“Are we going to the bus tonight?” Rudd yells.
I shake my head. Noah and Bo won’t want to sit around in a pot-fueled, post-gig orgy. Besides, if there was a time to talk to Landry, tonight would be a good one. Away from the party for one night, it’d give us both time to breathe. “Thought we’d do this.”
I pull up the website of the golf place and show it around.
“Mini-golf? I’m out,” Rudd declares. “No offense, dudes, but the only stick I want to handle tonight is my own.”
“Good, because the ladies of Austin are too high class for you,” Ian snarks.
“That’s not what I meant!” Rudd protests.
I smirk. “Ian?”
“Nah, I think I’ll sit this one out.”
Davis is shaking his head, too. “I told a girl I’d meet her after the gig. But you take Landry, why don’t you?”
Yes, why don’t I take her?
In a million ways—999,999 of which you wouldn’t like.
“No problem. Have fun and wrap it up tonight, boys.”
I’m whistling as we leave.
“You sound way too happy for a mini-golf outing,” Noah says quietly.
I fight hard to keep a big grin off my face. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?”
Chapter Sixteen
Landry
The mini-golf place is fairly crowded despite it being midnight, but I guess if you’re playing neon golf, it should actually be dark.
The three guys cause a minor commotion when they stroll up to the rental counter. A couple girls separate themselves from their own group to sidle up to Adam.
“Didn’t you play over at the Centurion tonight?” one of them exclaims.
“I did.” Adam gives them a cool smile but neither of the girls registers his social signal.
One drags a hand down his tatted arm. “You were so good up there. I love your song about the ride. What’s the name of that?”
It sets my teeth on edge to see her touching him. I don’t really get how people can just up and invade someone else’s personal space like that. He peers down at her hand, then glances over his shoulder at me. Like he’s expecting me to do something.
“You’re not getting very far with a musician if you can’t remember the name of his songs,” mutters AnnMarie.
“No kidding,” Grace chimes in. And, in a louder voice than her friend, she says, “I can’t believe how rude people are these days.”
Exactly. It’s rude and annoying and...and…I don’t give life to that other thought. The one that says if anyone should be touching Adam, it’s me. Because I don’t get to touch him, either. I told him about my crush weeks ago and he pretty much shrugged and walked away from me. What we have between us, the post-gig talks and the early morning breakfasts, is something friends do and I’m not ruining it by telling him this crush is becoming too big to deal with.
The girls throw us a few dirty glares, but the one with her hand on Adam’s forearm doesn’t back away. If anything, she steps closer, this time brushing her big boob against his biceps. “So what’re you doing now?”
Adam steps to the side, putting a bit of distance between him and the fan. “Playing a round with my friends.” As he’s saying this, he gives me another unreadable look.
“As if it isn’t obvious since we’re here at a mini-golf place,” Grace says with a sniff of obvious disdain.
“Well, if you need some help finding your way around in the dark, give me a holler.” She holds up her phone and waves it back and forth. “If you gave me your number, it’d be even easier.”
I don’t know why my mouth opens and the words come out, but they do. “Sorry, honey, that’s my man you’re hitting on right in front of me.”
The girl turns to give me a good onceover. “Her?” she says in barely concealed disbelief.
Adam grins, his white teeth flashing bright against his tanned skin. “Her.”
She wrinkles her nose before pinning her attention back on Adam. Then, proving she has big balls to match her big boobs, she pulls out a pen and jots something down on a napkin. “If you get bored, here’s my number.”
“We’re right here, bitch,” AnnMarie calls out.
“Who you calling a bitch?” the handsy fan’s friend snarls.
The three guys take a step back, as if they don’t want to get in the way of this potential girl fight. I roll my eyes. Men, honestly.
Stepping forward, I take fangirl by the arm. “Trust me. I’m doing womanhood a favor by taking Adam off the market. He’s got a huge ego. And he’s super temperamental. Rock stars.” I make a sad face. “You think they’re going to be awesome, but then you get them home and they think they’re above the little things, like picking up dirty socks and putting down the toilet seat.”
As I’m holding back the fangirl, Grace and AnnMarie usher the boys to the first hole. Once the dark swallows them up, the fangirl’s interest dims.
“It’d be Adam Rees in your house, though,” she says, but her heart is no longer in it.
“No matter what they do, they’re all the same in the end. Trust me on this. Besides, if you really want a rock star experience, you need to seek out Rudd.”
“Chris Rudd? The bassist?” She chews on her lip. “I dunno.”
“He’s really in demand.” This girl wants to sleep with a rock star? Rudd’s her absolute best chance from everything I’ve seen. I build him up a bit more. “There’s never been a night that hasn’t ended with Rudd surrounded by girls, but you? You’re exactly his type.”
“Really?” She isn’t quite convinced, but she’s wavering. The uncertainty in her voice begs for a small push.
“Absolutely. Look at you. You’re gorgeous.” I’m not blowing smoke up her ass. She really is pretty. “You go up there with all the confidence you showed tonight, and he’ll be putty in your hands. The band’s playing at Eighth Street tomorrow.”
We near the concession stand her group is hanging out when the fangirl unexpectedly throws her arms around me. “Thank you for the tip. You’ve been super nice. I’m sorry I hit on your man.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I awkwardly pat her on the back. “Be safe tonight, ladies.”
I give the two girls a jaunty wave and find my five friends hiding just beyond the concession stand.
I sense, more than see, Adam shaking his head.
“When I get big, you’re in charge of all the fan interaction,” he announces.
“No thanks.”
“Why? That was a masterful performance. Rudd couldn’t have done it better himself.”
“You heard?” I ask in surprise.
“We were right behind you.” Adam hands me a putter. “In case she turned and tried to jump you.”
“They were still hoping for a fight,” Grace chirps.
Of course they were.
“I only said it to protect you,” I tell him.
“You should stick around. There are a lot of other women here. I’m afraid.”
“Ha. You could crush them all with your mighty fist.”
As I give my putter a practice swing, Adam calls out, “Hey Landry, it’s not my fist that’s mighty.”
I nearly drop the club. Next to me, AnnMarie snickers. She knows exactly where my mind went which is in the gutter, where I’m on my knees checking out exactly how mighty Adam’s dick is. I presume it’s awesome. I wipe one sweaty palm against my leg and then the other.
“Are we talking sticks or balls,” Bo jokes. “Because I’ve got the longest stick here.” He lifts his golf club up and waves it in the air.
The three guys fold themselves in half laughing, thankfully not noticing that I’m engaging in a dirty fantasy in front of them. AnnMarie gives me a nudge. “Start playing, Landry. We’ll leave these yahoos behind.”
I gather myself and manage to hit the hole—golfing is dirty—in four strokes. The next hour or so is more of the same—the guys make dick jokes while we girls roll our eyes and proceed to kick t
heir asses on the green.
On the fourth green, there’s a series of ladders and slides that you have to get the ball up and over in order to complete the putt. Noah grows frustrated and slams his putter on the green. The head of the putter actually breaks, bounces off the green and strikes one of the miniature ladders.
“Here, have mine, tough guy,” Adam extends his putter.
Noah starts forward, his hands raised as if to try to strangle Adam.
Grace jumps forward. “I’m hungry, honey. Let’s go find some food and someone to fix this.”
“I’m hungry, too,” AnnMarie announces.
“Since when?” Bo asks.
“Since right now,” she insists. She drags the big man off the green toward the concession stand. Grace and Noah follow, leaving Adam and I standing beside the broken apparatus.
“Guess it’s just you and me,” I remark dryly.
“Looks like it.” There’s a husky note to his voice.
Surreptitiously I wipe my hands against my skinny jeans again. “Should we play on?”
“If you want.”
* * *
“Um, sure.” I walk off to the next green before I do something I regret.
Being near Adam—in the dark and without Davis around—is making me think dangerous thoughts. As in, if I move slightly to my left, I could be the one rubbing my boob against Adam’s perfectly muscled biceps. As in, if I lifted my hand, I could slide my fingers between his. As in, I could tuck myself under his arm, wrap my body around his and pull his gorgeous mouth against mine.
And no one would see. The tiny lights barely brighten the ground. The neon glow-in-the-dark balls emit no light. The only things on this course giving off any illumination are the targets.
Although I can’t see him, I’m more aware of Adam now than I ever have been. His clean, male scent—some kind of woodsy fragrance that beckons me to stick my nose in his neck to fully decipher all of its notes—fills my lungs. The air is so thick between us that I swear it’s almost as if he’s caressing me. I can hear his breathing, even and strong.
By the ninth hole, I’m a mess. My legs are weak, my heartbeat is worryingly fast, and I’m wishing I’d worn a bra with more padding, because I’m so turned on that my nipples are standing at attention. Good thing no one can see a damn thing.
Others are taking advantage of the dark. It’s nothing but scattered whispers, stolen kisses, and throaty purrs from people abandoning golf in favor of a different sort of game.
I wish I could snuff out all my senses, like midnight smothers the light to cut off my awkward feelings toward him. What had started out an enjoyable distraction has turned into annoying neediness.
“I don’t think our friends are coming back,” I note at the tenth hole.
“I think they probably found better things to do.” His voice is dark and rough.
Maybe he’s not so calm, either. There’s a harshness in his tone, a winded quality as if he’s back from his post-breakfast run. Sweaty, disheveled, and impossibly hot.
I find myself stepping off the faintly lit green to stand on a patch of AstroTurf. My sneakers sink into the ground. The denim of my jeans scrapes against my thighs, the seam of the crotch pressing against an ache between my legs.
My pulse points are alive. A flutter at my neck. Twin drums at my wrist. A reverberating echo in my center that thrums through my veins until my entire body feels lit up like a Christmas tree.
In this shadowed place, I’m more exposed than if I were on the beach at noon. I rub a shaky hand across my chest, my nipples straining in response to my own touch. My mind imagines Adam’s touch. His hands would be larger, rougher. Calluses have built up from years of holding the neck of his guitar. The pads of his fingers would abrade my skin in a wonderful, stomach-clenching way. His palm is more than large enough to engulf my breast.
A moan escapes my lips.
“Landry,” he say, the sound squeezed out of the back of his tight throat. He drops the putter and takes a step toward me.
I don’t move. I can’t. I remember what he first said when I stupidly confessed my crush.
“What would happen if I told you that I wasn’t safe? That I think you’re gorgeous and I’ve spent my fair share of moments fantasizing about what you’d feel like underneath me?”
“Adam…I…”
“I promise never to speak of this again.”
“Landry,” he repeats. Takes another step, then hauls himself up short. His chest heaves. Beside his thighs, his marvelous, magical hands fist and unfist.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
He’s waiting for me. He’s been waiting for me. Because he doesn’t want me to be afraid. He doesn’t want to spoil my sanctuary. But my refuge feels more like an ivory tower, cutting me off from fully living.
If I stayed in my parents’ basement, hugging my solitude close, wouldn’t Marrow be beating me once again?
I gather my courage and close the gap between us. It takes three steps. Three long steps. I think he stops breathing. I hook a hand around the back of his neck and place the other on his chest for leverage. Rising on my tiptoes, I draw his mouth down to mine.
“Kiss me,” I whisper.
With a groan, his mouth crashes against mine. He gathers me in his arms and pulls me hard against his frame. I feel the press of his erection against my belly as he pulls me off the ground. My legs have nowhere to go but around his waist, and he groans again as the maneuver presses the thick ridge of his cock against the hollow ache of my core.
His tongue slashes its way into my mouth, taking away my breath, my worry, my fear, trading it for desire and lust and need. There’s a possession in his kiss that I’ve never felt before. A naked want that makes me tremble.
I clench my legs harder around him.
“Please,” I beg, although I’m not certain what I’m pleading for. I don’t want to stop kissing him or touching him or rubbing myself along the hard, seemingly endless column of his erection.
His answer is to grip me tighter and start moving. My hands are busy, caressing the skin at the base of his neck, running through the short strands of his soft hair. His mouth rubs against mine, never quite removing the contact.
We abandon our putters, our balls, our surroundings. I have no idea where we’re going or how we’re getting there. I simply hold on to Adam as he strides down, comes to a halt in a copse of trees.
“You’ve picked a hell of a time to be brave, Landry,” he growls, pushing me back against a tree trunk.
The rough bark scratches my palms as I reach behind to brace myself. The stubble along his jaw abrades my cheek and then my neck as his hungry mouth forges a sensitive trail from my chin to my collarbone.
“I, uh, wanted to kiss you.”
His teeth close over the throbbing vein in my neck. “Here? In the middle of the mini-golf park?”
“Why not here?” I ask.
His hands find the hem of my shirt and push upward, baring my skin to the cool breeze of the Austin night. I shiver, more from his greedy touch than the brisk air. He nips at my earlobe, traces his tongue around the upper shell.
I lose my train of thought—if I ever had one in the first place—as his hands come up to cover my lace-covered breasts. He tugs the cups down, replacing the delicate fabric with his coarse palms. My breasts feel heavier. I draw his head downward and am rewarded with a wolfish laugh.
My pussy throbs in response. At my whispered yes, he lifts me up until my boobs are on level with his mouth. His thumbs hold up my shirt while his mouth covers one aching nipple and his palm rubs against the other. I squeeze my legs together, wishing I’d pushed his head lower.
He must be able to read my mind—or my motions—because he slowly lowers me to the ground so he can press a hand between my legs. “You aching here?”
“Yes, right there.” I gasp as the heel of his hand grinds against my pelvic bone. Greedily, I thrust my hips forward.
“Right here in the p
ark?”
“Right here.” Why would I want to be anywhere else but here, in the dark, with Adam’s mouth on my breast, his fingers rubbing me through the jeans, pressing the thick seam into my damp, swollen lips?
“Right here,” I repeat.
“Shit, baby.” He rises in one smooth motion, his hand remaining hard against me. He braces a forearm against the tree above my head and bends to taste my lips. His fingers rub and stroke me until my body shudders and a small cry flies from my throat to be swallowed by his kiss. The orgasm races through me, throbbing in my blood, and I’m whimpering against Adam’s lips as I shudder with pleasure.
“Shhh,” he whispers until I cool down.
And as the heat fades away, my brain cells kick in. What do we do now? How awkward will this be on the bus? What am I going to tell Davis?
“I can hear you worrying.” Adam murmurs. His chin rests on my head, bumping gently against me as he talks.
“This was…unexpected,” I say.
“Was it?” He sounds amused. “What’s unexpected is that I lasted this long. I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you.”
He eases back far enough to bend down and kiss me again. It’s a light peck, but it still sends a spike of electricity down my spine.
“I thought you were mad at me that night,” I confess.
“What night?”
“When we first met. You saw my cuts and bruises and got all…pissed.” I snug my arms close to my body and take advantage of the heat emanating from his. Now that we’re not all wrapped up in each other, now that he’s not warming me from the inside out, the cool Texas air is raising goosebumps.
He rubs his hands briskly down my arms. “Pissed you got hurt, yeah. At you? Never. Why would I be?”
“I dunno. You had this angry expression. And then Davis almost didn’t go on this tour because of me—I figured you were labeling me Yoko Ono in your head. Thinking I was going to break up the band before it even got its feet planted.”
“No, I never thought that. And yeah, I wanted to murder that Marrow guy. But, you—I definitely wanted you that night.”
I can barely remember Marrow and tell Adam that. “He’s a distant memory. I don’t even worry about him anymore.”
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