Laird
The stab of white-hot jealousy was so sharp and unexpected, I found myself frozen in the middle of my own fucking party. All around me, people were flirting, laughing, drinking.
And I was stuck, my legs and feet useless beneath me, my heart slamming against my ribcage.
Topher, the drumline’s resident hipster, bumped into my side and I shifted to the right a step, unable to tear my eyes away from Smith and Reese. From her lips moving under his, and her arms wrapped tight around his neck.
I ripped the bottle of beer from Topher’s hand, ignoring his protest, and chugged it without tasting a drop as I plowed my way through the room. Halfway there, a palm landed on my elbow and I blankly registered a girl calling my name, but I didn’t stop.
Couldn’t stop.
Why the fuck were they still kissing?
Would I be out of line if I cut Smith from the auditions on the spot?
I was three steps away when they finally broke apart—although the bastard still had his hands on her waist. My lips pinched in annoyance. As if that little display was enough to truly knock her off balance.
“Woah, Smith.” She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, and I couldn’t suppress the surge of satisfaction that gave me. “What have you been drinking tonight?” She licked her lips. “It actually tastes pretty good.”
He would die.
“Grape lollipop on the way over here. I’m kind of an addict.” Smith must’ve had some tiny measure of self-preservation, because his eyes flickered to me briefly and he dropped his hands. “Better watch out…”
“For what?” Reese laughed, and I couldn’t look away from her long enough to glare a warning at Smith to keep his damn hands to himself or he’d find it mighty fucking hard to play the drums tomorrow.
He glanced at me again warily, but held his stance next to her, close enough their arms were still brushing. “Or else you’ll get addicted too.”
“Bring me one tomorrow. I gotta see what the fuss is all about.”
Nothing. There was absolutely nothing about him to fuss over whatsoever.
I joined their circle and thrust my empty bottle at Smith, catching him solidly in the gut. To his credit, he barely flinched. “Here, NAD. Get rid of this and bring me another cold one.” I purposefully didn’t use his name.
“Sure,” he said slowly, studying the hard set of my jaw. “Reese, Willa, can I get you two anything?”
Willa requested something fruity. Reese declined a drink, but called his name as he started for the kitchen. “Can you find me some more of those Goldfish? I think I accidentally spilled the last few when you—”
“Is your shoulder bothering you?” I interrupted.
She turned and tilted her head at me quizzically.
“You’re rubbing it.” Reese looked down and seemed surprised to find her hand massaging the spot where her neck curved into the slope of her left shoulder.
“Yeah, a little,” she admitted, lowering her arm. “But I’m fine. I took a few Motrin, and I’ll be good as new tomorrow.”
“Want me to take a look at it?” I was already reaching out, my fingers itching for any excuse, no matter how lame, to touch her skin, to see if it felt as soft as I imagined.
She tipped her chin up at me, her expression wary. “Do you ask all the guys that?”
“What?” I screwed up my face. “Fuck, no.”
She stepped back, my fingers denied their goal. And, honestly, I was surprised. Not to sound like a dick, but I didn’t typically have trouble attracting a girl. Usually the issue was dodging the ones I wasn’t interested in.
“Look,” she waited a beat until our eyes connected before continuing, “I don’t want any special treatment from you. I’m just another drummer trying out for the line, like all the other guys.”
Fuck that shit.
On the field, yeah, I was gonna hold her to the same high standard I would any drummer. Hell, I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if she still got cut, just because the odds weren’t in her favor. But off? She was nuts if she thought the way she looked in those jeans made her blend into the crowd.
No, tonight, she was anything but ordinary. I didn’t get a chance earlier today to study the stubborn angle of her jaw, or the delicate way the tip of her nose turned up just a smidge. With her dark hair out of the way, the creaminess of her neck called to me, begging me to trace its curve with my fingers, my mouth, my tongue. And for the first time, I got a good view of her eyes. She didn’t need all the makeup she was wearing. No way they could ever look anything but stunning. Her big, coffee brown irises, dark enough to swallow me whole, flashed with irritation as I stepped closer, edging her in front of me until her back was to my chest.
“But you’re not,” I whispered, dipping my head and deliberately letting my lips graze the shell of her ear.
She shivered, and my cock stirred.
I cupped her shoulders with my palms, my thumbs drifting down between the multitude of bright pink bra straps. I pressed just inside the ridges of her shoulder blades and dug in where I knew she was most likely to have knots from today.
She groaned and tried to jerk away, but I held her in place. Bullseye. “Stay still.” My voice brooked no argument. Using deep, meticulous strokes, I rubbed the tension out of her upper back, gratified when her muscles slowly relaxed beneath me. Her skin was like warm silk under my hands, and when she arched her back like a cat, lolling her head from side to side, a soft moan escaped from her mouth, and I had to stop myself from pressing against the swell of her ass.
I studied the pink bands crossing her back as I worked, wondering how in the hell it came off. I was jumping ahead several steps in my mind, but this feisty girl was making me crazy. She smelled like cherries and I wasn’t sure if it was from her, or the fruity drink I’d seen her gulp down when Marco had joined her. The pads of my thumbs smoothed their way up the tight cords of her neck, and I felt more than heard the hum of satisfaction vibrate through her.
I couldn’t help it. I eased closer, rationalizing it was a crowded room and I was conserving space. She was the perfect height for me, tall for a girl, but still several inches below my six foot three. Kissing her would be easy, her tilting up and me tipping down. No awkward crouching required while she balanced on her toes.
“You know,” Willa said, rolling her shoulders, “those cymbals get damn heavy.” She sidled my direction and motioned to her own back. “Last year, I always got the worst pain right there—remember?”
No, I didn’t.
In front of me, Reese stiffened, her spine straightening until her ponytail tickled my chin. I tightened my fingers, not ready to let her go yet. I aimed a noncommittal noise at Willa. “It always takes a few weeks to strengthen up.”
Reese pulled away from me, one foot sliding forward to break our connection. “I think I’m good now, thanks,” she murmured. Pink tinged those high cheekbones of hers. “How much do your cymbals weigh?” She directed the question at Willa.
“God, who knows, but it feels like a hundred pounds by the end of the day.”
I pressed my lips together as Reese scooted away, a full two feet of emptiness between us. Who fucking cared about her cymbals?
“Yeah,” Reese said. “I know what you mean. The drum seems like it gets heavier and heavier sometimes.”
Great. They were bonding.
Then Smith showed back up, drinks and crackers in hand, and I knew it was a lost cause. I huffed out my irritation as I accepted the beer he’d retrieved for me. “Thanks,” I acknowledged, the word clipped. I took a quick swallow and then held the bottle loosely in front of me, using it to camouflage what was left of my erection.
Reese took the cup filled to the brim with Goldfish and sent Smith a blinding smile. Over some fucking crackers. I scowled. She stepped aside, and Smith settled into the open space between us.
Willa touched my shoulder and asked me something about the schedule tomorrow, but I barely heard her, muttering a quick reply about checking her email, my eyes repeatedly drawn back to Reese.
I might not have been standing next to her, but she was aware of me. It was in the way her eyes flicked to mine, and then quickly away, her tongue slipping out to wet her full lower lip. The way she sucked in a quick breath when I continued to watch her, ignoring Willa’s blathering next to me. Hell, it was even in the way her shoulders and hips faced me, despite placing her at an awkward angle within our little circle.
Smith distracted me, asking me a technical question about stick height during the opening number. “Nine inches to start,” I answered without ever looking at him. It was rude, but I didn’t care. I was thoroughly preoccupied by the sight of Reese chasing an errant fish out of the loose neckline of her shirt, her fingers disappearing into her cleavage.
“That’s what she said,” Marco jeered as he shoved his way next to me, dragging a redhead with him. April? Amy? Her name was something like that.
“Right,” I deadpanned, in no mood for his company tonight. The beer tasted like shit when I took a long swallow, but it was cold and wet and made Marco infinitely more bearable.
Smith tipped his head toward Marco. “That piece for sight-reading this afternoon was pretty wicked. Any chance we’ll get to play something like that for the drum break?”
“Ooh.” Willa clapped. “I’d be happy to be your partner for that again this year, Laird.” Okay, whatever. I smiled weakly when she grabbed my bicep and squeezed.
“Not likely,” Marco snorted. “Unless you guys do a hell of a lot of practicing between now and then. Most of you NADs fell apart on that exercise.”
Reese hadn’t. In fact, she’d had one of the cleaner executions of it. She lifted her chin, her shoulders rigid, but she didn’t say anything. I started to speak up, then stopped when I caught the way her eyes narrowed in warning at me. No special treatment… And, shit, I wouldn’t normally defend another snare—because they would’ve fucking done it themselves.
“Nah, man. Me and Reese were playing around with it later, tweaking the intro a little. We could show it to you tomorrow if you want.” Reese shot Smith a grateful smile.
What the fuck? It was fine for him to speak up, but not me?
“Yeah, not gonna happen, man. You’re NADs. You don’t change the music around, and you definitely don’t help decide the drum break. Shit, you’re not even on the line yet.”
Smith kept his face neutral, but his fingers tapped a quick, agitated rhythm against his thigh. “Right. Of course,” he bit out, his voice walking the fine line of apology and sarcasm.
Reese’s jaw was set and she stared at Marco flatly, no doubt holding back that sharp tongue of hers.
“Anyway, kids,” Marco continued, oblivious to the tension in the air, “Amber and I”—ah, right her name was Amber—“are headed out for a little private practice session.”
“I thought you already took care of that,” Reese snorted. I grinned, not sure why I loved the way she gave him shit, but I did.
Marco assessed her coolly. “Just a warm up, babe. Just a little warm up. Don’t be all jealous now. You want to join us?”
Oh, hell fucking no. Not in this lifetime. If she left with anyone in this room, it damn better sure be me. My chest swelled, and my fingers tightened into fists.
“Here’s the thing.” Reese spoke softly, stopping me in my tracks, and Marco was forced to lean in closer to hear her. “When I sleep with someone, I don’t want him to still need practice at it. I prefer my men to already know what the fuck they’re doing in the bedroom.”
Silence descended on our group as her words hung in the air.
I might have fallen in love with her. Just like that.
Smith pressed a fist to his mouth, eyes crinkled with barely hidden mirth, and Willa muttered an impressed, “Damn.” Her deep Southern accent stretched the word into two long syllables.
Marco’s face transformed, twisting into an ugly sneer, and I automatically took a step closer to Reese, a telling action that Marco registered. Snapping his tight gaze between us, the tendons in his neck bulging, he raised his hand and pointed his finger at her. “You better be ready for tomorrow, little girl. You’re gonna pay for that on the field.”
Then Marco snatched up Amber’s hand and yanked her behind him as he stalked to the front door, slamming it behind them hard enough to rattle the frame.
At the commotion, Bubba wandered out of the kitchen, two full plastic cups in hand. He looked at me inquisitively, and I gave my head a slight shake, signaling him not to make a big deal out of it. Bubba kept his path toward us though, delivering the cups to Reese and Smith upon arrival.
“Drink up, children. The night’s still young!”
Smith tapped his cup against Reese’s. “To surviving day one!”
“I’ll drink to that.” She smiled, her whole face lighter, as if the last five minutes never happened. “Race you, Robin.”
Robin? I didn’t like that she had a stupid little nickname for him. Something hot twisted in my gut.
With that, they both lifted the cups to their mouths, guzzling the punch like a couple of frat brothers. Smith lowered his arm slightly ahead of her, crumpling the cup in his hand as he finished. “Batman loses. You’re going to need to hand over that cape.”
Swaying on her feet slightly, Reese giggled. “I don’t think you understand how this whole sidekick business works.” I wrapped my fingers around her hip to steady her, but she swatted my hand away. “Stop it. I’m fine.” She sounded like Willa, the way she drew the word out into a caricature of its original form.
She jerked her head to face me, her ponytail whipping out and landing over one shoulder in a silky waterfall. I had a brief vision of it spread out across my bare chest, her head nestled on my shoulder as she caught her breath post-orgasm, our skin hot and sticky from our combined sweat. Fuck. I wanted to feel it in all its iterations. Coiled around my fist while she was on her knees. Tangled in my fingers while I held her mouth to mine. Bouncing wildly around her face as she rode me hard and fast. Mussed and rumpled first thing in the morning, when she woke up in my bed.
I murmured to her, keeping my voice low to avoid causing a scene, “You sure you know what you’re doing?”