kind of spinning. Why?”

“Nothing. We better move,” he said, voice guttural. Carefully, he lifted me off of him and then climbed out of the ruin of my old bed. We both stood there, collectively ignoring the bulge in his pants. Not awkward at all. It had to be said though; a damp crotch was far easier to hide.

“Let’s go watch a movie,” he said. “No one’s getting any sleep anytime soon.”

“Good idea,” I lied and let him haul me out of the wreckage. “Poor bed. But that was fun.”

“Yeah, it was. Not as much fun as actually f*cking, but still, not bad.”

My curiosity got the better of me. Either that or I had no manners and was indeed still drunk. “Speaking of which, what happened to your hook-ups? I thought you might go visiting a lady friend after we got back from the party.”

“Meh.”

“Meh?” He had a half-on and he was giving me ‘meh’?

“Between getting ready for this tour and being in a serious fake relationship, I haven’t had the time.”

“Fair enough.” I didn’t believe him at all.

Instead, my alcohol-addled mind made giant leaps of logic. Little to no reason was involved. What if his lack of libido had to do with his need for a fake girlfriend somehow? Maybe he had a mysterious real girlfriend hidden away down in L.A. and I existed solely to put people off the scent. Actually, no. That theory hurt. But maybe this was all about the bet he’d made with Ben. He’d backed himself into this ridiculous corner with his insane jokes and now his pride would be wounded if he tried to back out. And that theory hurt even more. Neither probability covered his being sad sometimes, though. I let him lead me into the living room, my head and my heart a not-so-sober mess.

“What about you? You weren’t seriously keeping your legs crossed until douche came to his senses, were you?” He sat in the middle of the velvet couch, pulling me down beside him, keeping me close.

“No, I’ve dated. Just not recently.”

“How not recently?” He picked up a remote and the huge TV came to life. His arm rested on the back of the couch behind me, the flat of his hand beating out a fierce rhythm.

“What do you feel like watching?” I asked.

“Not going to tell me?”

“A few months.”

Some old horror film was on. From the eighties, if the big hair and spiral perm were any indicators. A pair of barely concealed breasts bounced their way across the screen. A woman screamed.

“This looks good,” Mal said.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“You don’t scare easily, do you?”

“No. Though it does make me sad when Johnny Depp gets turned into tomato soup.”

“Bet it does.” He smiled. “You know, I meant what I said.”

“About what?”

“About you.” He looked straight ahead, never meeting my eyes. The light from the TV lit the angles and planes of his perfect face. “I like you.”

“Thank you, Mal.”

Then why weren’t we having sex? Obviously, he didn’t like-like me. He just liked me, like he’d said.

My mind starting spinning all over again.

“You didn’t say you liked me back,” he prodded, sounding the tiniest bit insecure if my ears weren’t deceiving me.

“Oh, well.” I turned to look at him, squinting, ignoring the screaming still coming from on screen. “You are …”

“I’m what?”

“So …”

“C’mon, pumpkin, you’re taking too long. Spit it out.”

“Very …”

“Fuck it. I’m just gonna compliment myself.”