Wycked Crush (Wycked Obsession Book 1)

by Wynne Roman

  She kisses me back like she’ll die if she doesn’t. Maybe she won’t, but I will.

  I cup my hands around her ass and haul her close against my hard-on. My hips flex against hers, and I don’t doubt what I want. Hell, we can both feel it. I only need a couple of minutes, just long enough to find some privacy, and then I’ll be balls deep inside this woman.

  I want—

  A heavy hand slams down on my shoulder. “You really think this is a good fucking idea?”

  I jerk my mouth from Bree’s so I can tell this asshole to leave us alone. Then I see Noah standing on the dance floor next to us.

  “What…” I demand as Bree moans my name. An instant later she recognizes the interruption.

  “Noah?”

  He leans forward and drops an arm over each of our shoulders. “Personally,” he says in a low voice, “I don’t care if you two fuck like rabbits.” He looks at me. “I’ll fucking kill you if you hurt her, but if you’re two healthy adults looking to hook up, I say go for it.” He looks between us again. “But do you really want to do it in the middle of a goddamn club full of cell phone cameras and video? You want to see this on TMZ or some internet fan site tomorrow? Where anybody can see it?”

  Anybody, meaning Knox.

  He looks at that shit. He wants to know what people are saying about us. He posts on Twitter and Facebook and Instagram and a bunch of other social media sites, for Christ’s sake.

  Holy hell.

  I drop my arms from around Bree and step back. My hard-on doesn’t go away—I still want her like a drowning man wants dry land—but my brain somehow grabs some of the blood flow.

  “You’re right.” I haul in a ragged breath.

  “Ajia?”

  Bree doesn’t seem to recover so well. She looks confused, raw, in pain. Shattered. Not that there’s a fucking thing I can do about it.

  I spin on my heel. “See that she gets home, Noah.” And then I lose myself in the crowd.

  CHAPTER 7

  BREE

  I avoid Ajia as much as I can for a couple of days. It isn’t hard. He’s ignoring me, too. I don’t go to the second Houston show. When he’s on the tour bus, he either watches movies, plays video games with the guys, or disappears into his bunk. I stick to my little area, too. If the guys are there, I read in my bunk, write in my journal, or use the booth in the small dining area. When I’m there alone, I pretty much have the run of the bus. I watch what I want to watch, bake, text with my mom.

  It’s not ideal, but I need the time. Time to answer the question honestly this time.

  Am I in or out?

  I write a lot about it in my journal. Like pros and cons. Snippets of feelings. Hopes and fears. Lyrics—or poetry, really, as I don’t have any steady music to go with anything. It changes, depending on my mood.

  I was reckless the other night. I gave literally no thought to my actions. Alcohol gave me courage I couldn’t back up. I let my heart—and maybe a few other body parts—take chances that were too risky.

  Now I’m paying the price.

  It hurt when Ajia walked away in the club. A lot. I didn’t cry, but I could tell Noah expected me to. He acted so sweet, calling a cab, and getting us out of there. I tried to convince him to stay, to let me go back alone.

  “Nothing doing.” He insisted with a grin that looked a little forced to me. “I need my beauty sleep! I’ve got the bedroom this week, remember.”

  “And here I thought you were going to use it for fu—”

  He put a finger over my lips. “Forget about it. We’re just two friends who are looking after each other right now. You’re the wife, remember? I’m taking care of you.”

  I try to smile but can’t. “I’m sorry I ruined your night.”

  His grin becomes more genuine. “There’ll be other nights, baby girl. Lots of ‘em.”

  Since then, I’ve had time to think. Once I got over the initial hurt of Ajia turning his back on me like that, I start to remember other things. He rescued me from that anonymous guy, even though I didn’t really need saving, and then he danced with me. He kissed me—holy hell, did he kiss me!—and I know damn well he got hard from it.

  That has to mean something. Doesn’t it?

  I give it all a fair amount of thought in the hours when I’m alone, scribbling madly in my journal, and then, eventually, the answer hits. It’s solid. Unmistakable. As real as the air in my lungs.

  If I don’t really try, I’ll never know.

  Yeah, it could all go to shit. I could make a complete ass of myself, but in the end, I’ll know I tried. Gave it my best shot and took responsibility for my own happiness.

  I’ve been holding on to what if for a long damn time, and all it’s done is make me miserable. Nothing will change—certainly not my chance for happiness—if I keep doing the same thing. Or try things half-assed. I need to do it for real.

  But I need a little time to figure out my next step.

  We’re in El Paso for two shows, kind of a shock when I heard we’d be stopping here. I know if Knox had anything to say about it, we’d drive hundreds of miles out of our way to avoid El Paso. Rumor has it that the record label or Edge of Return or somebody owes the venue there a favor. A big one, I guess. So here we are, and I’m going shopping.

  I can think, maybe plan, while I shop.

  Knox sits in the booth, working on his computer. I peek over his shoulder to look out the window. A taxi is making its way toward the tour bus, and so I grab my purse and start down the aisle.

  “See you later,” I call softly, hoping he’s so caught up in whatever he’s doing that he won’t notice me leave.

  “Where you going?”

  Damn. So much for that idea. Still, my brother doesn’t look up.

  “To the grocery store.”

  “What?” Now his head snaps back.

  “We need fresh stuff. Baz got just enough to get us through the first few days. I’m going to get the rest of what we need.”

  Knox frowns. “You’re not going out in this shithole town all by yourself.”

  “Knox…”

  “Not negotiable, baby girl.”

  I sigh. It isn’t much of a surprise that my brother calls El Paso a shithole town. He doesn’t mean it about El Paso exactly; it’s just that our father was born here. Every time Dad needed a break—to gamble, drink, hook up with other women—he’d disappear and go back to where he grew up. Then one day, he didn’t come home again.

  Knox was 12 and I was 8.

  “We still need groceries.” I try to sound reasonable.

  “Ajia, go with her.”

  I spin around to see him standing next to the kitchenette. I didn’t know he was up, but there he is, dressed in his usual dark jeans and T-shirt.

  “I can go by myself.”

  “Told you.” Knox sits back in the booth. “Not negotiable. Not in El Pisshole.”

  “You know this hatred you have for El Paso is unnatural.”

  “Don’t give a shit. Ajia?”

  He stands unmoving until finally he blinks and shakes his head. “Why me?”

  So he still doesn’t want to be around me. It hurts, but I push the feelings away. I don’t have room for distractions right now.

  “I’m doing this social media shit.” Knox slings a hand toward his laptop. “Unless you want to do it?”

  Ajia shakes his head.

  “Zayne’s asleep, Noah and Rye went out for coffee. That leaves you standing in the kitchen with your thumb up your ass. Or the big rock star too good to go shopping?”

  “Fine.” Ajia comes toward me but doesn’t look anywhere near my face, my eyes.

  “Knox…really.” I try again. “I can—”

  “What part of not negotiable you having trouble with, Bree? Not? Or negotiable?”

  I blow out a harsh breath. “Fine.” I repeat Ajia’s word and take a step toward the door.

  “And next time you go
anywhere, have Baz call you a car. No more taxis.”

  “What?” I stop and turn back. “What do you mean, no more taxis?”

  Knox shakes his head. “Increased security. Edge of Return had trouble with some stalker or something. Don’t know the details. Just know the label says we’re getting security.”

  “Fine,” I say again. No point in arguing with my brother about it. He’s already non-negotiable about me going to the freaking store alone just because we’re in El Paso. If there’s a security problem for anybody on the tour for any reason, he won’t be giving me a free pass.

  “No more taxis after this one,” I agree, grasping that last moment of independence.

  “And Bree?” Knox calls as I turn to the exit.

  “What?”

  “Get some bananas.”

  “Ass,” I mutter under my breath, and I hear a chuckle from behind me. Ajia. He’s going to the store with me.

  I’m not sure if I’m happy about it or not.

  He surprises me by opening the car door for me, but then I wonder why. There isn’t a woman in Texas who’s opened a door for herself—ever—if there’s a man within a fifty-foot radius. It’s like Texas men are born with an extra door-opening gene or something.

  I give the cab driver instructions for where I want to go and then, finally, glance at Ajia. He’s looking out the window.

  “Sorry you got roped into this.”

  He shrugs but doesn’t look at me. “No problem.”

  I almost let it go. The shy, weak part of me wants to. But another part, the grown-up part that’s opening up, coming to life and seeing the possibilities, won’t shut up.

  “Right,” I say. “No problem.” I laugh and it sounds unpleasant, even to me. “That’s why you won’t even look at me.”

  He turns his head slowly. His blond hair shifts lushly over his shoulders, and I have a sudden, overwhelming urge to touch it. I know better.

  “Like this?” he demands, and his eyes are like liquid caramel. Hot and…pissed?

  “What? Why should you be mad at me? You’re the one who left me standing alone in the middle of the dance floor!”

  He blinks. “Noah was there.”

  “Noah wasn’t just kissing me like his life depended on it.”

  “I don’t kiss women like my life depends on it. I don’t—” He drops his gaze.

  “You don’t what?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Come on, A! You don’t what?”

  I’m furious suddenly. He screwed with me by walking away after a kiss that rocked my fucking world, by completely avoiding me for three days, and now he doesn’t want to explain?

  No. Fucking. Way.

  “What?” I demand again, fiercely this time.

  “I don’t kiss,” he snaps, pinning me with a furious gaze. “I don’t kiss on the mouth. Ever.”

  I sit back against the seat. “But…you kissed me.”

  “Yeah. I fucking did.”

  I stare at him, and he stares back. There’s a lot of shit going on behind his eyes, but I can’t make out any of it. Maybe it’s just as well, because I don’t know what the hell is going on inside me.

  He doesn’t kiss on the mouth. Ever. But he kissed me. Like he meant it.

  Relief settles my nerves when we pull up to the grocery store. What can I say to Ajia when he doesn’t look like he wants to talk to me at all? It’s easier to just get out of the taxi. And when Ajia pays the cab driver before I can, I walk away.

  I need a moment.

  Shopping carts are outside, and I grab one as I head into the store. Produce is first, and I assemble the things I want. I wish Knox were there so I could show him I already had bananas on my list.

  Next comes dairy, and from there I head up and down the aisles until I get to the other refrigerated items. I find Ajia there with a tube of chocolate chip cookies.

  He looks at me, his gaze hooded. Fine. I can’t talk to him about this shit right now, anyway. Not at the freaking grocery store.

  “You used to make cookies for us.”

  I nod. “I did. You always liked chocolate chip.”

  He nods back. “My favorite. Without nuts.”

  I take the tube from him. “Female.” I can’t help grinning as I put it back.

  “What?”

  “You like female cookies. Without nuts.”

  He snorts. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

  “I’ll make you cookies.” I start for the baking aisle. “But not from a tube. I’ll make them from scratch.”

  “Kitten!” he calls from behind, but I keep going.

  He catches up with me as I toss flour, sugar, brown sugar, and chocolate chips into the cart. I’ve been up and down most of the aisles by now, and the buggy’s getting pretty full.

  “Jesus,” he grunts when he stops next to me. “You feeding the whole fucking tour?”

  I laugh shortly. “The five of you will eat this in three days.”

  “And where you going to store it all? Pretty sure I didn’t notice a pantry in that tiny kitchen.”

  “You don’t notice anything except the food that comes out of that tiny kitchen.” I snort. “But if you must know, I had an idea. I’ll use the storage under one of the empty bunks for my pantry.”

  He cocks his head and looks at me with a bright expression that surprises me. “That’s brilliant! Hell, I never thought of that.”

  “That’s why I’m the wife.” I say it with just enough sarcasm to be sure he won’t take me seriously.

  “Bree…kitten—”

  “Oh, my God! Ajia Stone!”

  Two girls, maybe fifteen or sixteen, rush up to us. One stops on Ajia’s left, the other on the right. They’re pretty in a high school sort of way, and I realize suddenly that they’re just a little older than I was when I first met Ajia. God, I can so understand the attraction.

  “Is it really you?” asks the girl on the left. She grips his arm and won’t let go.

  “Oh, my God! We love Wycked Obsession!” squeals the girl on the right. She takes hold of Ajia’s other arm.

  I notice a tightening around his mouth, a flash in his eyes, and I know why. Of course I know why. Man-slut or not, he hates it when fans touch him without asking. None of the guys really like it, and I don’t blame them. Personal space is, well…personal.

  Ajia recovers quickly enough and pastes a flirty grin on his face. “Thanks, girls. It’s always nice to know the fans are there for us.”

  “You’re in town for the concerts, right?”

  He nods. “Two shows.”

  They squeal and jump up and down. “We have tickets for tomorrow night,” says Right.

  “Oh, God,” says Left. “I can’t believe Ajia Stone is shopping in our store!”

  “Ajia is not shopping,” I point out dryly. “I am doing the shopping. He’s just my…bodyguard.”

  He shoots me a look that clearly says, What the fuck? I just grin back and respond with my own expression. Thought you’d like that better than babysitter.

  The girls turn to me suddenly, as though I didn’t exist before I opened my mouth. Which, for them, is probably true. They both stare, and then Right says, “Who are you?”

  Ajia’s grin takes on a wicked curve. “This is Bree. She’s Knox Gallagher’s baby sister!”

  “Oohh!” They shriek again, like being related to Knox is some great lifetime achievement. “Where is he? Is he here?”

  “No. He’s…busy this morning.” I’m not about to say anything about what he’s doing or where we’re staying. Living on the tour bus with this new security issue warns me to keep my mouth shut.

  “You’re on tour with them?”

  “Yep.” I send Ajia a look that says, All summer, baby.

  “You’re so lucky.”

  Ajia extricates himself from the hold they have on him and steps around Right to stand behind me. Not quite sure why he moved, except I guess he had
enough of them touching him.

  “Bree was our first fan.” He rests his hands on my shoulders. “She’s like our mascot. A member of the band.”

  There it is again. Band mascot. The ass.

  Worse, the soft, love-struck looks they gave him would be a joke if I didn’t understand them so well. And he knows just how to make it happen. Double ass.

  I lean into him, enough that his chest presses against my back. I meant to put him in his place, but suddenly I’m the one who’s breathless.

  “We’re like…one big…happy…family.”

  I get the words out, but they sound ridiculously ragged. He’s only standing behind me, for God’s sake, but he’s close enough that the scent of sandalwood and Ajia makes all my girl parts tighten.

  And what about his guy parts? If I push my ass backward, will I bump against his erection?

  “We better get going, kitten,” he says suddenly, his mouth closer to my ear than I realized. “Our ice cream is going to melt.”

  “Uh. Okay.”

  God. I sound less intelligent than the fangirls who stare at Ajia with all the adoration their 15-year-old hearts can muster.

  “I’ll bet you girls would like an autograph, wouldn’t you?” I force myself to ask.

  “Yes! Please!” They’re like an echo of each other. “And a picture!”

  “Will you sign my boobs?” asks Left, trying to be cool, but it comes out sounding too breathless and innocent.

  Ajia laughs. “Nope.” He shakes his head. “Try again in three or four years.”

  She flushes, but Right smiles widely. “How about the back of our shirts?”

  He pulls a Sharpie from his pocket—all the guys have learned to carry them—and grins wickedly. “Okay, honey. Bend over.”

  They both squeal again, and I wonder suddenly why somebody in the store hasn’t come over to investigate these high-pitched screams. It doesn’t seem to matter much as Ajia scrawls his name and the date on the back of each shirt. I take a picture with each of their cell phones.

  “Have fun at the concert tomorrow night.” He smiles with genuine appreciation this time. “I’ll look for you in the crowd.”