by A. M. Jones
I swallow as I watch this huge guy taking over my kitchen to bake brownies. His hands are about as big as the bowl. Digging in my bag on a stool, I take out my camera. “Mind if I take shots?”
He nods and stops stirring, looking at me. “How come you never told me that Madison sent you those lawsuit papers?”
I swallow and whisper, “You know how I feel about marriage, Eli.” I swipe chocolate from the bowl and lick it. “She told me she wanted her husband back. And then rambled on about how she wanted to help you follow your dreams. And I never want you to resent me.”
His chest expands with a breath as he studies me with shining eyes. “It was just her way of getting what she wants.”
“I know and I kind of knew then, and after—” I shake my head. “What happened on Halloween. And then I didn’t have to convince you to do the collaboration…” I shrug.
“You know I did it for you.”
I smile. “I do.”
He opens more cabinets. “Do you have a pan or—”
“I have something even better.” I squat to dig in a lower cabinet and reveal the surprise. “I have a magic brownie pan.”
The smile that overtakes his face is contagious as he inspects the grid part. “I’ve always wanted to try one of these. Amazing.”
I snap shots of him in the ruffles as he pours the batter in the pan. He’s singing his own lyrics coming from the living room. I touch his arm, and very subtle, I broach his earlier statement. “Thank you.”
He nods, sticking the pan in the oven and grabbing my camera. “Come here,” he says, spinning me and snapping pictures of both of us. I smile. After he’s satisfied with my camera, he holds his phone to take more. I hate having my photo taken—which is a big reason I’m usually the one taking them, but I’d do anything for Eli. Including going toe to toe with Madison.
I laugh as he checks them over. “They’ll do.” He grins with his thumbs tapping across the touch screen. When he shoves the phone in his pocket, he says, “Let’s order a pizza.”
Our night’s quite platonic, but it’s the best time I’ve had in a while. We watch a movie and eat pizza. The highlight, however, is watching him convert his brownie into a sugar monstrosity—complete with ice cream, marshmallows, three different kinds of sprinkles, chocolate chips, a scoop of peanut butter, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, caramel syrup—anything sweet I have in my pantry.
Eli never says anything else about Madison or the single and I never ask.
Later on, he grabs his sweatshirt hoodie to leave and swamps me in a hug. “Thanks for having me.”
“Thanks for the brownies. You were right, chocolate was exactly what I needed.”
He laughs. “It wasn’t the brownies you needed.”
“What did I need?”
“Eli therapy.” He winks, walking out the door and taking my heart with him.
Soon after that, I’m checking social media and notice he mentioned me in a tweet. It’s a picture he took of our smiling faces. The tweet, however, is enough to bring me to tears. “Taylor therapy.”
Sliding my keycard in the door, the light gives me the go. I slam it open, dragging my luggage behind me. I got caught in Friday Atlanta rush hour in pouring rain, and I pray I haven’t missed Tainted District’s performance. Since it’s an independent music festival, it’s not on cable, but it’s live online. Quickly opening my laptop, it takes more than a few minutes to connect to wifi. I’ve already missed about a half hour.
I grab a bag of white cheddar popcorn and diet soda. About forty-five minutes in, Tainted District presents an award. They’re sharp, dressed to impress. I suppose the short guy with dark hair is Kevin. I swallow as I zero in on Eli’s guitar pick hanging against the stark white of his dress shirt. The dress shirt itself isn’t a standard button-up, but the material looks great against the black jacket. His smile matches the color of his shirt and his hair is wild exactly the way I like it, curlier underneath.
Pride swells my heart. The guys are overjoyed to be there, and they deserve it. Before I know it, the presentation is over as they shake hands and congratulate a band as they walk on stage. I’m not even sure what award they were presenting or who even won it.
The show goes back and forth between presenting awards and bands performing. A ton of live music, and the sound coming through is good.
A beep sounds from my phone. You watching?
My heart beats faster and the host announces Tainted District, drawing my attention back to the computer. I put my face close to the screen.
Crockett’s bass starts slow, and the keyboard joins in to become an evocative intro, and a few seconds later, the sound blasts as everyone joins in as the music becomes a little heavier and speedier. Confusion runs through me at the unfamiliar song. My heart plummets. This must be the new duet. When the lights go up, I gasp, slapping my hand over my mouth, but I grin wide when the camera focuses on Eli—in my nerd specs. In fact, the whole band has on a similar pair. Eli’s forearms bunch as he strums his electric, and they’re most definitely plugged in. Something he’s been excited about because there were a few times they faux-played for the duet during a Madison Hart-Gregor show. Madison is nowhere on stage. It’s not the new duet, but of course not. Maybe it’s too soon for that.
The intro levels out and he brings his mouth to the mic.
No matter how much it hurts
The worst part of my day
Only takes a moment
To wash all away
I hate feeling so dependent
Guess it's better than being alone
The music gets heavier again…
I just wanna be in the… moment. His eyes close as he drawls the word with his husky rasp. My heart feels like it will explode. The tone of the song is suggestive with the undertones of longing.
When there’s no ink to break your fall
When nothing else matters at all
Eli keeps singing even as the music slows back down. Don't even want to think about it
Just let me reach that zone
When nothing makes sense
Doesn't even add up
We didn't see it coming… I gasp again as my eyes sting.
I just wanna be in the ...moment
When there’s no ink to break your fall… I rub my arms, feeling exposed.
When nothing else matters at all… Music blasts much like the intro, and he kicks up his pitch almost in anger.
I’m fuckin’ Ink slapped to the wall! More music pounds from my speakers as he bounces from the mic. Jack and Eli battle it out with their electrics. After a few minutes, Eli returns to the mic as the music becomes the evocative melody.
There she is and I'm on my way across the roo-ooom
I ... just ... want ... to... be ...
In the moment... He draws out the word again and smiles to the camera with his mouth against the microphone. A smile I’ve seen numerous times before. The lights dim, and I slam my laptop shut before furiously wiping tears.
The crowd cheers and screams. Crockett shimmies until we’re off stage. We have huge smiles on our faces as I remove Taylor’s glasses. They’re cheering for us. Not Madison Hart-Gregor.
I pull my phone from my back pocket and turn it on, hoping for a text from Taylor.
Nothing.
My heart pounds as I release a breath, and it’s shaky as I spot Madison and her scowl. She’s not happy, but she smiles when she sees me.
“You got my stuff?” I ask Crockett.
He smirks, raising his own glasses on top of his head. “Yes, now go. Nothing’s going to happen to your axe.”
Madison follows me as I retrieve my bag to get the hell out of here. People rush about, moving instruments, yelling, and lining other bands up. Adrenaline still courses through my veins at it all. When we’re by ourselves, I start, “I know you’re—”
“I thought you were great.” She cuts me off with a smile. “I was mad at first. Furious, but this is your thing. You deserve it.” After loo
king away, she meets my gaze again. “That song… wow. Just wow.”
“Thanks.”
“All right. I know you need to get going.” She steps back, fidgeting and eyeing me warily. “You going to do it?”
I give her a stony expression. “Is that any of your business?”
“It’s my future, so yes.”
The truth is, I don’t know what I want to do except tell her to fuck off.
“Get your shit together, Eli.” She strides from the small room as I wonder how I got myself into this mess.
When I make my way to the guys with a duffle over my shoulder, Jack sucks on an electronic cigarette as if his life will end any minute. Somehow, he has vapor billowing from his mouth and nose while toking at the same time. I wonder if Taylor has ever tried one. Nah, I like the lollipops. I really like the lollipops.
Crockett pushes through a ring of people like a man on a mission. “Hey, uh, Madison wants to speak with you.” He points the way.
“But I—”
“Like, now.” He shoves me as another band starts. Somehow, the sound isn’t right, and the cymbals are loud. We both flinch, but he elbows me and points toward a hallway.
I fling my hands. “Fine!” As I move to the hallway, the sound muffles and I stop as Madison speaks. She’s around the corner and from a few pauses, I suspect she’s on her cell phone.
“—Worry. Trust me, I’ve been married to him for almost ten years. He has to come to the idea on his own. If I push, he’ll resist. I’ve already planted the seed and I’ll bring it up again soon. Not now.” Another pause. “I know! Just wait until this fucking weekend is over.”
Crockett watches me with pity. I flip him both bird fingers and stalk away.
I check in to the convention center hotel well after midnight. I’m not sure if I should text Taylor to let her know I made it, but I want to see her. And it’s not like I’ve let the time stop me before.
What room are you in? I text before I lose the nerve.
Her reply is automatic. I’m at the bar.
When I get there, I’m surprised to see her with a large group. I don’t know what I was expecting—for her to be drinking herself into a stupor alone and waiting for me? Releasing a rough breath, I run my hands through my hair as I take her in. I smile when she laughs at something. She seems relaxed and comfortable. Her hair is in loose curls down her back. She glances toward the door, spotting me. If possible, she beams wider, waves her arm, and to my complete surprise again, she calls out my name.
Every eye turns toward me, and I slow my steps when I realize they’re all women. What have I gotten myself into? Taylor pulls over an empty chair for me. I drop my duffle and she eyes it with a drawn brow.
“That’s all you brought?”
I grin. “I didn’t think I’d be needing many clothes.” The other women burst into laughter. Taylor’s flushed face goes brighter as she remembers our loincloth deal. Her eyes are bright and glazed. No wonder she’s relaxed. She’s buzzed.
She rewards me with a naughty smile. “Right.” She introduces everyone and a name I recognize. Kate Conner—a plush woman with bouncy brown hair, nice lips, and a great smile.
“You wrote Maniac in Heaven.” I point to her. It’s a horror novel Taylor recommended about a serial killer who goes on a rampage, killing everything in his wake— nasty, in fact, but I liked it. The table of authors goes silent and a slow smile crosses Taylor’s face, but I continue, “You’re whacked in the head, and I need your autograph.”
Another round of laughter breaks out and Kate smiles. “We’ll trade.”
“Deal.”
I drink two beers and share a couple of laughs with everyone, but watching Taylor interact with them makes my chest swell. I feel light and happy, well, because she’s light and happy. The authors trickle away and soon, it’s just Taylor and me. Her eyes shine as she squeezes an orange slice into the top of her bottle. I can’t wait to see her in another element—signing books and talking with fans. I’ve seen her before, sure, but this time I’ll be front and center, a part of it—a part of something she loves to do.
“You might get groped tomorrow,” she says, extracting me from of my thoughts.
“Wait. What?”
She laughs before taking several large swallows from her beer. “Just a forewarning so you can be on the alert.”
“What kind of groping are we talking here? A little chest rub or butt pinching?” I’m only kidding, but honestly, it doesn’t sound pleasant.
She gulps the rest of her beer. “I’ve never witnessed anything but I’ve heard stories of some overzealous ladies.”
That statement doesn’t bode well. Her eyes cut sideways, and she laughs at the look on my face.
The bar closes about an hour later and Taylor holds onto my neck as we ride in the elevator. I’m having a hard time holding back. The more she drank the more flirtatious she became and I’m feeling it in more areas than one. She can’t even stand straight. I’m tipsy myself. The door swooshes open and we stumble out. Her boots trip on the carpet, but my hold on her waist keeps her from making a face plant. A giggle echoes down the hallway and I try not to laugh when it ends with a snort.
“What room are you in and where’s your key card?”
She points and mumbles, “This one, this one.” Standing on her own, she wobbles as she digs in her pockets, pulling out the card. When she tries the door, the light stays red. She scowls, slamming the key card in and out of the slot. “What the fuckin’ fuck?”
I grin. “You sure this’s the right room?”
She releases a puff of air and shoulders the wall to the next room. The light turns green this time, and she smiles bright. “Finally,” she says as if it took us a million years to get here. She tumbles inside, but I grab her arm to keep her from falling as she laughs.
“Whoa, there.” I throw my duffle in the corner and help her to the bed. The complimentary water bottle stands out like a lighthouse on the desk. “Here, drink some of this.”
“Oh, I will.” She grabs the waist of my jeans, catching me off guard, and jerks me on the bed. “Mmmm…” she moans as her hands make their way underneath my shirt. Her palms sear a path on my stomach and her fingers grip my chest hair lightly. It should hurt, but the tug only sends blood straight to my groin.
I weave my fingers in her hair and tip her head back to watch at her face, but she assaults my lips instead. Oh man, she is drunk and tastes like oranges with a hint sticky sweetness from her last piece of candy. Her taste, triggering the memory of the last time I kissed her, urges me to deepen the kiss with equal fervor. Placing myself between her legs, I push her back on the pillows and kiss my way down her chin and neck, lingering on spots that make her breath catch. She arches, putting her cleavage in my face and a trace of her sweet smell hits my nose. I lick along the edge of her lacy bra before biting down. She gasps causing her breasts to expand.
I trail my hand down her side and thigh as I meet her hooded gaze. Our chests heave together with our rapid breathing and she grinds herself against me.
I groan and squeeze my eyes closed tight, swallowing hard. Forcing myself away from her intoxicating warmth, I lean back. “Taylor, I don’t want to do this for the first time while you’re drunk.”
“Shhhh,” she shushes and tugs me down, wrapping her legs around my hips. “Please don’t stop.” Automatically kissing me again, she continues her movements and pulls my shirt in a hurried manner. It’s hard to think with her attacking me, which only turns me on more than I already am.
Not to mention, my shirt is stuck around my head.
She laughs as she yanks and my head jerks with it. Ouch. I help her by pulling it off all the while she continues to move her body in a writhing motion. After that, I’m lost in sensation. Her breathing becomes erratic, and she moans, rubbing against my denim-enclosed hard-on. Grabbing my arms, she calls out with an impending orgasm as her body takes what it wants.
I’m mesmerized by her expression
for a moment before I lick her bottom lip and take it into my mouth, softening her sounds. As soon as I pump myself against her, she trembles and I almost burst. Our deep breaths mingle when she opens her eyes and gives me a slow grin. “Did we dry hump like teenagers?”
“Yes,” I grit out because I’m painfully squeezed into my jeans and the look in her glazed eyes is not one of complete satisfaction. Licking her lips, she snaps open the button on my jeans.
“Taylor…” My voice is rough as I try to conjure some semblance of control. “You’re not acting like yourself. I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.” Reasoning with her is impossible because she sits and pushes me backwards on the bed.
Her blue eyes meet mine when she crawls on top of me. Seduction swirls in them as she says, “I’ve got you exactly where I want you.” Her hands and gaze trail my chest and stomach like live wires. If I wasn’t sober a minute ago, I sure as hell am now. She bites her lip and pinches my zipper pull. “Trust me when I say I won’t regret... A.” She inches my zipper down. “Damn.” Zip. “Thing.”
That thing she hides—her raw sexuality—that runs right under her surface when she looks at me sometimes, she’s letting it out. A true gift I can’t turn down. I run my fingers through her hair and wrap it around my hand until I can grip her scalp, bringing her head back. Another sultry gasp escapes through her lips as her eyes close. Testing the waters, I grip harder and her breaths become rapid pants. They mingle with my own before I suck them down by taking her lips with mine. I don’t know how much time we spend lip-locked, but she pulls back, smiling.
She curls her fingers around the waistband at my hips, pushing my jeans downward. I lift to help her but tighten my hold on her hair. “Why are you still wearing clothes?”
She sucks in her puffy lips, rubbing them together. “Because what I want to do doesn’t require me to be naked.” She bites my jaw and moves downward to explore while she scatters open-mouthed kisses and bites. She lifts and watches the swift movements of my stomach. “But if you must know… I’m wet.” At this fantastic announcement, she moves to her knees bending down with her ass in the air, teasing me with the sight. My hands go slack as I try to keep my eyes open to watch. It’s as if my mind refuses to believe I’m here with her, doing the naughty things I’ve fabricated in my mind countless times. Except she’s usually...