Driving Me Crazy: A Rock Star Rom Com

by Lisa Suzanne

  “I’m a big fan of your wakeup calls,” he says. “Like, a really big fan. Number one fan.”

  I laugh as I glance up at his face, some combination of sleepy and satisfied. That’s how we should all wake up every morning, right? “Feel free to return the favor.”

  He laughs. “Sit on my face.”

  Only coming from Will’s mouth would those words sound sexy.

  I pull off my panties and I stand. I walk up the bed, and just as I get into position over his face, I lose my balance on the soft mattress. My knees buckle, and I fall right onto Will’s chest, smacking his chin with my vagina on my way down as I try to gain my balance back by bracing my palms on the headboard.

  He grunts at the force of my impact, and I giggle.

  “Oh my God,” I say. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Maybe instead of you sitting on my face, we should do this the traditional way.”

  I laugh as I collapse beside him. I think for a second that the moment may have been ruined, but he draws in a breath before he moves so he’s hovering over me.

  His mouth trails kisses down my body, and my hips buck up of their own accord, seeking out the pleasure as I feel an intense need and ache for this man...something I never expected.

  He pauses to give my breasts some attention, only heightening the need building inside me, and then he moves slowly down my stomach and down to the promised land. He dives in, his skilled mouth licking and sucking all the exact right places.

  His fingers move in on the action as he thrusts them in and out of me then sucks on my clit. I grab onto the headboard with both hands to help curb the force of my oncoming orgasm, and when it hits me, it hits me hard.

  My legs snap shut, burying his head between my them, and he keeps going with that tongue of his that deserves a fucking award for its skill, and my body jerks and bucks as I ride the wave of pleasure.

  We fall asleep for a while after that. Apparently I can sleep when it’s bright if I’m extra worn out from all the sex.

  CHAPTER 36: WILL

  I text Adam because desperate times call for desperate measures.

  Okay, so I’m not desperate—especially not after last night—but I desperately want to make Amber happy, and he seems to know her pretty well, so I take a shot in the dark.

  Me: Sorry to bother you on your honeymoon, but your sister and I are heading back across the country. What place is a must see that she’d never ask for? I don’t care if it’s out of the way.

  He doesn’t respond right away.

  In fact, he doesn’t respond for several hours.

  But Hawaii is five hours behind New York, and he’s on his honeymoon, so I guess he’s got some excuses.

  Adam: Our grandparents house in Michigan. Want the address?

  Me: Yes and thanks.

  He doesn’t expand on which grandparents these are, but from the sound of things, it’s not her dad’s parents. To my knowledge, Adam goes to Michigan every Christmas to see his mom’s parents, so I assume that’s where he’s sending me.

  Adam sends the address along with his grandma’s phone number a minute later, and I can’t wait to drop this surprise on her.

  In fact, I’ve decided to plan our trip home.

  And apparently that includes a stop in Michigan. It’ll also include a stop in Chicago since it’s one of my favorite cities and Vegas since that’s where it all began for the two of us.

  Thinking back to that first night we hooked up has me thinking about some things—things like the future, a word that used to scare me but now gives me this little buzz of excitement.

  Because of her.

  I haven’t told my mom yet.

  I think I’m too afraid that I’ll wake from what surely must be some dream.

  When she’s done getting ready, we walk hand-in-hand through Times Square. We stop into shops, she takes selfies of the two of us, I get recognized a few times and sign a handful of autographs. We laugh and we kiss and we’re a couple in love.

  It’s how I thought this entire trip would be.

  We get back to the hotel in time to enjoy a couple’s massage in the spa, and when we arrive back at our room relaxed after a day of sightseeing and eating like a couple of tourists, the night spent naked and full of sex is how I thought all the nights on this trip would be, too.

  The next morning, we check out of our hotel and leave New York, both of us wanting to stay after the memories we made here. What we have...it’s real. And nothing proved that more than our two nights together and our day exploring Times Square.

  Even though it’s time to leave, we’ll carry those memories with us as we continue to make more.

  And I’m carrying something else with me, too. I’m starting to wonder how this is going to work moving forward for us. Is she the kind of girl who would stay home and do her ER nurse thing while I go off on the road on tour? Or will she want to come with me?

  How would that even work? Her brother sleeps in the bunk below me. The things I want to do to her in a bunk again are definitely not appropriate with her brother in the vicinity...but that didn’t stop me before.

  Maybe we need separate buses. We’ve got enough in the bank for shit like that these days.

  Traveling with my buddies the way we always have...it’s fun. It’s been an incredible ride.

  But Kylie’s pregnant, due in less than two months, and when she and Dax have a little person to care for, they probably won’t want it on the bus with guys who drink and occasionally smoke weed and swear like sailors and fuck pretty girls.

  Kylie’s first, but surely Adam’s girl won’t be far behind, or Brody’s, or even Kane’s.

  And shit.

  That just leaves me.

  Thinking about whether kids will be part of my life rides the line of thinking about the future. But maybe it’s okay to start doing that now that I have someone I want to share that future with.

  “Do you think this trip is helping with your burnout?” I ask, pushing the whole suffocating idea of children out of my mind. We’ll cross that bridge when we need to.

  “I do,” she says, exhaling. “But you know what’s weird? It’s making me miss my cookies. Baking and decorating, coming up with new designs, that sort of thing.”

  “Have you ever thought about teaching classes on cookie decorating?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “It’s just a hobby. I’m not trained in it to be comfortable teaching someone else how to do it.”

  I grip the wheel as an idea sparks. “Have you ever thought about making cookies for charity?”

  “Cookies for charity?” Her brows draw close together. “Like giving them away?”

  “Cookies make people happy, right? And charity makes people happy, too. You could bake cookies and sell them and donate a portion of the proceeds.”

  “Like a bake sale?” She wrinkles her nose.

  “No, more like custom orders,” I say as that spark of an idea flares up into something real. “What if you did something in conjunction with MFB? You make MFB cookies and people can order them online and you ship them out. We jack up the prices so we have enough to pay you, to order supplies, and to make some real cash we can donate. We’ll give you the rights to all our logos and shit and we can even hire you a staff to help with the baking or the finances or whatever you’d need. Kylie will fucking love this idea, by the way. I can’t actually believe I came up with it before her. She’s always looking for ways to make MFB look good.”

  She stares at me and I can practically see the wheels spinning in her mind. “Who would we donate to?”

  I shrug. “A hospital? An ER? Could ERs use that sort of thing?”

  “Yes, definitely,” she says. “But when you donate to a hospital, there’s no way of knowing it’s going where you want it to go.”

  “Then we get legal people involved who know what they’re doing and we create our own charity.” I say it like it’s simple, but I really have no idea what I’m talking about.

  “I
don’t know much about the fundraising side of things, but I do know that my hospital needs portable transport monitors and cast carts. Maybe we just buy what’s needed rather than donating money. Oh! And my ER could also use supplies for kids. Things like stuffed animals and bubbles and dolls. Sometimes kids are there with their parents, and sometimes they’re the ones admitted. Either way they’re scared out of their minds.”

  I blow out a breath. “I never thought about kids in the ER. Scary either way, as a visitor or as a patient.”

  “Terrifying,” she says. “And it’s my job to make them feel safe even if I don’t know the prognosis for the patient. There are times when that’s impossible.”

  “So I think we found our charity,” I murmur. I can’t even imagine the horrors she has seen or had to deal with. It’s no wonder she finds solace in baking cookies—a creative and relatively slow-paced job in comparison.

  “You’re really serious about this?” Her eyes are on my profile as I stare out at the traffic in front of me.

  “Is it something you’re even interested in?” I glance over at her and I’m sort of shocked to see that her eyes are full of tears.

  “Am I interested?” she practically sobs. “Yes. Yes! A thousand, million times yes!”

  I’m trying to figure out a nicer way to ask her why she’s being so dramatic when she says, “You’re taking something I love and turning it into something that could help other people. You’re mixing my two passions, and you’re allowing me to continue helping patients in the ER without the mental burnout I’ve been careening toward for a year now.” She reaches over to squeeze my arm. “You’re giving me that, Will. It’ll be some work to figure it all out, and I need to make sure I’ll have a steady paycheck because I still have bills, but this idea...it’s incredible.”

  I lift a modest shoulder. “You’ll have a steady paycheck,” I assure her. Even if it doesn’t come from the cookies, I’ll find a way to make sure she’s taken care of. “I’m just trying to find a way for you to do something you love.”

  “I’m with you,” she points out with a giggle. “I’m already doing something I love.”

  I laugh. “Right back at you, Cookie.”

  CHAPTER 37: AMBER

  “Why are you parking way back here?” I ask when he pulls into the corner space on the second to the top floor of the parking garage at the Ritz in Cleveland.

  “Stay there a sec,” he says, and then he pulls off his mic pack, sets a cloth over the camera mounted above his rearview mirror, gets out, and walks around to my side of the car. He opens my door, which is just a few feet from a wall, and helps me out. He pulls my mic pack off, too, and tosses it on the floor of the truck where my feet just were. He shuts the door and cages me in, my back against the passenger side door as I feel the hard length of his body against mine, and then his lips collide with mine.

  One of his hands finds my ass while his injured arm leans against the truck. He grabs a solid handful of my ass and pulls my body closer to his at the same time. I moan into him. God, I missed this as we drove nearly eight hours from Times Square to Cleveland today. I missed being close to him and feeling his mouth on mine. He’s a good kisser—not too sloppy or wet, and just the right amount of tongue to press an achy throb between my legs.

  It’s like he can read my mind, because no sooner do I feel that ache than he thrusts against me, the friction rubbing between us and kicking my need for him up a few levels.

  He pulls his mouth from mine, and with his lips dragging along my neck, he practically growls, “Get back in the car.”

  I look at him in confusion for a second. We just spent eight hours in the car. I don’t want to get back in. I want to check into this hotel and get between the luxurious sheets...but the gleam in his eye tells me he has other plans.

  He forces space between us to open the door, and as I start to climb in, I feel his fingertips on my ass. He slides them down so he’s rubbing me over my jeans.

  It’s only then I realize why he parked where he did, and a thrill of excitement darts along my spine. I pause where I am, shove my ass out a little, and grind my hips down onto his hand. He grunts.

  “Lower your jeans but keep your ass right where it is,” he says softly, and I do what he says. I trust that he’s protecting me from the view of anyone who might see us on this nearly deserted level of the parking garage.

  I hear his own jeans pop open, and I reach back to attempt to feel him. I barely graze his skin when he jerks back, and I don’t have time to object because he shoves two fingers into me and both my hands come forward to grip the seat at the pleasure.

  The only sounds I hear are the wet sounds of his fingers driving into me, my moans, and the odd car starting far away. And then I hear skin stroking skin.

  I glance back and see that even with his injury, he’s jerking off as he fingers me.

  What he’s doing and where he’s doing it is illicit and inappropriate and so fucking sexy that the well of need bursts inside me and I start to come. I muffle a scream of pleasure into his seat as my hips jerk around of their own accord, the sound of his hand moving along himself picking up speed.

  As I collapse forward on the seat and try to regain my breath, he pulls my jeans down a little more so my ass is exposed to him, and then I feel a warm, wet sensation as he jerks off onto my ass, his grunts gaining volume as he basks in the pleasure.

  He reaches past me into the glove box, where he pulls out a towel. He wipes me clean before he pats my ass in silent communication that I can pull my pants back up, and I straighten up on the footboard to fix myself up. I feel a little dizzy after all that, so I settle into the passenger seat while he cleans himself.

  He tosses the towel behind my seat, grabs our bags out of the backseat, and takes my hand to help me down before we head to the check-in desk, my knees wobbly and my body warm from what he just did to me.

  We only spend one night in Cleveland, but this time we sleep close to one another and shower together in the morning.

  At breakfast just before we check out, Will is quiet. He seems nervous about something, but I’m too scared to ruin what feels like a dream by asking. We get into the car and head out of town.

  “Where are we going next?” I ask.

  “It’s a surprise,” he murmurs, and that’s the only clue I get. I sort of assume we’re heading toward Chicago on the I-90 until he takes the exit for the I-290 north. Twenty minutes later, we’re crossing the border into Michigan.

  “Michigan?” I ask. We continue on toward Detroit, and I get a warm and hopeful feeling about where he might be taking me.

  But it’s not possible. He wouldn’t have any idea where my grandparents live, but we’re so close now and I haven’t seen them since Christmas and suddenly I really, really hope that’s where he’s taking me.

  It’s not long before the familiar sign welcomes us into Grosse Pointe Woods, the suburb of Detroit where they live.

  He follows the streets I know, and eventually he pulls into my grandparents’ driveaway.

  “Surprise,” he says, a little twinkle in his eyes.

  My own eyes fill with tears. “What...how...how’d you know?” I sputter.

  He chuckles. “I have my ways. They’re expecting us.”

  “They’re expecting us?” I shriek. “How?”

  He laughs and opens his door. “Come on. Let’s go in.”

  We ring the bell and my grandmother stands there, warm and smiling as always. “Sweet Amber!” she greets me, and it’s so familiar and comforting to see her after everything I learned about the other side of my family that as she holds me in a hug and I breathe in the Chanel perfume she practically bathes in, I start to cry.

  “Oh, dear, what’s the matter?” she asks.

  The crying turns to howling, ugly cry sobs, and she ushers me in, Will following behind us. I’m sure she thinks he did this to me, that he’s the reason I’m crying, but that’s not even close to the truth.

  And so, as I wi
pe my tears, she sits me down at a table with a fresh plate of cookies—she was the one who taught me how to bake—and I start to spill everything.

  “Will and I broke up but we went on this road trip anyway and I found out some crazy things about my dad’s side of the family and nothing seems real anymore except now I love Will and he loves me too.” I’m babbling as I heave in gulps of air and Will starts to laugh.

  My grandma shoots him a dirty look, but I start to laugh, too.

  It’s all a little ridiculous, especially the way it just spilled out of me.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

  I lift a shoulder. Is this something I keep to myself until I’ve had a chance to confront my dad? I glance at Will, and he nods at me like he’s encouraging me to do whatever I think is right. But I don’t know what’s right in this situation. I sigh. “No,” I say. “I need to talk to my parents first.”

  She nods. “I understand. But you can talk to me about anything. You know that.”

  “I do.” I smile and brush away the rest of the tears, and then I decide to get her opinion on a different matter entirely. “And right now, I want to talk to you about this idea Will came up with.”

  I launch into the cookies for charity idea, and by the time I’m done, she’s smiling so wide it’s lighting up her whole face. “I love it,” she says simply, and my heart warms because I love it, too. I didn’t know if it was some silly idea we came up with on the road trip or if it was an actual, viable business idea, and now that I’ve voiced it to someone who knows me well, I believe in it.

  And that makes me believe in us...Will and me.

  Together we’re going to start a charity where we can help other people.

  How far we’ve come from the night we first hooked up in Vegas.

  It’s a little after nine and we’re all sitting around the kitchen table after a game of Monopoly (that Will won) when my grandma says, “Grandpa and I are going to bed soon. I know you two lovebirds probably share beds and all that, but we don’t need to know about it. You’re welcome to any of the bedrooms.”