by Kacey Shea
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.
24
Lexi
My mother ruins everything good. It’s a statement both mean and true. She just called to wish me a happy birthday, but she doesn’t “just” anything and I know that. I’ve always known that. But to start my birthday with a demand that I ditch the tour to visit my dying father . . . it’s just about the worst.
That, and she interrupted the kiss.
The kiss. Until a few hours ago, I thought I’d been kissed before. I was wrong. Oh, God, how I was wrong. Until the moment Trent’s lips locked with mine, I believed kissing wasn’t important. Simply a gateway to something more. Again I was wrong. If I could, I would kiss Trent again. And again . . . and again.
And that’s bad, bad, bad.
I can’t kiss him. I can’t. I shouldn’t. It’s not a good idea.
I know. I know. So why the fuck won’t my body and heart get in line?
I’ve been pondering the question all day. While the band leaves for local radio interviews. As I devour a stack of pancakes by myself from a hole in the wall diner. When I try to write songs about hurt and sadness, but they end up sounding more like love. Through my sound check. My show. And yes, even as I meet fans and sell merchandise alongside Jax while Trent serenades the outdoor amphitheater. Jax finds it quite comical that my gaze drifts to the stage on more than one occasion. I consider going backstage so I can watch the band play all up close and personal. So I can stare at Trent. But even I realize that’s not good for my crush.
I’m still confused when I get back to the bus and step into the shower. It doesn’t help that I imagine my hands are Trent’s as I rub soap over my skin. Around and down my breasts. Between my aching thighs. While I finger myself. I bite my lip hard when I come so I don’t call out his name.
Yeah. Some birthday this has been.
The guys enter the bus post-show just as I step out of the bathroom. Trent’s eyes land on the towel wrapped snugly around my chest before he darts his gaze away. No one else seems to notice, their laughter and usual banter reaching me where I stand. A breath I didn’t realize I was holding rushes from my lips as I lock the bedroom door behind me. I can’t let this get to me, mess with the comfortable vibe we’ve established, or fuck with my head any longer.
“Get your shit together,” I mutter to myself as I pull on my post-show wear. I’m sure the guys will go out tonight after they shower and change. We have a few hours before it’s time to roll onward to the next city. I will use that time to get my head straight.
“Hey, Lexi!” Sean raps at the door. “Come out with us, okay?”
“I don’t really feel like going out tonight,” I yell back. Because I don’t. I hear the stories when they return from a night of debauchery. I don’t need to witness that firsthand. As much as Trent’s not mine, I can’t stand the idea of him with someone else. No, I prefer to hold on to the rare possibility that our kiss today was something special.
“Lex.” Sean’s voice is close, as though he’s right up against my door. “Come out just for a sec, okay? We need to talk.”
We need to talk. My mind reels with the possibilities. We need to talk about what? My eyebrow styling payback? My father, maybe? I wouldn’t put it past my mother to call their manager with the news. The kiss? No. God, I hope Trent didn’t share that with anyone. I’m an anxious mess as I slip a worn knit sweater over my head and step out the door.
They’re quiet. Too quiet for men who never shut up, and the second I turn the corner I gasp. My hand goes straight to my lips because this isn’t anything I expected.
Sean holds aloft the circular white and pink cake. “A little birdie told us it was someone’s birthday today.” He grins, his smile as wide as those of Iz, Austin, and Trent, who hang back in the kitchen seats.
“What? No. You guys!” It’s all I can manage as tears, happy ones, gather in the corners of my eyes. I blink them back before they can escape, and take the open chair next to Trent when Austin motions for me to sit.
“After cake we have presents, too,” Sean announces, setting the cake on the table.
“This is like, really sweet.” My face physically hurts, my smile stretches so wide.
“Wait until you see the gifts. You may change your mind,” Iz teases and the vape I gave him clicks when he inhales.
“Happy Birthday Badass. Aww, you guys are too good to me,” I tease when I read the piping aloud, but their smiles only grow. “So, when do we get to eat this?” My mouth salivates at the whipped buttercream frosting.
“After we fucking sing, of course!”
They break out into this grunged, rocked out version of the Happy Birthday song in which Austin plays air guitar and Iz taps two forks for a drum solo that makes me wonder if they practiced.
“Cut the first slice.” Trent’s fingers brush against mine when he places the knife in my grip. He leans closer and dips his chin to whisper in my ear. “And don’t forget to make a wish.”
Flipping my lip ring with my tongue, I wish for the first thing that pops into my mind, and slice through the cake, so pretty it looks too good to eat. The guys cheer and clap and I get caught up in their joy, laughter leaving my mouth as I dish out pieces for each of us.
“I want the ass!” Austin reaches for the slice in which I cut the word badass in two.
Trent slaps his hand away. “No. You get bad. If anyone gets Lexi’s ass, it’s me.”
Everyone laughs at his joke, but my lips part, goosebumps cover my flesh, and when I turn my chin to meet his gaze, an involuntary shiver shoots down my spine. Fuck. Wow. Please. That’s what Trent’s stare does to me. As the smile drops from my
face, so does his, and his eyes, they’re full of so much scrutiny that I do something strange. I back down from their challenge, looking away first and shoving a huge bite of cake in my mouth.
As soon as the fluffy goodness hits my taste buds I moan with appreciation. Sugary sweetness overload. “Oh, my God. This is so good.”
“Who would have known someone so salty likes it sweet,” Austin jabs with a wink.
Mouth wide, I take another bite and flip him off, causing everyone to laugh again.
Sean hops up from his seat and walks to the other side of the bus. “Now. For the best part. Here.” He pulls down a wrapped box from one of the high storage cupboards, smart hiding spot since I’d never be able to snoop there.
The paper is decorated in florescent rainbow guitars, something you’d pick for a child, but that detail along with the cake is so thoughtful my eyes water. It hits me that this wasn’t some last minute scheme. They planned this birthday surprise. I blink furiously until my eyes clear, and hook my finger under the folds of paper where it’s taped.
“Come on, Lex! Fucking rip into it!”
“You guys really shouldn’t have!” I say, their generosity overwhelming me once more. I rip the paper this time until it reveals a familiar pink striped box. Laughter bubbles from my belly and I shake my head as I remove the top.
Satin. Lace. Cotton, too. There’s got to be at least twenty pairs inside. “Oh, my God! You guys are such dorks!”
They erupt into boisterous laughter. Austin shouts for a runway show until Trent hits him in the balls. Sean grins, his cheeks patched with red, then shrugs when I meet his stare. Iz shakes his head, recounting how he didn’t join the others on their shopping excursion, but he hopes I like them all the same.
“Wait, the three of you picked them out?” I roll my eyes and I continue to laugh as I imagine what a stir that must have caused. “And you didn’t get kicked out?”
“Austin almost did.” Sean rats out his friend and they engage in a pseudo wrestling match until Trent yells at them to knock it off.
“As weird as it is, I love my gift. Thank you.”