“I’M JUST SAYING we should look at the evidence,” Rowan says as I toss clothes from my suitcase in a tornado of not-skirts and not-dresses. There’s a festival’s worth of rock stars outside—including one in particular who seems dead set on not noticing how hot I still am—and I’m stuck on the bus with a consignment shop wardrobe and a fashion-challenged best friend.
“I’m never going to forgive you,” I complain, cursing myself for letting her pack for me.
Ignoring me as if I said nothing at all, she begins counting on her fingers. “One, Joel got you these tickets.”
“I mean, what the hell is this?” I hold up an oversized T-shirt that looks like it could swallow me whole. “Do I look like I weigh five hundred pounds?”
“Two, he fixed your door.”
“And this!” I present a pair of ridiculously long shorts. “Even if I was a forty-year-old mother of five, I still wouldn’t be caught dead in these.”
“Three, he spent all day following you around.”
“I should just go to this party naked,” I grumble.
“Four, he ignored every other girl who tried to get his attention—”
“ROWAN,” I interrupt, huffing and turning on my haunches to scowl at her, “do you know what all that evidence says? He wants to be friends.”
Not even two hours ago, I was lying on my back beside him, and instead of crawling over top of me or even just kissing me like he wouldn’t have been able to resist doing a few weeks ago, he insisted on talking about dancing. And drawing. And anything except why he’s no longer interested in me, which, as far as I’m concerned, is the only thing that really needs to be talked about.
Rowan lifts her eyebrow at me. “Do you remember when I thought Adam just wanted to be friends, and you told me I was an idiot?”
I turn my attention back to the suitcase, taking my frustration out on clothes that get thrown across the room.
“I hate to tell you this,” she continues, “but you’re an idiot.”
“He hasn’t even tried to kiss me at all this week,” I growl, standing up and dumping the suitcase on the bed. An avalanche of clothes tumbles from the mountain I create, none of them the kind I’m looking for. “We hang out, we have fun. He says he cares about me, but all he ever wants to do is talk. He doesn’t even want to have sex with me anymore!”
I’m so frustrated by what happened at the tree, I could scream, but I’m trying to put a cap on my crazy. I’m not going to try to make him jealous. I’m not going to beg. If he wants to be friends, I’ll be his friend.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t look hot doing it. He should be fully aware of what he’s missing.
“Maybe he wants more than sex,” Rowan counters, and I give her a look that says, Are you freaking kidding me?
“Dee, I live with Joel, okay? I’m his friend, and trust me, he’d never carry my stuff around for me all day or let me drink the last of his water.”
“It’s different when you go from being fuck-friends to just-friends,” I reason. Yes, Joel was sweet today. No, it doesn’t mean anything. “Maybe he thinks he has to do those things.” Or maybe he still feels like he owes me for what happened with Cody. One day, maybe he’ll consider us even and then we’ll be nothing at all.
Rowan sighs and flops flat on her back on the black-satin bed. I kick her foot and say, “I need scissors.”
“For what?”
“To murder you for convincing me to take your packing advice.” When she glares at me, I roll my eyes and say, “I need to go all fairy-godmother on one of these T-shirts.”
After she finds me a pair from downstairs, I spread one of my new band shirts flat on the bed and cut one of the sleeves off to make the shirt one-shouldered. Then I cut the other sleeve into a thin strap and tie the top of it into a cute knot. I continue cutting slits all the way down that side of the shirt, and then I cut a straight line through them and tie the ends of fabric together into more cute knots. With knots and peek-a-boo slits laddering the side of the shirt, I carefully pull the now fitted top over my head and ask Rowan how I look.
Even though she’s shaking her head, a smile sneaks onto her face. “You look like a freaking rock star.”
Outside, the air is thick with unshed rain, and in the open lot next to the buses, there are people everywhere, laughing and drinking and chasing each other with squirt guns. Singers and guitarists and drummers. Roadies and festival volunteers and girls. Sooo many girls.
Shadows intrude on the massive bonfire from all sides, and in the darkness, cigarette cherries twinkle like fireflies. Girls with dyed hair and piercings are prancing around with sparklers or draping themselves over guys who spent the day performing onstage. When a topless girl with big fake boobs skips up to us, I’m too busy staring at her bouncing tits to notice she’s trying to hand me a sparkler. Rowan takes it instead, and the girl frolics away. Some guys are gawking, some are drooling, and yet others are barely glancing in her direction. Rowan and I are both staring after her with our mouths hanging open.
“Oh . . .” I say.
“My . . .” Rowan adds.
“God.”
We look at each other, mirroring wide-eyed, open-mouthed expressions.
“What the hell was that?” Rowan asks, and I shake my head.
“A sparkler fairy?”
She lets that sink in for a moment, and then we both burst out laughing.
“Oh my GOD,” she says mid-laugh, grabbing my shoulders with a look of absolute horror on her face. “My boyfriend is here somewhere!”
When we find Adam, he’s already unsteady on his feet, standing in a group of around a dozen people while warding off a pair of groupies with two sparklers crossed like a crucifix. When he spots Rowan, he shouts, “Peach! Did you bring the holy water?”
Joel, Shawn, and Mike are standing nearby laughing their asses off with a bunch of other guys, and the girls in front of Adam are pouting.
“Do you need something?” Rowan asks the girls, fully accustomed by now to putting groupie bitches in their place. She sidles next to Adam and gives them a look that could kill.
“Who the hell are you?” one of them asks.
“Are you deaf?” I taunt from behind them. “She’s Peach!”
“And who the hell are you?” the girl snarls, turning her scowl on me.
Rowan smiles my way and says, “She’s Sparkler Fairy’s understudy!”
I crack a wide smile and take a flourished bow, and the girls huff and walk away with confused looks on their sour faces.
“Sparkler Fairy?” Joel asks. His shirt is off, flaunting toned muscles shadowed under golden skin, and a pair of cargo shorts is slung low on his hips, barely held up by a mesh belt. My tongue curls against the back of my teeth, missing the cold bite of his nipple ring.
“Oh, you know the one,” I say, snapping myself from my ogling and holding my hand up a little higher than my head. “About this tall. Hasn’t eaten a cheeseburger in her entire life. Boobs out to here.” I hold my palms a foot away from my chest, and Joel laughs while Shawn grins into his red Solo cup. His arm is slung around a cute brunette—this one with her top on, thank God—and I’m surprised Joel hasn’t picked up some arm candy of his own.
As if on cue, he moves to my side and wraps his arm around my waist. “You must mean Izzy.”
I lift an eyebrow at him but don’t bother asking how he knows her name. There are some things I just do not want to know.
The guys introduce Rowan and me to the rest of the people in the circle, punctuating some of the names with inside jokes I’m not paying attention to—because I’m too busy trying not to notice Joel’s bare skin pressed against my side or the way his fingers are finding the side-slits in my shirt and teasing my goose-bumped skin.
“You should’ve done this to one of our shirts,” he whispers in my ear, his fingers sliding deep into the slits. If he wants to be nothing but friends, he’s doing a fucking terrible job, because my brain is flash firing with all sorts of not-just-friendly ideas.
“Why?” I manage to ask, my voice miraculously steady.
“Because I’m never going to hear the end of it.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my brow furrowing up at him.
He points his chin toward the other side of the circle, and I look across it just in time to see the lead singer of Cutting the Line join our group. Van Erickson claps hands and gives hugs to people he’s apparently friends with, including Adam, Mike, and Shawn, and his eyes travel around the circle. They land on me, they stick, and my brain sputters. Joel’s fingers tighten around my side.
“I like your shirt,” Van says, a confident smirk curling his wide lips. With messy black hair bleached at the ends, and barbells in his ears and eyebrow, he looks like he just walked off of the cover of a rock magazine.
I gaze down at my shirt, understanding what Joel meant. I’m wearing the name of Van’s band, and he’s definitely flirting with me. I’ve seen enough guys use that look and that voice to know what he’s doing. And Joel must know too because he squeezes me even tighter against his side, and that small gesture gives me a million more butterflies than seeing Van Erickson did.
“Thanks,” I say, unable to prevent the smile that consumes my whole face.
“Why didn’t you wear one of theirs?” Van asks, nodding toward Joel. It’s obvious he’s doing that thing guys do where they fuck with each other, so even though he’s Van freaking Erickson, I decide to pay Joel back for all the favors he did me this week.
“Oh, I didn’t want to cut one of theirs up,” I say, pinching the hem of my black Cutting the Line T-shirt and staring down at the design. “I’ve never heard of these guys. Are they any good?”
When I glance back up at Van, he’s staring at me like I just told him I was born with a split tongue. I maintain a straight, innocent face, but Joel doesn’t last more than a few seconds before he breaks into a guy-giggle that makes the corners of my mouth twitch.
“She’s kidding, man,” Joel says, and I break into a wide smile. “She knows who you are. She’s a big fan.”
To my relief, Van laughs too. “You had me going,” he tells me as he takes a beer from a girl he doesn’t bother to acknowledge. “What’s your name?”
“Dee,” I answer, and he walks across the circle to shake my hand.
“I’m Van.”
A million introductions and three beers later, I’m sitting on the grass between Joel’s spread legs listening to Van talk about the international tour his band has been on and how crazy the shows have been. Joel’s chin is cradled in the curve of my bare shoulder, his arms are coiled around my waist, and Rowan calling me an idiot is stuck on replay in my brain.
Friends don’t touch each other like Joel has been touching me. His fingers have been playing with the fringes of my cut-off shorts, exploiting the open slits in the side of my shirt, and brushing through my hair. It’s like he knows I haven’t gotten off in over a week and is dead-set on making me explode.
“Oh!” he suddenly says, breaking me from my internal countdown. “Dee actually asked me a question today you guys should weigh in on. She wanted to know what it feels like to be onstage at a show.”
A bunch of cliché answers get tossed out by random people in the circle—it’s like being high, like being in a dream, like being a hero—and then Van muses, “It’s like getting your dick sucked by a thousand chicks at once.”
A round of laughter sounds, and I roll my eyes.
“I don’t know,” Joel chides. “Dee can do this thing with her tongue that—”
I shut him up with an elbow to his stomach, which makes everyone laugh even harder.
“Damn,” Van says, sporting a shit-eating grin. “Now I’m curious. Dee, want to show me?”
“Sure,” I say, flashing him a bright smile as Joel tenses behind me. Van’s grin stretches even wider, but it falters when I wrap my fingers around Joel’s wrist and bring his hand to my mouth. I shift to the side so Joel can watch me as I lick my stiff tongue up the length of his index finger and suck the tip into my mouth. I draw it out slowly, part my lips, and roll the flat of my tongue in lush waves over his fingerprint. I finish him off by sucking the entire length of his finger deep into my mouth and lavishing it with my tongue as I slowly draw it back out, gently scraping my teeth over the pad of his finger before I finally release his wrist.
When I’m finished putting on my little show, Joel is staring at me like he wants to fuck me right there in front of everyone, and I smirk with satisfaction.
“Holy shit,” someone near us breathes, and Joel snaps out of his daze, shifting me off his lap and hauling me to my feet. A second later, his fingers are laced with mine and I’m being dragged toward the buses.
“Lucky bastard,” someone says, initiating a chorus of catcalls that get drowned out by the sounds of my blood rushing in my ears and my heart pounding in my chest.
We don’t even make it to the bus before Joel spins around and crushes his lips against mine. I wrap my arms around his neck, breathing him in like air I’ve desperately needed to breathe. His hands grab my ass and lift me off my feet, and I wrap my legs around him, clinging to every hard edge of his capable body as he carries me further into the dark.
My back flattens against some other band’s bus, and Joel breaks his lips from mine. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice rough with need.
Suffocating without him, I grab his jaw and bring his lips back to mine, moaning when his tongue slips back into my mouth and his hips grind against me. He fries every neuron in my brain, making my closed eyes roll back in my head. “Joel,” I gasp, tightening the circle of my legs around him, fitting him where I want him most.
His lips break from mine again when he pins his forehead to the bus behind me, the stubble on his jaw brushing against my cheek. “Dee, if you’re not ready for this . . . you need to tell me now. And you can’t be doing that fucking thing . . . with your tongue.” His hips twitch forward reflexively with the memory, and he groans when the hardness in his shorts grinds between my legs. His fingers tighten around the bottoms of my thighs, and his forehead is still resting on the bus when he says, “God, I’m such an asshole.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, combing my fingers over his buzzed hair while I wait for my heart to stop pounding out of my chest.
He turns his face into my neck and kisses the spot under my ear like he can’t keep his lips off me. “I wanted to get to know you.” His tongue slicks over my skin and makes me hold him tighter. “I just don’t think I can keep my hands off you anymore.”
“So don’t,” I say, tilting my head back to give him better access to my neck. He kisses a trail lower and exploits the spot above my collar bone. My back arches, and he returns the pressure. “I missed you,” I breathe.
Joel pulls away to study me. He searches my eyes and then my lips like he’s not sure where the words came from or if I’m the person who said them. I start to feel self-conscious—like I’ve said too much with three quiet little words—but then he kisses me again and makes all my worries disappear. He kisses me until I’m completely, utterly lost.
“We need to get to the bus,” he says, and I nip at his moving lips.
“Okay.”
He sets me on my feet, and the whole way to the bus, he keeps turning around to kiss me and touch me and devour me with half-lidded eyes. By the time we actually get there, my bra is unclasped, the button of his shorts is undone, and my lips are tingling from his unforgiving kisses. On the bus, we fall onto the bench seat, and Joel settles between my legs. I’m moaning against his mouth when his lips drop to my neck. The leather bench is sticking to every inch of my exposed skin, and his hand pushes under my shirt, and he’s so heavy—God he’s so heavy—and the air is too thin, and my lungs are too thick, and I can’t breathe, oh my God, I can’t breathe—I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe!
“Dee?” Joel asks, his voice muffled by the blood surging in my ears, threatening to make my vision go black. He yanks me into a sitting position, and I bend over while sucking in useless breaths that go straight to my head instead of my lungs.
“Breathe,” he coaches, increasing the pressure of his hand on my back so I’ll bend even lower and place my head between my knees.
Air enters me in a gasp and leaves in a sob. Tears sting my already watery eyes, and I stay bent over just so Joel won’t see them.
“Are you okay?” he asks me, quietly like he knows I’m not.
All I can do is shake my head, hating myself for falling apart in front of him. Again. But Cody’s face was in my head, and his hand was under my shirt, and—
“I’m sorry,” Joel says, rubbing my back soothingly. “I didn’t mean . . . I shouldn’t have—”
When I sit up, he looks even more broken than I feel, which makes me hate myself even more, which shouldn’t even be possible.
“We don’t have to do this,” he says, his hand still glued to my back. When I stand up, he lets it fall away.
“I can’t believe he ruined sex for me,” I say, too upset to keep my thoughts to myself. Cody has stolen sleep from me. He’s stolen my appetite. He’s stolen my confidence. Last Wednesday, I saw a guy that looked like him on campus and ended up throwing up in a bathroom stall.
He’s stolen everything.
“Dee, if you’re not ready, we don’t have to—”
“I want to!” I spin around and wipe an angry tear from my eye. Just one, and then there are no more tears to cry. “I want to, but it’s like he broke me, Joel.”
As I stare down into Joel’s concerned eyes, my heart aches with how much I miss him. I miss being more than friends with him. I miss having him in that way that makes me feel like I know him better than anyone else could ever possibly know him.
“Do you know what I want more than sex right now?” he asks, his fingers reaching out to curl around mine. “I just want to hold you.”
Another tear escapes the corner of my eye, and then another.
“Come here,” he says, gently tugging me onto his lap.
I straddle him, and his arms wrap firmly around me. Our chins tuck into the crooks of each other’s shoulders, and I hug him close, quiet tears dripping onto his golden skin.
“You’re not broken,” he assures me, and I wonder why he’s still bothering to stick around. Why he’s holding me closely when he should be pushing me away. There are plenty of girls outside who wouldn’t end up crying when he tried to take their clothes off.
“I hate this,” I confess in a whisper that sounds as defeated as I feel.
“It’s not a big deal. We don’t need to do anything.”
I pull away and stare hard at him. “Doesn’t this even matter to you? Don’t you even care?”
“Of course I care—”
“Then say ‘I hate this too, Dee.’ Tell me how much this fucking sucks because you want to be inside me right now. Tell me how we can fix it. Don’t just tell me it’s not a big deal. Because it’s a huge fucking deal, Joel.”
His eyes slowly darken, his voice firm when he says, “Stand up.”
“Huh?”
“Stand. Up.”
I slide off his lap, and his big hands capture the sides of my legs, holding me in front of him. He stares up at me and says, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
It sounds like a warning, but whatever he’s planning on doing—with his hands on my legs and him looking at me like that—yeah, I want him to do it. “Yes.”
“Then take off your shorts.”
When I hesitate, he commands me with one word. “Now.”
My fingers undo the button of my shorts, and Joel releases my legs and sits back.
“Take them off. Then your shirt.”
A shiver dances up my spine, and I slowly pull them down. I step out of them and pull my shirt over my head, tossing it to the side. My bra, already unclasped from our wanton walk to the bus, slips over my arms and falls to my feet, and I kick it to the side.
Joel’s eyes never leave mine as his hands slide behind my thighs and his face draws closer to my stomach. His lips connect with a sensitive spot next to my navel, and he stares up at me as he licks the salt from my skin.
My eyes flutter closed, and his strong hands slide up the backs of my thighs to squeeze my ass in his palms. My fingers clutch his warm shoulders, tightening when his wet lips trace soft kisses along my panty line. The way he kisses me is sensual. Dizzying. A finger hooks into my silky waistband and tugs it down over the hollow of my pelvis. His lips connect a second later, devouring the sensitized dip in my body that drives me crazy with want.
“Joel,” I pant, and he stops kissing me.
When he stands up, my eyes open, and he kisses me fiercely, breaking away only long enough to order me to take my panties off. As I wiggle out of them, he kicks out of his shorts and boxers, and then he stretches out on the bench and pulls me on top of him, lacing his fingers with mine and using them to pin his own hands next to his head.
I know what he’s doing. He’s giving me control, relinquishing all the power. And it’s working, because I drop my lips to his and kiss him ravenously. Throbs from between my legs beg to be touched and soothed, and I pull away from his mouth, parting my lips to say something. Before I can, his mouth presses against my throat and my words get lost behind the bottom lip I have to bite between my teeth.
“Do you have a condom?” I breathlessly ask as he licks, kisses, and nibbles.
Joel’s response is low and sexy, breathed against the wetness he leaves on my skin. “Upstairs.”
Upstairs seems so far away. Too far away. His hands are still pinned to the bench seat, and he’s naked beneath me. All I want is to have him. To keep him.
“I’m on birth control,” I offer. He already knows that, but right now, I’m suggesting it as a solution instead of a backup plan.
He parts his lips from my collarbone and stares up into my eyes, answering my unspoken question with a single word. “Okay.”
With one of my hands still pinning his next to his head, I slide the other between us and wrap my fingers around him, positioning his tip firmly against me. Joel’s free hand threads into my hair, and he pulls me to his lips as I lower myself onto him. I moan against his mouth, and our clasped fingers squeeze tight together.
When he’s all the way inside me, I catch my breath, throbbing all around him.
“God, that feels so fucking good,” he says, his eyes closed and his lips parted like all of his concentration is devoted to feeling me pulse around him.
I remove his hand from my hair and pin it back against the leather, using my weight as leverage as I lift myself off of him and lower myself back down.
Joel moans, and I chew on my lip to keep from moaning even louder. Without the condom, he feels warm and hard and so, so smooth. I’ve never had sex without one before, and I always assumed guys were lying when they said it felt so much better.
“Dee,” Joel says, and I kiss my name from his lips, building a slow and steady rhythm. He kisses me back until my entire body is on fire, and then he breaks his lips from mine. My tongue curls behind his earlobe, and I nip at the soft, flushed skin. The way his fingers tighten around mine encourages me, so I’m nibbling at his neck when he pants, “You’re going to need to slow down if you want me to last.”
“That’s not what I want,” I purr against his neck.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to come in me.”
A low growl rumbles deep in Joel’s chest, and he stretches my arms out higher, bringing my breasts to his mouth and sucking my nipple between his lips. I gasp a moan in surprise as his tongue flicks over me, wet and firm, slicking over one pink tip and then the other. When my hips stop moving, his start, and he sinks into me over and over again as every muscle in my body coils with tension.
“Come for me first,” he orders from below me. “I want to feel you do it.”
His words pull a thread somewhere deep inside of me, and I unravel all around him. My white-knuckled grip on his fingers goes slack, and Joel’s hands fly to my hips, holding them in place as he rockets my orgasm into uncharted territory. My fingertips dig into the gray leather beside his head, and his dig into my hips as he pours himself into me on a powerful thrust that nearly makes me collapse on top of him. I manage to stay on my hands and knees, letting him pump into me until he has nothing left to give, and then I rest my weight on top of him with my ear pressed against his chest and my fingers brushing over the damp sides of his head, the buzzed tips of his hair prickling my fingers. His heart is beating loud and fast, but his hands are the total opposite, soft and gentle as he runs them over my back.
“Why have we never done that before?” Joel asks, and I giggle against his chest, giddy with relief that I’m not completely broken, and high off of the best sex I’ve ever had in my entire life.
He brushes my hair away from my face, and I tilt my chin to stare up at him, a contented smile on my face.
“Do you know how many other girls have tried to convince me they were on birth control?” he asks, and my smile fades away.
“I wasn’t lying,” I assert in a voice devoid of all the warmth I felt just a few seconds ago. I try to push off of him, but his stubborn arms keep me from budging.
“I know. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” He brushes his thumbs over my skin and says, “I’ve never been with anyone like that.”
“Never?” I ask, studying him.
His eyes lift to the ceiling, his voice thoughtful when he says, “Never.”
I should let him keep avoiding eye contact. I should keep my mouth shut. I shouldn’t pretend any of this means anything.
“Neither have I,” I confess, and Joel’s eyes drop to mine.
He stares at me for a long moment, and I know he’s wondering why him. Just like I’m wondering why me. But neither of us ask. Instead, he says, “I don’t want you being with anyone else like that.”
“I won’t be.” Sex without protection with Joel was amazing, but with anyone else, it would be terrifying and not worth the risk.
“That’s not what I meant,” he says. He exhales a long breath toward the ceiling. “I don’t want you being with anyone else period.”
My brain flickers into static, his words lost in the noise. “Are you asking me out?”
“No.”
“Then what are you saying?”
He closes his eyes, his chest rising and falling on a sigh. “Hell if I know.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. And eyes closed, a smile forms on his face.
“You’re not making any sense.”
“I know.”
“If I’m not supposed to be with anyone else, who am I supposed to be with?”
“Me.”
“So you are asking me out . . .” I say, heart pounding, palms sweating, thoughts racing. If he is, what will I say? If I turn him down, where will that leave us?
“No,” he says, opening his eyes and fixing his cobalt gaze on me. My chest deflates, and I try to convince myself it’s with relief. “Don’t take me at more than face value, Dee. I’m not asking you out. I’m just a guy without a house or a car or anything worth offering, telling you I don’t want you fucking anyone but me.”
Something must be seriously wrong with me, because in that moment, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted him more. My eyes drift to his mouth. “Okay,” I say, and then I press my lips to his.
The kiss is soft, brief, and it ends too soon when he breaks away to say, “Okay?”
“Okay, I hear you,” I clarify, and then I kiss him again, unwilling to make any promises I can’t keep, even if they’re promises I want to.