by J. Saman
He stares me down and then smiles. “How’s your business going?” A chuckle bursts out of my chest. Damn this man. I slink back into the uncomfortable chair, run a frustrated hand through my hair and scrub it up and down my face. And then I blow out a breath and tell him everything that’s going on with my business. We talk. Well, I mostly talk, and he listens. Just when he starts to doze off, Dianne waltzes in like she hasn’t been gone all day. Like her husband didn’t just have a heart attack and is in the ICU. Bitch looks like she just came from the salon. I get up and leave his room, offering her no more than a nod, feeling more satisfied than I have in a long while. At least where my father is concerned.
Lyric is standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall with her foot propped up and her eyes on her phone, a soft smile pulling up the corner of her lips. “How long have you been standing there?”
Her head pops up and she shrugs when she finds me. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“How do you feel about going into the city for some dim sum?”
“Are you willing to go vegetarian?”
Shit. How on earth could I have forgotten that she’s a goddamn vegetarian?
“Can I order shrimp fried rice?”
She nods, pushing off the wall and walking slowly toward me. “I know a really good place,” she says, dragging her hands up my chest and around my neck, kissing my jaw.
“Then let’s go. I’m starving.”
“How is he?”
“The same. He’s always going to be the same and I think I have to accept that.”
She nods. Kisses my cheek. Runs her nose along the nape of my neck. Drives me wild in the middle of the freaking ICU.
“My sister got engaged.”
“Yeah?” I ask with a smile, and she nods again, her smile double what mine is.
“Yeah. My parents are taking her and José out for a celebratory dinner. They invited us along, but I said we’d probably do our own thing.” She winks at me, her smile turning into something else completely.
“You look like you’ve got ideas floating around in that pretty head of yours.”
“I have to warn you,” she says, reaching up on her tip toes to whisper in my ear, “they’re all dirty.”
“Come with me then.”
I take her hands from around my neck and intertwine our fingers. I lead her out of the hospital, telling the nurses to call me. We Uber back to my father’s house and I go into his garage and find my old car. He bought me my Jeep when I left for college, saying that I needed a car there, but that he didn’t want me driving back and forth from Tennessee to Connecticut. I didn’t argue. It was a new Jeep after all.
But my old car is, in fact, old. It’s a 1969 Ford Mustang. It was my grandfather’s car. It’s so goddamn cool. I took it when it was offered to me and I slowly restored it over the years. It’s black with smooth, black leather seats that are piped in white. There isn’t any air conditioning in this car, but it’s late November in Connecticut so we definitely don’t need it, and the heat works just fine.
“You’re not driving this is the city,” she says, taking in the car, running her hands along the dash and seats.
“Fuck dim sum. I’m going to eat you for a snack and then I’ll take you out somewhere for dinner.”
She looks over at me as I start the engine with a loud powerful roar, thrilled that it actually started. Our seats vibrate with the horsepower, a surge of life spidering its way through my veins.
“You uh…sure?”
I laugh, taking her hand. “I’m sure, baby. Life is goddamn short and my father and I talked about a lot of things. Tomorrow, we’ll wake up early and be at the hospital all day, but tonight is for us.”
Lyric smiles at that, settling in for whatever I have in store for her. She doesn’t ask where I’m taking her. I doubt she cares. She just wants to be with me and I want to be with her. Nothing else matters.
I drive us down to a secluded area by the ocean. This part of the beach belongs to the yacht club, but my father is a member. You don’t actually need a yacht to be a member, which is good for him since he doesn’t have one. But I know for a fact no one will bother us over here. It’s rarely patrolled, especially this late in the season.
I shift my car into park, turn off the headlights, find a station on the ancient radio and then I tug Lyric into my lap. She smiles, her eyes locking on mine as she dips down and kisses me. My tongue invades her mouth, my hands cupping and squeezing her ass. She moans, rocking into my painfully hard cock that’s already straining against the denim of my jeans.
“Get in the backseat and take off your pants and shirt,” I command.
She scurries over the bench seat so quickly that if I weren’t so fucking turned on, I’d laugh. I watch her through the rearview mirror, our eyes locked in the glass as she pulls her blouse over her head and I lick my lips as her hands glide down the smooth taught expanse of her stomach until they dip out of my range for my eyes.
I reach behind my head and tug my own shirt over my head before I remove my jeans, pulling out a couple of condoms from my pocket as I do. I stroke my cock through my boxer briefs, already so turned on I can hardly stand it. I’m going to make Lyric come. I’m going to make her come so hard and so loud that the windows will rattle. A freaking Blind Tears song comes on the radio and we both laugh. But it’s a good song, so I don’t change it. Even if it’s her father’s voice coming through my speakers.
“If he only knew what I was about to do to you,” I say and I hear her suck in a deep breath.
I climb over the partition, the same as she did, and then we’re both scrunched in the small backseat. This is not the best place for this, but I’m not going to touch her once we reach her father’s house. I respect him and her too much for that.
She’s wearing a lavender thong and matching bra, and her blonde hair is sprawled out across my seats. She’s stunning. So crazy beautiful that my chest flutters. “I love you,” I say to her, watching her eyes as I slowly peel her panties down her thighs. “I love you so fucking much.”
She closes her eyes before they reopen to half-mast as my fingers glide along her slick, hot pussy. She moans when I slip one finger, followed by another, inside her tight heat. She squirms, grinding against me when I add a third finger and my thumb finds her clit. I rub her g-spot from the inside and then my face drops—albeit at an awkward angle given the restraints of the car—and then I kiss her. I kiss her again, loving the way she moans. It’s not her typical moan. It’s slow and long and low.
“You want more, Lyric?”
“Yes,” she breathes. “Please.”
I love it when she begs. It doesn’t happen often. Only when she’s wound up, beyond needy. “Spread your legs wider for me, baby. Let me see all of you.”
She moans even louder, her head falling back against the window as she complies. I remove my fingers from her pussy, and she growls in protest, which makes me chuckle. My lips take over, sucking her clit into my mouth, my wet finger gliding along her opening until I reach the tight bud of her ass.
“Oh,” she cries, arching further into my face. “Jameson,” she breathes. “I…”
“Shhh. If it’s too much, I’ll stop.”
She nods, but I can tell I’m pushing her past her comfort zone. I’m good with that. In fact, I love it. My finger, still wet with her arousal, slips in just a little as my mouth continues its sweet torture. Her hands find my hair, tugging and pulling and moving me this way and that. It drives me wild when she gets like that, when she becomes crazed, no longer able to hold back as she searches for the high she knows I’m going to deliver.
My finger goes in deeper and when I start to slide it back out, sucking on her harder, she comes, shattering into a million tiny pieces all over the backseat of my vintage Mustang. I’ve never had a girl in here, believe it or not. It’s something I’ve always regretted, but now, I’m glad she’s the only one. I’m glad it’s her who will always be a part of one of my
prized possessions.
“Oh God,” she says when she’s finally starting to come down. Lyric is not a talker while she’s coming. She’s not one of those girls who calls out names or swears. She just moans and whimpers and sighs and screams. “That was…” She shakes her head like she can’t come up with the right words.
I kiss her lips, my finger leaving her ass. I can’t wait for my cock to go there, but tonight is not the night for that first. “Are you ready?” One hand grabs my face, kissing me harder. Her other hand grabs my cock, directing it to her entrance. “Control freak.”
She smiles against my lips. “Don’t ever forget it.”
“Never,” I say as I slide into her. So. Fucking. Good. I pump into her and it takes me a few minutes to realize that the reason this is better than anything has ever felt before is because I’m going bareback for the first time. “Baby,” I pant, my eyes practically in the back of my head. “I’m not wearing a condom.”
“I’ve been on the pill for a million years, Jameson,” she says with a small laugh to her strained voice. “You’ve known this. I think we’re both safe, so we can stop with the condoms already.”
Hell. “You sure?”
“Without a doubt.”
“Thank God, because now that I’ve had you like this, there is no going back.”
I pound into her, as much as I can, given the limited room we have to move. But still, I make it count. I screw her brains out while making love to her and when I feel her body start to tremble around mine, I can no longer hold back, and I come, roaring out my release. Louder and harder than I’ve ever come before.
My sweaty forehead drops to hers, unable to draw in enough air. I think I nearly passed out. Lyric giggles and I realize I just said that out loud. “When we’re old, promise me we’ll still slink off and have sex in this car,” she says in jest, her words light and full of air, but they sink into me like lead.
“I promise,” I say, hoping to hell I can keep that promise. I don’t have the best track record with those where she’s concerned.
Chapter 16
Lyric
* * *
“Do you hear what I’m telling you, Lyric?” Robert Snow is a little hyper this morning. And considering it’s eight-thirty in the morning Tennessee time and only six-thirty California time, I’d say he really needs to slow down on the coffee, because he sounds like he’s about to run all the way here and shake me.
“I hear you, Robert.” I’m smiling. Even though Robert is very hyper, he has a very good reason to be. “I just don’t know what to say.”
“You’re going to say yes. There is no other option. Cyber’s Law asked for you specifically. They heard the albums you did last summer, and fucking called me up.”
I’m walking across campus towards one of the few classes I have this semester. Turns out, I overdid it at NYU. I only need nine credits to graduate and I somehow talked my advisor and one of my music teachers into giving me credit for working with Robert and my father on an album. Seriously. Can you freaking believe that shit?
We have one more month left in school. One. Then we graduate. And now Robert is trying to mess with that piece of paper, because Cyber’s Law—a British alternative rock band that has taken the charts and the world by storm—has asked me to produce their next album. They finished a world tour in December, took a few months off and are now ready to get going on album number three. They had a difference of opinion with their last producer and are looking for someone young, talented and who will collaborate instead of dictate.
Apparently, that’s me.
But there’s always a kicker, and that kicker is that they want to start immediately.
As in next week.
Honestly, I think I could make it work with my teachers. I’m pulling As in the two other classes I’m forced to take, and I have a feeling I could just show up for the final and do fine. That’s not really what has me dragging my heels and we all know it.
“I need to talk to Jameson,” I say and cringe, because I know what’s about to come next.
“What the fuck do you mean you need to talk to Jameson?!” Yeah. Those two don’t like each other all that much. “He’s your boyfriend, not your keeper. This is the chance of a lifetime. This is the ability to write your own goddamn ticket. What sort of piece of shit fuckstick would ever tell you no? This will make you a full-time producer earning the huge bucks. Lyric, you know I love you. You’re like family to me. I like you more than I like my own children. So please, say yes. Take this contract. Make this album. This is your dream, honey.”
I lower myself onto a bench just outside the business building where my class is. Believe it or not, Jameson and I actually have a class together this semester. He hasn’t shown up for it yet and I’m grateful. He had an early baseball practice and it seems to be running late. Good. I need to figure this out. “They won’t do it in New York?” I ask, chewing on my nails that I’ve never chewed on before. That’s how messed up I am with all of this. How conflicted and torn and excited and sick I am right now.
“No,” he says slowly, quietly, which is so unlike him. “I asked. I really did, but they rented a house in LA and that’s where they want to do the album.”
I nod. I already figured that. Very few artists record entire albums in New York unless they’re from there or have places to live there. Studio apartments are nice, but not what these guys are used to, and albums take months to finish. I don’t care who you are, no one likes living out of a hotel or an apartment that isn’t yours for that long.
“Okay. I’ll let you know by the end of the day.”
“Lyric,” he sighs in to the phone, but it’s a resigned sigh. It’s the sort that says he’s not happy, but he understands. “If he loves you, he’d want this for you. And I don’t know, maybe we can figure something out with New York in the next year or so. I like you here. The artists like you here. But I want you happy and I want you to stay with my label, so we’ll work on it.”
I smile. I smile so goddamn big. Because, yeah, a year feels like a long time, but this also looks like light at the end of the tunnel. Even if I don’t really love living in New York. Been there, tried that, but with Jameson, it would be different.
“Thank you, Robert. I love you. And don’t badmouth your kids, they’re just misunderstood.”
He laughs and I can picture him shaking his head with his hands on his lean hips. Robert looks so much like Michael Douglas in Wall Street, it’s startling. Even his damn suits do. All that’s missing from his side is that awesome massive eighties cell phone. “Spoiled is more accurate, but that’s my fault, so we’ll leave it at misunderstood. I’m sure their shrinks would love that.” He laughs again and then says, “You better call me before five California time. I have a dinner.”
“Promise. And Robert?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. For everything.”
“You got it, kid. Later.”
He disconnects the call and I set it down on my lap, staring straight at the building I’m supposed to be in. Robert wasn’t lying when he said this was my dream. This is that moment. The one I feel not many people get or realize when it happens. The one where you want to scream and run up to a stranger and beg them to pinch you because it all feels like it’s too good to possibly be real.
But Jameson is my dream, too, and I’m not ready to put distance between us.
Even though I know it’s coming.
Things changed after his father’s heart attack. Between them. Between us. We ended up spending the entire week up in Connecticut. His father had his procedure and things went really well, but Jameson stayed because he wanted to talk to his dad more, and I stayed because I wanted to be with him and my family.
We went back for Thanksgiving a few weeks later. And then Christmas, too. His father is a different man now. Well, at least with Jameson. He hasn’t changed his diet or lifestyle much. But he has talked Jameson into taking on both companies—the one Jameson and his frie
nds are working on as well as his father’s. It’s stretching him thin already, and he hasn’t even graduated yet.
Melody gets married in six weeks in Miami. It’s where José’s family is from, where his father settled when he came to America from Cuba. She wanted to incorporate his culture, and my family was one hundred percent on board with it. José doesn’t play baseball the way his father did. At least not professionally. He’s an accountant. How freaking adorable is that? I love that man and he makes Melody so happy. So, this wedding? It’s going to be insane. If I take this contract, I’ll have to boogie out for a few days for it.
“Why are you sitting out here instead of in class?” Jameson asks, standing over me. I didn’t even see him approach. That’s how lost in my thoughts I am. Typically I sense him before I see him. No joke. The damn hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention and my stomach does a swooshing thing. It’s insanity and yet, I love it.
I look up, squinting against the sun that’s directly behind him. “Just got off the phone.”
He sits down next to me and takes my hand like he’s afraid I got bad news or something. “Everything okay?”
I turn to look at him. Stare into his beautiful blue eyes. Absorb him feature by feature. He makes my chest hurt in the best possible way. I really had no idea love felt like this. I mean, you read it. You watch it in movies. I’ve experienced it growing up. But I really had no clue it was this…engrossing. Consuming. It has me questioning and challenging things I feel like I should never question or challenge.