chaotic chords
that match the beat of my heart
Avery
Last night when Link pulled me out the front door of the Mayson home, he reached around to my ass and slid my cell out of my back pocket. After he sort-of-asked, sort-of-told me to unlock my phone, he added his number and texted himself.
He informed me he had to leave so he didn’t cause a brawl at a kids’ birthday party, because in his words, “this shit is gonna spread fast and if Nico has a problem with his best friend pursuing his babysitter, it’ll go down.”
Then he kissed me to Cinderella’s castle and back while standing in the front yard as the sounds of kids screaming while beating the shit out of a unicorn piñata floated from around the house.
When I went back to the party, I only spoke to humans under the age of six. I absolutely did not look at Asher Mayson because I had a feeling he was blabbing to Nico. And why wouldn’t he? He’s fired every babysitter he’s ever come into contact with and I bet they didn’t even make out with anyone in the powder room at his kids’ birthday parties.
I’m so fucked.
After I escaped as quick as I could without being rude, I got a text from Link. This is how it went:
Link – Come to The Knot tomorrow. 9am.
Me – I have class at 9.
Link – Skip it. I have something for you. Something I think you’ll like.
Me – I like good grades and my professor is a hardass. She even calculates attendance into the final. She won’t care if I’m on my deathbed or if my hamster has diarrhea. She’s that much of a hardass.
Link – Wait. You have a hamster?
Me – No. It was just an example of what a bitch she is.
Link – That’s a relief. Your grade will be fine. I’m working tonight, but I want to see you.
I don’t say anything because I really want to see him, too, but I really need a decent grade in this class and it’s hard enough as it is. Going to Vandy is my ticket to living in Nashville and if I screw my grades, my parents will whisk me home faster than a Carpino can plan a family meal.
Link – I’ll see you in the morning?
All I can think about are his blue eyes, his tattoos teasing me from underneath his clothes, his biceps, his hands, lips…
Link – Avery. Say yes.
Oh, what the hell. I’ve broken every other rule this week, I might as well go for it.
Me – Fine.
Link – Fuck. Will it freak you out if I say I can’t wait to get my lips on you again? And not just your mouth.
Holy crap. If he means freak out as in making my panties wet and my nipples hard, then, yes, he’d be correct.
Me – Yes. I think it might.
Link – Then never mind. I’ll see you at 9.
And that was it.
Needless to say, I couldn’t focus on homework or sleep last night, so I did what I always do. I pulled out my notebook and poured my heart out into a jumble of words that made no sense until I started rearranging them. I shuffled words until three in the morning before finally getting some sleep and had to stop for a huge coffee before driving across town.
I turn into the parking lot of The Knot for the second time in my life, only this time it doesn’t look as forbidding as it did in the deep of night. Now, in the bright morning’s rays, it looks old, and, if it weren’t for the signage and cool as shit artwork featuring a Celtic knot on the side, one might think it’s abandoned.
Stopping for coffee has made me late. I still can’t believe I’m skipping my child psych class because I’m such a rule follower. The thought of getting in trouble is as disturbing as the Real Housewives of anywhere missing a Botox treatment.
Those women love their Botox.
But here I am, skipping the class with the meanest professor I’ve ever had because Link—the man who kissed me crazy in my employer’s powder room—told me he wanted to see me. Now that I’m here without the fuzzy feelings he gave me while his lips and hands were on me, I’m second guessing my decision.
I might be new to the bar scene, but I know bars aren’t packed this time of day and doubt they’re even open for business. My guess is I’ll be alone with Link.
I’m doing everything my mother warned me not to do.
I almost spill my coffee when my phone rings. Looking down at the screen, I see it’s my cousin, Sophia, and almost don’t answer. But I know Sophia—she’ll keep calling until I pick up.
“Hey. What’s up? I’m on my way into class,” I lie.
“I’ll be quick,” she says, making me roll my eyes. No one in my family is quick when it comes to conversation, especially Sophia. “Some friends and I hoodwinked our husbands into a girls’ trip. Majority ruled—we’re coming to Nashville!”
I finally look away from the The Knot to concentrate on my phone call. “You’re coming? When?”
Isabella is in the background babbling away and I can tell Sophia is shifting the phone as she wrangles her toddler. “Not soon enough. I’m looking into concert tickets and who’s playing at the Ryman so we can pick a date. That’s why I’m calling. Do you have any ins to get us good tickets or know what bars we should hit for live music?”
The irony is not lost on me that I’m sitting in front of a kickass bar that just the other night played my music that no one in my family knows I’m writing. Turning off the ignition to the Honda Civic my parents gave me the day I turned sixteen, I can’t keep the frown out of my voice as I throw my keys into my purse and do my best to lie, even though I’m a shit liar. “Like I can get into bars yet. And I might live in Nashville but I spend all my time on campus or babysitting. What makes you think I have an in for anything in this city. I haven’t even been to the Ryman yet.”
Sophia huffs. “You’re the only person I know in Nashville. It was worth a try.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I toss back just as something catches my eye. The heavy slab of steel to The Knot opens, but it’s nothing compared to seeing Link standing in the doorway with his eyes on me. “I don’t have any ins. Hell, I don’t even have any outs. I do want to see you when you come. I miss everyone.”
“Ah,” her voice softens. “I miss you, too. I’ll let you know when we get a date set. I’ll get you a ticket to the Ryman if we can land them. My treat. I know you love your music.”
“I do love music,” I utter as I watch Link lift one of his tattoo-muscled arms to crook a finger at me, making me shiver. Like an insect drawn to a light, I pull my purse up my shoulder, grab my coffee, and without taking my eyes off him, I climb out of my car. “I’d love that.”
“I’ll see you at Thanksgiving, right? When we were at dinner with your parents the other night, it was all your mom could talk about—having all her kids in one place again.”
I start toward Link and Sophia is my only connection to reality as I move to a man I hardly know. I should stop and rethink this. I should promise Sophia I’ll see her at Thanksgiving, head back to Vandy to sneak into the back of the small lecture hall so Dr. Eubanks doesn’t yell at me for missing her class. I should spend the drive back catching up with my cousin on all Carpino news and I absolutely should not be obsessed with a man who’s probably too old for me. My being here could get us both in trouble with Nico Mayson.
But I don’t stop until I come toe-to-toe with the beast of a man whose eyes soften every edge on him.
Link’s lips curve up on one side as his eyes move down my body before making their way back up to catch mine. My stomach drops, my heart clenches, and my head spins just a little from being so close to him again.
Oh hell—now my panties are wet.
I ignore all talk of Thanksgiving and decide to throw caution to the wind. “I’ve gotta go, Soph. I’m meeting someone.”
I hear nothing for a split second before her voice turns nosy when she bites, “I thought you were heading into class?”
I feel my eyes go big and Link doesn’t say a word, but his free hand does drop to my hip in a possessive grip.
“I mean, I am on my way to class but I’m also meeting someone first. You know, on the way.” I’m not sure it’s humanly possible to concentrate on both Nosy-Sophia and Touchy-Feely-Link at the same time.
“Is it a guy? Did you meet someone?” Her voice raises an octave. “You have to tell me!”
Link must have heard—which doesn’t surprise me as loud as Sophia yelled across the phone—because his smirk turns into a grin.
“Gotta go,” I mumble, feeling his big hand on my hip and liking it there just fine. But I’d like it more without my cousin jabbering on in my ear.
“No, don’t hang up. You have to tell me!” she demands.
“Walking into class. Love you and can’t wait to see you. Tell everyone hi for me and give them hugs. Especially the kids. I miss them. Tell them we’ll watch the Peanuts Thanksgiving together—the Mayflower one. It’s the best and totally underrated.”
“Screw Charlie Brown. Tell me about this guy—”
“Love you—bye.” I quickly press end, tossing my phone into my bag, but not before silencing it. She’ll never give up.
“Hey.” His deep voice comes at me low and smooth, making my insides gooey. “Charlie Brown was on the Mayflower?”
I take a sip of my coffee to catch my breath before answering. “See? No one knows about the Peanuts gang coming over on the Mayflower. They even throw up over the side from motion sickness and everything. It’s the best one.”
He shakes his head but doesn’t move or let go of me.
I tip my head back to get a good look at him through my aviators. “Aren’t you going to card me?”
He smiles. “And knowingly let someone underage into my place?”
I try to be cool but of course it comes off awkward and weird. “You’d rather pretend? Like, role play?”
He narrows his eyes. “I don’t role play anything. I am who I am and I don’t mind pushing the boundaries. Besides, the bar’s closed.”
“Does that mean there are no added perks to sharing that moment with you in the bathroom? I thought you’d at least sneak me in the backdoor if there was a band I want to hear.”
He narrows his eyes but doesn’t refute me. “You’re a little firecracker, aren’t you?”
I shake my head. “I’m really not. Sneaking into The Knot was my first attempt at breaking the law and it made me crazy nervous. I still can’t believe I’m skipping class.”
He smirks and lets go of me, holding the heavy door open while gesturing for me to enter. I dip under his arm and his hand moves to the small of my back as I look around the vast space. It’s a different world compared to the other night.
The sun is peeking through the dirty windows that are situated close to the ceiling and the big industrial lights are on. The only noise is coming from a small radio sitting on the bar playing hair band music from the eighties and a group of voices laughing and bantering.
“That’s my cleaning crew,” Link dips his head and speaks low. “They’re done and on their way out.”
The group of six men and women loaded with cleaning supplies are making their way toward the door we just came through.
“You want us to lock up?” one of them asks Link.
Link shakes his head. “Nah, we’re good.”
Leaving a smell of disinfectant mixed with lemons and bleach in their wake, one of them grabs the radio on the bar and they’re gone in a flash. I walk straight to a high table surrounded by barstools and flop my bag down onto the clean surface.
It’s quiet, making my every minute move squeak like a roar. When I finally turn, I find Link standing a few feet from me with his arms crossed. He’s wearing another t-shirt this morning—this one dark gray with a mix of light and dark blues that remind me of his eyes—professing his love for the Tennessee Titans.
He doesn’t utter a word, yet continues to survey me in a way that forces me to swallow hard over the lump in my throat. I take another swig of my coffee, trying to cover my escalating nerves and state what I’ve thought since last night, “Link is a strange name.”
Ignoring me, he doesn’t move a muscle when he asks, “How old are you?”
I bite my lip as I heft my ass onto a barstool. “I’m not twenty-two.”
His lips twitch on one side. “I figured that out the other night.”
I cross my legs and nervously bounce the top one, letting my dollar flip-flop from Old Navy slap against my foot. “Does it matter?”
As if my cheapie plastic shoe was whispering secrets to him, his eyes drop to my bottom half, raking over my bare legs, all the way down to my toenails painted the color Vampire Night.
He exhales a big breath when his eyes meet mine again. “Avery, I know you’re underage, but I need to make sure you’re not underage, if you know what I mean. Nico said you’re a junior at Vandy. I want to make sure you’re not a child prodigy.”
I try to bite back my grin, because I’m anything but. “I barely got into Vandy. I can assure you, Link, I’m average to the core.”
He takes a step, eating up half the space between us, and loses the smirk. “You’re anything but average.”
Raising a brow, I retort, “My SAT scores and GPA would argue that.”
Taking the last step there is to take, his fingers find the outside of my thigh and brush lightly against my skin. He steals my coffee cup and takes a big drink before his voice dips. “Your SAT scores and GPA don’t take into account lyrics and notes that, when put together, can change lives.”
My heart skips a beat and I whisper, “No. They don’t care about stuff like that.”
He sets my coffee down next to us and leans in so his nose brushes mine. “How old are you?”
My mouth goes dry, feeling his words wisp across my lips. “I just turned twenty.”
He gives me a small smile and drawls, “Thank fuck.”
I swallow hard again. “Is Link your real name?”
His fingertips tease the skin at the hem of my short-shorts. “No.”
I pick up my coffee and take another drink. “Hardly anyone knows I write music. Not even my family because I was afraid my parents would put the kibosh on me attending Vanderbilt if they knew why I really wanted to be in Nashville. You’re practically a stranger to me and I told you about my song writing. I think you can trust me with your name.”
He swipes my coffee again and I frown, making his lush lips smile around the rim of the plastic lid.
Lucky lid.
He sets the cup down and sighs. “Lincoln.”
My frown deepens and I repeat, “Lincoln?”
“Yeah, which is why everyone calls me Link. My parents think they’re more important than they are and cursed me with a stick-up-the-ass name I hate.”
All of a sudden, I can’t help but smile. “You mean, like, Abraham Lincoln?”
His brow furrows.
“Like, Honest Abe? That Lincoln?” I go on and grin big.
His touch on me becomes firm, his big hand gripping my thigh, squeezing. “You are a firecracker.”
“Well, you keep stealing my coffee.”
“It’s not sweet enough,” he states.
“Too much sugar isn’t good for you.”
“That’s what my mother always said and I’ve pretty much done the opposite of anything my mother ever told me,” he murmurs and dips his head to the side of mine. His hand cups my face and I let out a little gasp when his tongue darts out to flick the studs running up the side of my ear. “Do you know what I can’t stop thinking about?”
“Defying your mother?” I stupidly ask since I have no earthly idea what else it could be.
His fingers dip into my hair and he tips my head as his lips land on my neck. “Your barbell.”
I bring my hand up to his, needing to hang on and fist his shoulder with my other one. My voice is breathy when I offer, “That’s strange. Not as strange as your name, but still strange.”
He smiles against my skin before he pulls back where I get his eyes. “Why did you come today?”
Like whiplash, I’m thrown for a loop. “You asked me to.”
He shakes his head. “No. I mean, you’re a twenty-year-old college student who doesn’t even know my last name. Why did you trust me enough to meet me in a deserted bar when you don’t know me?”
“Nico knows you,” I refute, trying to defend the fact I came to meet a strange man. “I trust Nico, so I assume you aren’t an ax-murderer. And you know all the Maysons. But you asking me this is making me wonder if I should run for the door.”
He shakes his head. “You let me lock you in a bathroom and put my lips on you before you knew most of that. Tell me, little one, why are you here with me now?”
As I look into his eyes—right now the color of a calm summer day at the lake—I do my best to even my breathing. I can barely hear my own voice when I say, “It was experiencing my song with you.”
Link moves and I finally get his mouth again, light on mine right before his tongue sneaks out to taste the seam of my lips. I open my mouth for more but he pulls back, leaving me hanging, and agrees, “Yeah. It was the song.” He grabs my hand and pulls me off the barstool. “Come here.”
His head turns and looks down to me as he leads me across the empty mass, heading to the stage. Pulling me around, we go to the piano bench and I sit in the middle, him following me down as he straddles it, facing my side.
I allow my fingers to brush the ivories, but he grabs my attention by bringing an iPad to life that’s propped on the music stand.
“What’s this?” I ask, watching him type in a password right before a video appears on the screen.
“The audio is shit cause it’s from my surveillance cameras. After I searched my feeds for the bouncer who let you in, I couldn’t help myself—I needed to see you again—and downloaded this. After you told me it was the first time your music had been played for an audience, I figured you might want to see it, too.”
He pushes play on the video. He was right, the audio is pretty much shit and the video is dim, but I can still see it’s zoomed in to the side of the room. All I see are Link and myself close to the spot on the wall where I was doing my best to be invisible. The memory of him arguing with me and trying to bounce me for the second time that night floods my heart. I watch myself on the screen—much smaller than his imposing figure—begging him for just a few more minutes so I could witness my dream come alive.
Sitting here at the same piano where my music was played for the first time, I watch Link wrap his big arm around me as I clung to him. This time I see what I didn’t see that night. That night, I stared off into the crowd to experience their reaction to my words, but today, all I see is him. The way he stared at me, held me, and looked like his experience was the same as mine, yet at the same time, strangely different.
Reality grips me as his hand comes around my waist and pulls my side into his chest, my hip pressing into his bulging cock through the rough denim of his jeans. I look up at him and his hand comes to my face once again, but this time his touch is anything but gentle. He pulls my face up to his and his mouth crushes mine.
I don’t get to watch the rest of our sweet video. His free hand grips my leg and pulls it up and over his lap. He never lets go of my mouth as he yanks my legs over his heavy thighs so I’m straddling him—his crotch pressed to mine. My flip-flops hit the floor with two light, successive thump-thumps as his hand dips between us and he yanks my tee up just enough to fondle the barbell at my belly button.
Holy shit. I only had that piercing done because I thought it would be cute, but Link’s touch makes me instantly warm, causing my thighs to constrict around his waist.
He groans into my mouth as the sad chorus of my song blankets us.
“Fuck, Avery.” He tears his mouth away from mine and his gaze sears into me. “You’ve fuckin’ worked your way in and I can’t shake it. Can’t get you outta my head. No one’s gotten my dick this hard this fast. Ever.”
“Me too.” I bring my hands up to his face, smooth from having just shaved, and bite my lip. “I mean, I obviously don’t have a dick. But yes, the rest, I agree with.”
Exhaling a huff of air through his smirk, he shakes his head before he moves fast. His arm comes around my back and he stands, picking me up and putting me down just as fast with my back to the piano bench. My bare feet fall to the floor on either side and he yanks my t-shirt up and my bra down on one side. I finally get his mouth back, but this time on my erect, sensitive nipple as his hand cups me between my legs.
“You wet for me, baby?” he murmurs against my breast, rubbing my pussy over my shorts.
My arms fall to my sides searching for something to hold onto. I clutch the bench under me in one hand as the keys on the piano unceremoniously clang from my grip with the other. The racket of notes sound horrid, yet at the same time, I’ll never forget them as he slips a finger inside my shorts and pushes my panties to the side to touch me.
I bang the keys again as I arch my back, hoping to God I can remember these unorganized chords that match the beat of my heart so I can work it into a song just for us.
“Link,” I breathe and beg at the same time.
He nips at my breast and presses two fingers inside me. “So much better than I imagined. And I’ve done nothing but imagine this since the moment I laid eyes on you.”
He pumps me with his fingers as his thumb circles my clit. I squeeze my eyes shut and moan, pressing with the balls of my feet that barely touch the floor so I can arch to get more of his touch.
“I want every inch of you, Avery. Every fucking inch.”
“Yes,” I moan and beg. “Please, Link.”
“Damn, my name on your lips as I claim your pussy? That might be your sweetest song yet, baby.”
I can’t respond or agree. That sensation deep in my belly takes over, but unlike any other time I’ve created it myself or when I’d been with my one long-time boyfriend, it’s deeper, more intense, and all-encompassing.
It could ruin me.
As I grip the bench and clang the keys, my orgasm rips through me. Up my spine, down to my toes, and to the ends of every strand of hair hanging from the piano bench.
That’s when I realize it.
He could ruin me.
“Fuck,” he groans as I hear my whimpers sing around us.
He barely slows his fingers, wringing every ounce of my orgasm here on the hard piano bench. When he finally thinks I’ve had enough, I lose his hand from between my legs and feel his arms come around my sated body. Then I’m up, my legs wrapping around his waist as he sits, straddling the bench, holding me to him. I bury my face in his neck and go limp all over.
With one arm angled up my body, his other slinks to my ass where he wraps a hand underneath me and cups everything.
“Every inch of you, baby,” he reiterates, giving me a squeeze. “This is just the beginning.”
The beginning?
Holy hotness and tattoos.