Time (Laws of Physics #3)(50)

I’d spent the last six weeks—hell, I’d spent the last two and a half months and the last two and a half years before that—wanting this. Just this. We were together, no secrets or lies between us, the promise of a great future on the horizon, and the reality of a great now.

And yet, amped-up from the concert, I was still shaky and preoccupied by selfishness.

“Great show, by the way. Nine encores.” Leo poured himself a drink.

I nodded distractedly, my eyes still on Mona in her tiny dress. I wanted to take it off.

“Has Broderick been in contact about the next album? I ran into him and Kaitlyn in New York. They said you already have most of it done.”

“Yep.” My eyes followed the line of her toned legs to her feet. She’d taken off her shoes. She was barefoot. Her toes were painted bright blue.

“That’s amazing, man. When did you find the time to write?”

“Here and there.” I shrugged, watching with rapt concentration as Mona tucked one of her legs beneath her, the skirt hiking higher, showing me more thigh. My fingers tightened on the thick crystal tumbler as she leaned forward, her position highlighting the curve of her back and waist. My gaze traveled to the thin straps over her elegant bare shoulders, collarbone, the scooped neckline, the swell of her breasts.

I swallowed.

“Hey.”

Reluctantly, I tore my eyes from Mona, glancing at Leo. He wore a frown, his eyes seemed to be narrowed with concern.

“Are you okay?”

Was I okay?

Was he really that dense? Had he never felt this way about someone before? Completely consumed. Destroyed. Rebuilt. Desperate.

No. I wasn’t okay. But what could I say?

Sorry. I’m distracted by thoughts of fucking your sister, against the door with her tits in my mouth, or bent over the couch, reaching around to stroke her slick, wet pussy while she moans my name. If you weren’t here right now, I’d be eating her out and loving every second of it. Forgive my preoccupation. What were you saying about the album?

“Your voice is almost gone, huh?” He nodded at his own assertion. “No need to talk if you can’t.”

I stared at him, breathing through my nose, working to regain control of anything. This was why I hated the minutes and hours after a show. I wasn’t thinking straight. I wasn’t myself. It was a peculiar kind of madness.

Did I want to take Mona against the door or bent over the couch? Absofuckinglutely.

But did I want that—here, in this random room, sticky and sweaty after a concert with thousands of people just feet away, the constant risk of someone coming in, interrupting us—to be our first time together?

No.

But in my current state of mind, I would. I definitely, definitely would.

Gathering a deep breath, I forced myself to relax my hold on the tumbler. “It’s probably best if I don’t speak at all,” I murmured, returning my attention to Mona. But this time, she was also watching me.

She wasn’t smiling. Her gaze was direct, sharp, and—if I wasn’t mistaken—hot. Mona lifted her hand toward me in invitation, mouthing, “Do you want to sit with me?”

I shook my head. The only way for us to sit together in that chair was if she sat on my lap. Bad idea.

Her hand dropped, a slight wrinkle forming between her eyes. She looked anxious.

So I lifted my hand and mouthed, “Five minutes,” making no attempt to disguise my meaning.

Five minutes.

One way or the other—either they left, or we did—we were going to be alone in five minutes.





13





Plasma Physics





Mona





I checked my phone for the tenth time in two minutes, licking my lips, my mouth and throat dry.

Abram was looking at me, watching me. I’d felt his eyes on me earlier, but now I felt his eyes, the force of his intentions. I squirmed in my seat, my skin hot; the area between my thighs coiling, twisting, aching; my breasts heavy, sensitive. Unable to follow Allyn’s funny story, or Marie’s clever questions, or Matt’s silly comments, just the act of breathing felt like a miracle.

Two minutes, twenty-two seconds left.

Twenty-one.

Twenty.

Nineteen.

There was a reason we’d snuck backstage before the last encore, and I’d been careful to bring others. The photos in LA of me—that everyone assumed was Lisa—were a sobering reminder that cameras were everywhere.

Hilarious in retrospect, I’d brought two condoms with me, just in case he wanted to do something here while we waited for the crowds to disperse, before we left for the hotel. I’d tucked them in the side of my strapless push-up bra and spent an inordinate amount of time reasoning with myself while getting dressed, trying to convince myself that I wasn’t being presumptuous.

Therefore, in hindsight—now that I was here, and he was here, and I couldn’t think straight, his eyes on me—my concerns about being presumptuous were hysterical.

I knew what he wanted as though he were speaking it aloud, over and over, whispering it in my ear.

The fine hairs on the back of my neck prickled and I rubbed the spot, checking my phone again. Two minutes, thirteen seconds.

I almost cursed. Was time moving backward? When would the five minutes end?! When would these people leave?!