The Guy on the Right

by Kate Stewart

  Bracing myself for impact, I slowly open them and my whole body shudders. He’s with me, utterly and completely lost in our connection.

  Filled to the brink, I lean toward him to ease some of the discomfort, and my hair falls into his face. He watches my every movement, rapt, eager, the lust-drunk look in his eyes my new drug.

  I can’t get enough of his reaction to me, and I pray it never changes.

  “You feel so damn good,” he murmurs thrusting up and holding my hips so I’m on the verge. I’ve had good sex, dirty sex, but I’ve never had this kind of sex. My emotions are everywhere, foreign and addicting.

  Panicking, I ride him faster, my heart grappling with my new reality. Gripping the back of my neck, Theo pulls me an inch from his lips, forcing me back into this moment with him. “Trust yourself,” he whispers hoarsely, “trust me.”

  He seals our mouths, capturing my relief, and I get lost.

  Theo

  We made love, as cheesy as it sounds, but there isn’t another word for it, not at all. It wasn’t sex, and it was far too intimate to be fucking. Well, maybe the third or fourth time could be considered fucking. Those were more porn than promise, but neither of us had any objections. I’d fumbled through the first time lighting her up and thanked God endless years of foreplay without payoff had actually done me a shitload of good. Laney’s moans had directed the rest. And some of the direction had come from her sweet, yet filthy mouth which I’d kissed a thousand times last night. And it’s a night I’ll remember for the rest of my life.

  “Morning,” she says softly from the entrance of the kitchen.

  I turn to see her looking around the house for other signs of life.

  “We’re alone until tonight.”

  “Yeah?” She asks sheepishly.

  “Yeah, have a seat, I’m making French toast.”

  “Smells so good.”

  Her cheeks go hot, a crimson blush settling over her skin as she makes her way toward me.

  “We were both sober last night,” I say, pulling her to me when she gets close enough, running a finger along her cheek. “So, what’s with the blush?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I lean down and take her lips, and she kisses me back with urgent fervor. Feeling her unease, I kiss her thoroughly before I pull away and catch her eyes. “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?”

  “This doesn’t have to be weird.”

  “You’re making it weird.”

  “You’re uncomfortable. I don’t want that.”

  She looks up at me with anxious eyes. “Then you shouldn’t have left me in bed wondering if you were freaking out.”

  “Shit, I’m sorry. I wanted to fix you breakfast. And clearly, I’m not freaking out.”

  She nods toward the platter of toast. “You made an entire bread bag of French toast for two people.”

  “Watch me eat half.”

  “You’re sure that’s all?” She asks, her eyes darting around.

  “Laney,” I turn off the burner, leaning against the cabinet and pull her to stand between my legs. “I will never, ever regret it. Ever.”

  “K.”

  “I wanted it to happen. Have wanted it to happen for a while now.”

  “Me too,” she says, finally meeting my eyes.

  “I want to do it again,” I tell her honestly and her face lights up with a grin. “Often.”

  “Me too.”

  “Good. That’s settled. Now, powdered sugar on top or no?”

  “Yes, and then some,” she says tucking a napkin in my T-shirt before sitting down with a raised fork. “Let’s do this.”

  Laney

  Theo guides me down to his basement, which is pitch dark. “Is this where you introduce me to your roommates who like to bind and torture for funsies?”

  “Cute.” He flips on the light when we hit the landing, and my jaw drops. “Holy shit!”

  The basement spans the width of the entire house, and there are thousands of dollars in instruments organized throughout.

  “Okay, what in the hell is this? Are you storing the band’s equipment?”

  “No.” He shakes his head with a grin.

  “So, you’re in a band too?”

  “Nope.”

  “Fess up, sir. Who do these belong to?” I walk through the room full of brass, several different drum sets, including a pair of bongos and every string instrument imaginable.

  “You’re always asking what instrument I play.” He shrugs.

  “You play all of these?”

  “Not yet. I’m up to eight. Prince played thirteen. I’m determined to beat him.”

  “This is insane.”

  “I’m a music major,” he crosses his arms. “Why does this surprise you?”

  I stop at the short piano in the far corner of the room and press a key. “I guess because you didn’t tell me any of this.” I narrow my eyes. “Why?”

  “Because this is personal to me. I don’t play much for an audience unless I really know what I’m doing. And this is where I work.”

  “This is your job?”

  “I run an app-based business selling ditties, you know, jingles for commercials and other promotional stuff.”

  “You what?”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty easy, really. I either compose my own or take an old track and mix it up with something new.”

  “So, you’re a musical prodigy?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. I spend a lot of time on this. I was playing piano as a toddler. I mean I’m pretty good at most instruments, but I like to consider myself more of a musical architect. I plan on doing scores for movies and more advertising stuff when I graduate and can give it the time.”

  “Do you sell a lot of ditties?”

  He chuckles, and I scowl.

  “Enough with the accent bullshit, answer me. You’ve been living a double life.”

  He sucks his lip into his mouth, and it’s so sexy I forgive him.

  “Honda is one of my best customers. I could probably get you a discount.”

  “I refuse to indulge in that conversation. Now fess up. Do you sell a lot of your songs?”

  “I do okay. I just sold an entire library.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Yeah. It’s paid for most of these.” He gestures to the room full of instruments. I giggle and point to one standing next to the wall. “You’re going to learn to play the harp?”

  “Yeah.” He gives me a sheepish grin. “That’s why I don’t let my roommates down here, I’ll get my man card revoked.”

  “They are morons and this, this is…highly impressive, sir. Seriously, this is a much better plan than my multiple lines of income.”

  He chuckles. “And I don’t get shot at.”

  “That was once,” I glance around still shocked by his revelation. “So, which do you play in the Grand Band?”

  “Not telling.”

  “Oh, come on! You know I could probably find out online.”

  “But you won’t.”

  Surveying the makeshift office next to his piano I see a desktop, a laptop and a bunch of other computer equipment.

  “What’s all this?”

  “This is where I mix it up.”

  “I’m going to need a demonstration.”

  His eyes light up. “I might have cooked something up for you.”

  “Really?” I rub my hands together before I climb up onto his piano crossing my legs. His eyes flare as he studies me sprawled half-naked in his PBS T-shirt and panties.

  He takes a seat at the bench gently moving my crossed legs to rest on the edge of the piano but not before pressing a gentle kiss to my ankle. It’s when his fingers start to move expertly along the keys that my jaw drops. The more he plays, the more my breath picks up, and my thoughts drift back to last night. He had completely and utterly wrecked me with the way he’d taken me, and I was already dying for more.

  Did I know this man at all?

  In the two
months we’ve been friends I realize just how much of a mystery he still is. If last night was any sign of what I had to look forward to, I’m all too eager to learn more. I’m already a puddle of want just inches from his skilled fingers. I study him closely; taking in the thick black of his lashes, the almond shape of his eyes, the sleek lines of his scruff-covered jaw, the talented full lips that had me moaning his name for hours, his poise on the bench, and the confidence with which he plays. It’s all too alluring, and I’m practically salivating as I gaze on at him.

  “Something is telling me your current thoughts are not wholesome in nature,” he says before looking up at me confirming his suspicions.

  “This is actually very sexy, Houseman. You could’ve cured your abstinence much sooner by using this tactic. It’s one hell of an aphrodisiac. Hell, you could have had coeds everywhere throwing their panties at your feet.”

  “I don’t want them,” he says, leaning in, his gaze unwavering, penetrating, to make his point. He continues to play as I let his sentiment warm me, slightly overwhelmed by the secret he kept. He’s not just good, he’s incredible.

  “I swear, Houseman, you surprise me at every turn.”

  His fingers dance along the keys effortlessly before he pulls them away. “This isn’t what I wanted to play for you.”

  “Well, come on then, show me what you’ve got.”

  He leans in past my legs, opening the laptop perched on a small black desk next to the piano and clicks on the pad a few times before turning back to the keys. “Three, two, one,” the computer speaks aloud, and I jump back and grin down at him. “What’s that?”

  “I’m showing you,” he chides, his face twisting adorably, “patience.” The subtle appearance of a smile covers his mouth before his eyes drift down to the keys as he starts to manipulate them into something familiar.

  “That’s Alabama!” I yelp out before cupping my mouth, my eyes growing wide. He ignores my outburst, keeping perfect time as he plays along to the recording of “The Touch”.

  ‘Oh my God’ I mouth, a shy smile on his lips when he registers the surprise on my face.

  He winks and my throat swells. It’s not just the piano, it’s the drums, the heavy guitar, the bass, he’s mastered and recorded every instrument, every part of the song, to play it, for me.

  “But you just heard this two nights ago,” I whisper, unable to hide the emotion in my voice, “how did you…” I falter, the threatening sting behind my eyes getting the best of me.

  I stare down at him, anxious to get close, to get back to him, to his lips, his kiss. I’m a puddle of desire, hell-bent on getting the rest of his attention, longing to put that look back in his eyes.

  Unable to stay idle, I slink down into his lap, interrupting his fingers. He temporarily allows it before resuming with me wrapped around him. With my face buried in his neck, I realize it must have taken him every spare minute away from me before the wedding to get this done. “It’s beautiful,” I murmur into his throat, straddling him on the bench hugging him tightly to me.

  You’re beautiful, I want to whisper so badly, but I’m suddenly afraid of what I feel. How did I not see this? How could I have not seen this incredible man for what he is? In a matter of life-altering hours, Theo has just become the most irresistible man I’ve ever known. If I’m completely honest, I’ve been falling for him, in pieces, since the night we met. And for the first time since we started the relationship, I’m unsure if I’m worthy of such a gift. The gift of knowing him, of seeing him this way, of being on this side of his affection.

  I might’ve fallen slowly, but I just landed impossibly deep.

  My eyes burn, a little because of the fear, but more because of this gesture, because of who he is and what he now means to me.

  I no longer, nor do I ever want to be just Theo Houseman’s friend.

  I kiss his throat over and over and pull away to mouth the words of the song to him. He watches me, rapt, his fingers never straying from the piano.

  We’re polar opposites in some ways. I’m too country, and he’s a whole lot of everything else. We shouldn’t fit, but we do, and our fit is nothing short of spectacular.

  There’s no wool in the world thick enough to make me blind to that.

  He continues his serenade, drawing out my desire as I clutch him to me. When he plays the last of the notes, I let him see just how much he’s affected me. He pushes the hair away from my face as a grateful tear trails down my cheek.

  “Jesus, Houseman,” I whisper, slowly dipping in to kiss his nose, his brow, his temple, his cheek, before he turns his head and claims my mouth and we both are swept away. His eyes light up when he closes our kiss with a satisfied smile.

  “Again,” I moan against his lips.

  He obliges, angling my face and drawing me back in to deepen our kiss.

  Frenzied, I kiss him back.

  Addicted.

  Needy.

  Starving for more.

  He stands with me attached to him to hoist me up the stairs, but we only make it halfway.

  Grannism—Don’t trust cat people. They want low maintenance relationships.

  Theo: Damn you woman, you changed every fucking radio and XM station in my car to country! I spent half my drive fixing it.

  Laney: Prove it.

  Theo: I am so going to redden your beautiful ass when I see you.

  Laney: Have to prove I did it to dole out the punishment.

  Theo: Says you.

  Laney: See ^^ I’ve already got you talking like me. It’s only a matter of time.

  Theo: I think someone is acting naughty to get a little attention.

  Laney: Prove it.

  Theo: I hate Thanksgiving.

  Laney: I miss you, too. It’s a good thing we got together when we did. The public is starting to SHIP us.

  Theo: Yeah?

  Laney: They’re pretty much demanding it. Do you ever check the page?

  Theo: No. I’ll do better.

  Laney: The wedding video went viral thanks to you.

  Theo: Crushing it. Proud of you.

  Laney: US. It wouldn’t be the same without you.

  Pause…

  Theo: You’re only an hour and a half away. I can come home early.

  Laney: You can’t, your parents’ anniversary party is this weekend. And your sisters keep threatening to come down. Give them a good dose of you so they won’t threaten you anymore.

  Theo: You can come here.

  Laney: Can’t leave Momma alone. It’s our first real holiday without Gran. We’re going to Black Friday in a few hours.

  Theo: I just shed a tear for your mother. Like a real one.

  Theo sent a photo.

  Laney: Stop. I just totally got sad.

  Theo: Adulting can suck it.

  Laney: I miss you, too.

  Theo: Happy Thanksgiving, Laney

  Laney: Happy Thanksgiving, Houseman. (blows kiss emoji)

  #turkeyday #stuffed #facetimeselfie #livingourrealestlife #imalittlebitcountryhesawholelotrockandroll

  Theo

  Yell night. Another Grand tradition. The band’s required to show up to the pre-game pep rally and I must admit with my new nighttime distraction, I’m finding it harder and harder not to skip out. I have a thousand other things I’d rather be doing than playing for half a stadium full of die-hard Ranger fans. Like spelling the alphabet between Laney’s legs while she begs for mercy. While Troy and the rest of his team stand on the field facing the bleachers next to the ring leaders, I sit with Zach and the rest of the band at the top row of our section, belting out old chants in between playing fight songs to gear up for one of the last games of the season.

  The Rangers had a good run but missed a shot at a championship due to their last few losses. And as much as I hate to admit it, I’m happy about it because it means I get to spend more time with Laney, rather than the next few weeks practicing day and night for a college bowl half-time show.

  When I had texted h
er earlier, she told me she was shopping tonight for a red Toyota, and so I hadn’t asked her to come. I know she needs the money, and I could never guilt her for paying her own way just to fulfill the tradition of a midnight kiss. I’m not at all comfortable with the dangerous part of her job, but I know if I try to say anything at this point, it will pose the question of what rights I have, or if I have any say at all. I’m not about to stick my head under that guillotine, yet. We’re way too new. Still, I hate it. My first instinct has always been to protect her, even though she’d refuse it.

  Though her schedule is insane, she’s attended most of the home games to support me, with or without Devin, which I know is a big step for her. More often than not, we skip the parties or crowds of any kind to spend all of our time together, alone.

  No part of me feels like I’ve been missing out on anything.

  Except for tonight, when the lights go out.

  The top of the hour is fast approaching, as I face facts that this will be yet another Yell night that I don’t have anyone to kiss when the clock strikes midnight. The time when we’re granted with a full minute to put our relationship status on public display. Some part of me is dying to claim her, but I know better than to back her into that corner, not when dealing with a gypsy heart.

  This is one Grand tradition that can make a lone Ranger feel like a bag of dicks, which has always been the case for me. Nora never bothered to come to a single Yell night, her Friday nights with her girls far too important to miss than a show of devotion for me.

  But the truth of the matter is, I’m not alone. And I don’t need to take part in this tradition to know it. I’ve got a pint-sized terrorist in boots who is constantly reminding me we’re in, whatever it is we have going, together.

  Zach blows warm breath in his hands as we freeze our balls off in wait for another cue to play.

  “Lindsey here tonight?”

  “She came last time. I told her it was too cold and to stay home.”

  We both stand and shout our part as the Yell leaders start another chant before resuming our seats.