Drive(45)

“Reid, what are you going to do when you go on tour?”

He pulled away and looked at me like I’d just grown a third nipple.

“Tour?”

“Yeah, you’ll get signed soon. You’ll have to tour.”

His expression was a mix of skepticism and amusement.

“Yeah,” he said with wide eyes, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Because we’re going to get signed,” he whispered as he slipped our second condom off and threw it in a Taco Bell bag.

“Yeah, you are,” I said as he sat up and looked back at me over his shoulder with drawn brows.

“You need to ease up on Brodi’s weed, Stella.”

“You know I don’t smoke. You really don’t think you’ll get signed, do you? You don’t believe it’s going to happen?”

“We’ve been playing for three years. So, no, I fucking don’t.” He moved to stand and held out his hand.

I took it and stood with him. “You will get signed. It’s just a matter of when. And kicking me out is rude, Reid. I have to say, I’m close to taking a nut with me.”

He deadpanned, “I was hoping you would wash my hair, but telling a naked man to fear for his nuts, I’ll be afraid to turn my back.”

“Fine, but you have two hands now. You can wash your own hair.”

He pulled me to him and gripped my bare ass. “I want your hands. And I never—” he swallowed, his eyes lit with sincerity “—I never told you how much I appreciated all that shit you did for me.”

I shook my head. “It was nothing.”

“Stella, it was everything.” His eyes punctured me, and I felt the warmth spread. “It meant everything. I was in a fucked-up place.”

“And now you’re not?” I said, my voice laced with hope, but I knew better because the guilt he carried was still evident on his face.

“No, I’m still in a fucked-up place,” he said with a shrug, “but it sucks a lot less here with you around.”

“Huh,” I said as he started toward his bathroom. “And I thought I got on your nerves.”

He walked down the hall, his perfect ass my focal point. “You do.”

I briefly thought about biting it. “I thought I pissed you off.”

“That too,” he said, starting the shower.

“So . . . I get on your nerves and piss you off.”

“Daily,” he said without reservation.

“But you like me.”

He looked me over and shrugged as he stepped into a stream of hot water.

“So, what in the hell am I doing here?” I asked as he yanked me into the shower and pushed me under the water. “Because I want to talk to you every day. I want to look at you every day. Because I can’t fucking wait to see what completely inappropriate T-shirt you wear to work next.”

“You like me a lot.” I grinned.

“Enough to risk a nut,” he mused as he poured cheap shampoo into his hand. “Turn around,” he ordered, “let me return the favor.” He playfully slapped a handful of shampoo on the top of my head before he scraped his fingernails in my scalp and through my hair, his ready cock hard between us as he gently washed me and then himself. Minutes later, I was rummaging through his cabinets—starving—and came up with shrimp flavored Ramen noodles. But it didn’t matter; we were content eating hot bowls full of plastic pasta, me in one of his clean T-shirts and him in fresh underwear. In that moment on his lumpy mattress slurping noodles, I felt like I could fly. I was trying my best to keep cool. It was as if I’d finally been granted permission to feel anything when it came to him. Looking at him, being able to touch him, it was the purest drug.

Trying to tamp down my elation, I scoured his living room, and in the far corner next to the patio door was a stack of at least a hundred spiral notebooks. Most of them looked worn.

I nodded toward them. “Music?”

“Yeah,” he said, pulling my empty bowl from my hands.

“Can I look?”

“Not tonight.”

“Why not tonight?”

“Because it’s four thirty in the morning.”

“What?” I looked at the clock on his stove. “Oh, shit, I should go.” I moved to stand and he shook his head.

“Stay. Just a little longer.” My heart leapt as he tugged me back into his grip. Our bowls stacked beside his mattress, I was pressed on my back beneath him, our mouths latched as we clawed and gasped and let go before all that was left was a lingering kiss at his front door.

I wasn’t about to ask him for an explanation when it came to us. I wasn’t sure what I wanted, besides more of the same, him. As we lingered, wordless, I could feel the tension in him start to build. I didn’t want to think about anything other than what had just happened between us. I just wanted to keep the warmth as long as possible. I was brimming with it.

“Stella, let me talk to Paige, okay?”

“It’s not her business.”

“It kind of is,” he said as he gripped my mouth tight so my lips smashed together. “So, keep this closed, okay?”

“Fine,” I agreed through duck lips.

He bruised them thoroughly before I made a mad dash for my sister’s apartment. My heart pounded wildly with the fresh reality and the fear of getting caught.