Chapter Six
My mind goes blank of everything but Avery. And out of nowhere, we’re here. But it’s not that how did we go from friends to kissing? type of jolt. It’s more like this is the moment we’ve always been in and just haven’t known it.
Being close to her is what feels natural, not whatever the hell we did before these heated seconds snuck up on us. All hands, mine fisting her hair and her fingers clutching my shirt. All mouths, mine demanding and hers softening in answer. Our hearts racing and our bodies melting into each other in a way that I can’t tell whose beat I’m feeling. Me rock hard and her molded there, urgent and wanting.
We kiss hard and hungry, fueled by my months of pent-up desire and, surprisingly, hers as well. And I know, from her quirky, near-quiet moaning sounds punctuating this epic kiss that a nanosecond ago didn’t exist, that this was inevitable.
Trying to do the right thing and keeping my hands off her would never have stopped this from happening. It’s too intense, too right, and—fuck, I hate thinking it again—inevitable.
I grip her hair tighter and we kiss so deeply it’s like we’re going to go at it right here on the pavement beneath The Cockyard sign. There’s nothing slow or tentative about this from either side, no need to hold back or want to stop.
I turn her until she’s flat against the sign, grinding into her. I nip her lower lip and she moans, her hips arching up into me. That’s my cue to break off, because we’re outside, surrounded by people, and as great as our first kiss is, location makes it something going nowhere—for now.
I drag my mouth away and set my forehead against hers. “I’ve wanted to do that for six years.”
Her lids lift and I wait, nervous, for her eyes to meet mine. “Not as long for me, but almost,” she whispers, and I laugh. She’s blunt and badass and cool about everything, even this: a first kiss that’s knocked both our socks off. And no, not ego. There’s enough dreamy satisfaction slipping into her gaze to tell me it was good for her, too.
The sunlight is bright all around us and falls on her face like a spotlight on each thoroughly kissable feature. I like that we’re outdoors for our first kiss. I’m a screw-in-a-meadow kind of guy and something tells me Avery would be down for that.
She’s the colors of afternoon sunshine, and it’s like her reddish-brown hair and rich milk-chocolate eyes pick up the golden rays and hold them. For a split second I let my thoughts go with the vision of her lying naked in the grass and me riding her hard and drinking in each erotic change I bring to her face.
Damn, I’m all heat and want in my cock again. I cup her cheek and move in, and she doesn’t stop me. No games from this girl. What Avery wants she goes after, and I must not have been moving quickly enough for her. Her hands grip my shoulders, bringing me faster to her lips as she presses her tits against my chest.
And this time she takes control of everything. How her body fits mine. How her kiss fills my mouth. How she rubs against where I ache. With unwavering certainty, I know what Avery’s telling me with this.
As she devours me with the same urgency I pounced on her with, I know that tonight ends with us fucking.
The squeaky sound of the club’s front doors opening makes her take her mouth from mine and stumble sideways to no longer be pinned between me and the sign.
Inwardly I groan, but it’s probably best. We’ve put on enough of a public display for one day and how I want to finish this needs privacy. But it doesn’t make it easy to rein in my body knowing she’s hot for me, too.
My arm quivers pressed against the place Avery’s back was resting and I don’t turn from the sign because I fucking can’t. My body is rolling with need so much so that my muscles are weak.
I angle my face toward her. “I guess we’re holding that thought,” I joke because she’s biting her lip, her cheeks adorably pink as she stares at whoever is walking down the pavement behind me.
“For now,” she whispers with a happy sort of determination.
“Not for long, I hope.”
Her eyes shift to mine, vacant of their usual glimmer. “We’re off the road starting tomorrow, E. We’ve got lots of time to figure out what to do about us.”
Her words are not encouraging and my heart falls. What’s there to figure out? The chemistry’s been there beneath the surface of our friendship from the start. “Don’t make me wait long,” I implore, teasing but not, with a dramatic groan.
“That goes for you, too.”
That’s all I need to hear to make a check of my watch. “If we leave now, we’ve got four hours before I have to be somewhere.”
She laughs and slips her hand into mine. “I was thinking more along the lines of after the show. We need time to talk, too.”
I’m flattered—and aroused beyond sanity—that she thinks me in bed and time to talk can’t be managed in four hours. Then I wonder what she means by talk. What’s left for two people who know each other as well as we do to talk about? We’re not in getting to know you territory.
She tugs my arm and moves toward the door.
“We could grab something at a drive-thru and go to my place, and make talking dessert for after the show,” I suggest, partially joking because what I want to be doing with her after the show is exactly the same thing I want to be doing with her this second, and it’s not exchanging words. Though I do love talking with Avery. But fuck no, do I want to waste minutes doing it now that there’s finally an option other than talking on the table for us.
When I reach for the handle of door, she turns to face me. “I’m not saying never. I’m not even saying later. I’m saying we let it happen when it’s right, Ethan.”
Right? It feels pretty fucking right to me.
I exhale slowly, pretending not to be disappointed, and smile. “Fine. Holding thought. We’ll do it your way.” As if I have a choice here.
Her face lights up. “I’m going to love watching you on stage tonight, knowing it’s going to happen, and thinking about after.” After is said on a husky caress that rubs my cock like a hand job.
I go in for a fast kiss. “I’m going to love looking at you standing stage left and thinking what I’m going to do with you after.”
She sucks in a quick breath and wets her lips, and it’s pure agony.
I pause with my hand still on the door for another second to gaze at her. “No changing your mind,” I order.
Her brows shoot up. “No changing your mind,” she answers, flirty.
Her smile reassures me we’re on the same page, moving the same direction. “No chance of that.” I know that there isn’t. I’ve wanted this too long to stop it after having kissed her. Fuck, my self-control was on life support even before Avery tipped her hand that she feels the same way about me.
As she struts before me into the darkened recesses of the club, I rake back my hair. That single word—talk—slingshot’s back to hit me like a brick. I hope it’s not about defining us and the ground rules. Girls love to define things. Well, with me they do, and I’m not sure why because it doesn’t seem to be the case for any of the guys I know.
Eric says it’s because I wear my heart on my sleeve and that’s like a kick-me incentive. According to my brother, Mr. Fuck’em And Leave’em since Tara walked out on him, the good guy never wins or gets what he wants. That I’d do better if I were more of an asshole, the way he is.
I shutdown that thought and the natural trajectory of unpleasant memories it leads to. The no-go zone rule might’ve always worked with my brother but the hands off, she’s mine status hasn’t.
I wrestle Tara from my mind and my tangled history with Eric over my high school girlfriend. And I wonder why I’m thinking of that now that I’ve decided it’s pointless to pass on trying to get things going with Avery.
There’s no fucking way I’d let my brother do that to me again, but history has proven half of that resolve has to come from the girl.
And let’s face facts here.
I’m a badass drummer.
I’m not badass in relationships.
“Listen, Ethan, I think we should keep us as—” is a conversation starter I’ve heard more than my fair share. It usually ends with: “friends with benefits;” “no-strings sex;” “a one-time thing;” “I really like you but I’m not in the right place for anything;” or the dreaded “you’re wonderful but I’m hung up on my ex.”
I’ve been unlucky in every relationship since Eric screwed me over with Tara. And while all sex is good sex for guys—even with girls not up for anything more than a screw—I’ve always been a relationship kind of man.
The guy who wants the girl there in the morning.
The guy who wants what his parents have.
My gaze focuses in the dim, packed club, and I find Avery staring up at me, a confused crinkle to her brow.
“Is something wrong?” she asks.
I smile quickly and shake my head. “Sorry. I like looking at you. Sometimes it makes me forget what I’m doing.”
She places a kiss on my cheek before we maneuver through the club, hunting for somewhere to sit.
Eric’s right.
I do wear my heart on my sleeve.
I haven’t even fucked Avery yet, and my thoughts are already racing with how this relationship might go wrong.