All night I recall how fantastic Lexi looked in that silky top, the fabric so sheer it wrapped her chest like a second skin. Her nipples—hard and begging to be sucked. Those tiny black shorts that show off her curves. Legs that were made for straddling hips—for spreading wide and sitting on my dick.
Fuck me.
With my long limbs scrunched into this too tiny bunk I can’t even jack off properly. I shower instead, fantasizing about those tiny red panties on her sexy little body. Her breathy moans when I make her come. Okay, so I make that part up because I don’t know how she sounds when she falls apart, but it’s my daydream so I imagine that’s how she comes.
It’s a long night.
I don’t sleep much, and as daylight pokes through a crack in the darkening shades I pull on a pair of worn jeans and start up the coffee maker. I’ll squeeze in a nap if needed, but laying around isn’t gaining me any rest. Austin, Iz, and Sean are dead to the world as I settle into the bench seat with a mug to watch the miles pass by.
This is the part of the job I love, city to city, each day a new crowd, new fans, new surroundings. It feeds the wanderlust that flows through my blood, the need to keep moving, to not become stuck or complacent. While those desires haven’t gone away, they’ve changed this tour. They’ve changed because of the blonde sleeping down the hall.
I love women. And maybe my love for women, in the plural sense, only proves I’m a little fucked up in the head. But there’s no greater joy in my life than to bring a woman pleasure. To get completely lost in the satisfaction that two, or three, partners can bring each other. It’s lust without shame. It’s need and want. It’s temporary love gratification.
That hasn’t changed, but for the first time in my life I’m not anticipating the horde of women I’ll meet in the next city. I’m only consumed by one woman.
I can’t even get it up without picturing her face. And I never picture faces, because my attraction hasn’t ever been based on one individual. It’s always been a feeling, a body, a basic human connection. Desire. Longing. And lots of orgasms. Having Lexi at the center of my thoughts is confusing. I want her, but why? Is it because I can’t have her? I don’t like being told no, and I always get my way. Until her.
A clank of dish on dish takes me by surprise. I lift my chin.
“Sorry.” She gives a little smile, steadying her mug as she drags it from the cupboard and fills it with coffee. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your . . . What exactly are you doing?”
Thinking about you.
“We should write a song together,” I say instead.
She leans her back against the counter and forms a little O with her mouth to blow on her drink. She takes a sip and pierces me with those eyes that seem to know so much more than someone like her should. “Oh, yeah? And call it Sexy Lexi?” She smiles and it illuminates her face. God damn, she’s beautiful.
I shake my head and smile back. “You remember that. God, I’m sorry.”
“I remember everything.”
Her words hang between us and I wonder exactly what she’s remembering now. “That doesn’t surprise me. So, how about we write a song?”
“Now?”
“Sure. I mean, it’s not like I’ve got much going on for the next . . .” I pull out my cell and pretend to scroll through my schedule. “Three to four hours.”
“Troubles of life on the road for a rock star.” She chuckles and rolls her eyes. “Fine. Let’s write a song.”
I throw my fist in the air. “Yes! I knew I’d wear you down.”
“That’s your plan, isn’t it? Attach yourself like a tick and never let go?” She continues to sip her drink.
I stand and stretch my arms over my head, working out the kinks in my back. Okay, fine. I stretch and flex because I’m not wearing a shirt and I want Lexi to ogle the full view. My lips kick up when she does just that. “No. Ticks are gross. I am obviously better looking than a bug, and bonus—I won’t give you Lyme disease.”
“I’ll add it to your list of redeeming qualities. Okay. On task.” She throws back the rest of her coffee and rinses out the mug before strutting down the hall. “Let’s write this song so I can go back to my plans.”
Like a little puppy, I follow her back to her room. “Writing your own song?”
She laughs, dropping onto the made bed. “Yeah, kinda.”
“Okay, how do you want to do this?” I stand in the doorway, uncertain how to move forward. I’ve watched other people write a song. I’ve had some creative input with the melodies to a few of ours. But write one? I’ve never done it. I don’t dare mention that now, since Lexi seems to be on board with the activity. I just want to . . . be close to her. God, that sounds so lame.
She looks at me as though I’ve grown horns and I wonder if she can read my mind. “This is your idea. You take the lead.” She shrugs and picks up her guitar, laying it over her crisscrossed legs while balancing the notebook on one knee.
All I’m focused on is the fact she voluntarily offered for me to lead. Not that I haven’t coerced her into the song writing, but Lexi doesn’t give up control to anyone. This has to be a good sign. “It makes me more excited than it should when you say shit like that.” I step into the room and shut the door, leaning my back against the wall since she didn’t invite me to sit on the bed. I pull out my cell to make notes on an app because if I mention the fact I don’t own a notebook she’ll probably send me out of the room. “Let’s start with lyrics, yeah? How about we try our luck at a duet? A rock ballad. You write one point of view, and I write the other. Then we can work on the chorus together.”
She chews on the end of her pen and then scribbles something on her notepad. “Okay, what’s the theme?” Her lashes blink and she looks up from under them.
“Unrequited love,” I say and clear my throat. “Or something else. That’s just an idea.”
“No. Let’s go with it.” She studies her notepad and flips her lip ring twice. “So, who’s taking on that position? Me or you?”
The question hangs suspended between us and I tap my fingers against my knee just to break the silence. This is it. My moment to be honest. To face my fears and feelings head on. Instead, I go with a joke that earns me a smile. “You, of course. I mean, we’ve already established I’m more attractive than a bug.”
“Fine.” She meets my stare just to roll her eyes and nods at my phone, her mouth pinching together with distaste. “Okay, get to work.”
And I do. Or rather, I attempt it.
I fumble through my thoughts, trying not to focus on the beauty before me. Wildly at work, she’s captivating to watch. Her fingers rub along the ink as it dries, and her pen dashes quickly over the paper. She doesn’t stop, only rearranges her words into perfect little patterns on what was a blank space only moments ago. Her movements gradually slow and I glance down at the blinking cursor on my notepad app. Shit. I need to write something.
I tap vigorously against the screen until Lexi clears her throat.
“You about ready?”
“Yep.” I keep tapping, mentally thanking whoever invented the feature that predicts which word I’m trying to spell. “Done!” I shout and glance up to find an amused expression playing on her face.
“You want to go first?” She raises her brow and I shake my head.
“Nah, you go. I want to hear all about how you pine for me.” I wink, and her laughter, light and an octave too high, leaves her mouth in a rush. I tilt my head to consider what must be nerves. “You okay, Lex?”
“Fine. Okay. Here goes . . .”
She chews her lip and then flips the ring once before belting out her song.
“Heavy breaths and twisted intent
I’d never chance someone like you
Your love comes at a cost, one I can’t afford
But your lips, they make me want more
All sense out the door, my body is yours
If only you’d play me, play me some more
“I don’t know, something like that. Your turn.” She fiddles with her pen across the lyrics and the ring at her lip flips back and forth with the tip of her tongue. Fuck me. “So, what do you got?” She snaps the notebook closed and I meet her expectant gaze.
“Well . . . Um . . . Shit. Don’t laugh, okay?”
Her mouth moves to smile and she rolls her eyes. “With you, I can’t seem to keep my promises.”
Shit. Did that mean—? I don’t have time to analyze her words because she coughs and bugs her eyes, motioning her finger in circles for me to get on with it. Here goes nothing.
“She’s got a rack like Katy Perry
Legs that make ya’ Tootsie Roll
I’d always have her number
If just to rock and roll
Those red lips hold the devil’s kiss
And I think I wanna burn . . .
“I mean, it’s no Shakespeare, and still rough and all . . .”
Her laughter, loud and tickled with joy interrupts, “Oh, my God. Tell me you’re fucking with me.”
I twist my mouth in mock indignation. “It’s got potential. I think maybe if you take all the letters and rearrange them into new words.” My chuckles join with her amusement and I step forward, finding a seat at the edge of her bed.
“Dude, Trent. I wanna lie to you, but that was really bad. Horrible, really.”
“I know!” I shake my head. “But it was my first try!”
“What, at collaborating?”
“No. Writing lyrics.”
“What?” Her mouth falls open with shock. “Wait, who writes all your songs?”
“Mostly, our old drummer, Derek. It’s what he does for a living now. Sometimes other stuff the label finds us.”
“That surprises me.”
“What? That I can’t write for shit?”
“No. It’s just . . . when you’re onstage . . . you make the words your own. They seem so personal. It surprises me you didn’t write them.”
“Wait. I never see you backstage. When did you see me play?”
Her gaze darts away and I can’t help but let loose another chuckle.
“Sneaky little thing. And hell must be freezing over, because if I’m not mistaken, I just heard Lexi Marx give a compliment. To me?” I raise my brow.
“Chalk it up next to being prettier than a bug.”
“Don’t forget the lack of Lyme disease!”
“Never.” She grins, crossing her heart with one pointed finger, and it’s all I can do to stay still right now. To not crawl over her body until she lays back against the mattress. To dip my chin and feel those lips I’ve been dreaming of for so long. To taste her.
The motor of the bus is a slight rumble over an otherwise smooth ride but our breaths are shallow. Bated. Charging the air with a current that’s full of everything I’ve ever felt for her. Lust. Attraction. Admiration. Desire. Want. All the reasons—good ones, too—why this is a bad idea fade to the furthest corners of my conscience as I lean forward at a deliberate pace so I don’t scare her. Just to touch her. To kiss her. Once.
My cheek makes the first contact, brushing against hers, and I dip my chin as her face lifts and our mouths connect in a rush. A coming home as if they knew where to meet. Our lips are unhurried, languid, and the kiss is everything I thought it’d be. When Lexi tries to pull away I can’t help but stop her, my hand cradling the back of her neck. I press closer, my lips moving against hers and she opens for me. I lick inside her mouth and moan.
The ringing of her phone interrupts the magic of our moment, and Lexi’s hands press against my chest. “Stop. Trent, stop.” She pulls away and this time I let her.
She doesn’t want this. She doesn’t want me. It’s what I already knew, but it’s hurtful all the same.
“Sorry. I . . . Um . . .” I climb off the bed, open her door, and turn back just enough to catch her greet her mom with a disappointed hello. I don’t try to meet her gaze. I don’t even know if she watches me slink from her room. Like a big fucking coward, because that kiss . . . Her lips . . . Fuck, I sound like a pussy, but that’s all it took to seal what I already knew. I’ve got the hots for Lexi Marx. I’ve got it bad. I’m so screwed it’s not fucking funny.