“No, it’s not cool. Especially with everything that’s been going on. If you ask me, Ryan and Dash are sellouts, but…well, you’re right. I need to make money. Guess that makes me a sellout too.”
“No,” I shake my head. “I get it,” I say again. “I do. It’s cool.” I do my best to walk around him, but he blocks my path.
“Dude.” He rests a hand on my shoulder. “If you need anything…”
“I don’t.”
“Forgive me if I don’t buy that.”
I don’t look at him. “Bryce, man. It’s—”
“I can book a gig for you, if you want. So long as you pack the bar, I can give you a C note every night. It’s up to you. I’ve Wednesdays and Fridays wide open. And if you ask me, people will pay a lot more to see Ross Black than an unknown band made up of his left overs.”
I can’t help but laugh at this. “We’ll see,” I say.
“Call anytime. Alright?”
I nod again, exuding as much nonchalance as I can. But in my mind, I’ve already taken him off on the offer. Two hundred dollars a week isn’t much, but it’s something. . God knows I need the money and it’s that much more than I have right now.
Playing for a crowd again is the cherry on top. It’s not something I imagined I’d do anytime soon. I haven’t been on stage since the last show of our tour—in Sweden three months ago. I miss it. Everything inside me misses it. I didn’t realize how much until I walked into this bar to see the rest of my world going on without me. This was my dream. Always has been. I spent years putting it off, trying to make up for my past. Trying to bury the secrets that ruined the lives of the people closest to me. But every time I let it go, it comes back—the call from the tour promoter two years ago and now this. Music always seems to find me and I can’t say I’m sorry about that. In fact, with everything going on around me right now—Sheila, Luke, being fucking broke—I’ve never been more relieved.
The windows are glowing when I pull up to the house and, for the first few steps down the driveway, I forget why I’m carrying all this damn food in the first place. I unlock the door and kick it open, placing the armful of Chinese take-out on the table by the door. When Sheila dragged it over there the other day, I thought it looked stupid. A table pushed up against the wall by the door? It’s not like I’m one for ornaments and plants. But it quickly became a haven for unopened mail, keys and empty coffee cups. It makes sense now.
After I shrug out of my jacket and kick off my shoes, I retrieve our dinner and make my way to the kitchen. The plan was to clean up a bit, then set up everything in the living room. But as I pass by I notice the place is spotless. In the kitchen, Sheila is darting from the stove to the fridge and back to the island in the middle. She catches the first glimpse of me lingering in the doorway and smiles.
She’s got on a dress. I haven’t seen her in a dress since that shitty day at the hospital. But this one isn’t black and depressing. It’s bright blue like her eyes. It dips low in the front and when she steps around the island to take a bag from me, I realize the back doesn’t leave much to the imagination?
“Where’d you get that?” I ask, my gaze passes over her entire body, then follows her as she walks away, lingering on the way her ass rolls beneath the stretchy fabric.
“Just a little something I’ve been saving for the right time.”
I place the rest of the food on the counter, unable to ignore my instincts any longer. When I slip my hands around her waist and yank her toward me she lets out a squeal that makes me want to take her straight to bed. Right now. I kiss her. Not like I’m trying to tease her but to deliberately send her the same message my dick just received from my brain. She tastes sweet, like some kind of fake fruity lip stuff and, as I comb my fingers through her hair, I notice it’s still damp.
She’s moaning into my mouth, her palms resting on my chest and it takes every bit of strength I have to pull away.
“You’re in a good mood.” I nibble at her bottom lip once more, my hands still cupping the back of her head.
She smiles again, then gets down off her tiptoes and walks away from me. “What’s all this?” She gestures to the bags.
I take in the scene around me. “Uh, I thought I’d buy dinner, maybe light some candles.” I scratch my head. “But there’s power and heat. And…are you cooking? I didn’t know you cook.”
Sheila rolls her eyes and points toward the mess on the counter. “I don’t. Clearly. But the brownies turned out pretty good.” She giggles. “I’ve had a little practice with those.”
I stroll over to the pot and open it, peering at the bubbling mess inside. I do my best to paint on a neutral expression. “Watcha makin’?”
“It’s supposed to be jambalaya. I got the recipe from Coco. But…maybe we should stick with Chinese.”
I smirk. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”
She frowns and grabs a couple of plates from the cupboard.
“What was that?” I come up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist again.
“What?”
“That look. Did I say something wrong?”
“Nope.”
She says it a little too quickly and even though I can feel her resisting, I turn her around to face me.
“What’s wrong, Carlson?” She avoids my gaze, glancing first at the floor and then behind me. So I take her gently by the chin and tilt her head, holding her gaze.
“It’s nothing. Just hungry.”
“I call bullshit.”
She sighs. Closes her eyes for a moment. Then sighs again. “It’s just…the whole ‘sweetheart’ thing. It’s…kind of lost its appeal I guess.”
“The ‘sweetheart thing’? I don’t follow.”
“You call every girl ‘sweetheart’ and I’d just like to think…” She shakes her head. “Never mind, Ross. Let’s just eat.” She pats my chest, then pulls away. “But I’m holding you to those candles,” she adds, tossing the comment over her shoulder as she carries a bag of food and the plates to the living room. “So grab a lighter and get started.”
Full on rice and chicken, I ignore the pot brownies. Besides, they’re not really my thing. It’s obvious they’re something Luke got her into and even though it annoys the hell out of me, I don’t say anything. I just politely pass on them and concentrate on her.
She’s barefooted and cross-legged, leaning back on her hands and staring up at the candlelit ceiling. She looks so fucking hot in that barely-there dress, her eyes shining in the dim light and that smile on her face. It’s the smile I notice the most. I do everything I can to get them out of her these days.
“This is so weird,” she whispers. “A candle light dinner with Roscoe Black.”
I laugh. “I’ve done stuff like this before. I did have a girlfriend, you know.” Fuck. Why did I say that? “I mean I’m not…what’s that you used to call us? Neanderthal? I’m not like that. I can be a romantic guy.”
Sheila looks me directly in the eye, her expression serious. “Oh, you’re totally Neanderthal, Ross. But it’s hot. For the record, candlelight dinners are incredibly cheesy, but it doesn’t hurt once in a while.”
I roll over onto my stomach and prop my head up just in front of her lap. “You think I’m cheesy?” I ask and leave a soft kiss on her bare knee.
She smiles and nods.
“And hot?” I graze her skin with teeth this time.
She bites her bottom lip and I can tell she’s about to burst just beneath the surface.
I get on my hands and knees, hovering just in front of her, my mouth barely brushing her ear. “And Neanderthal?”
“Absolutely,” she whispers. I pounce this time, sending her falling backwards with a scream. “Ross! The candles!”
I’ve just barely missed them, so I blow out the ones that are closest to us and position her carefully beneath me, hiking her dress up to her waist. The second my hand slips between her legs, she arches toward me. Her fingers twist into my hair and she pulls my lips
to hers. “Fuck me,” she mumbles between kisses. “Do me like you did this morning. It was so good,” she moans.
I swear my dick could escape on its own right now.
Sheila isn’t wearing panties. Fuck, she isn’t wearing panties. I couldn’t ask for easier access and when my finger slides along her crease, it feels she’s been salivating for me all day.
“Holy shit,” I groan. With my other hand I’m fumbling with my jeans, my lips still being devoured by hers.
Sheila pushes my hand away and, in just a few seconds, releases my belt and yanks down my zipper. I ease up off her a little bit to help her pull my pants down over my ass, at the same time reaching for the condom in pocket.
In the weeks we’ve been together, I’ve learned a crucial fact. Always be prepared. Because, with Sheila, I can be demanded to preform any time of day. Sometimes multiple times in a row. She’s horny as hell. So keeping a condom in my back pocket, stashing them in my car and even on the back of the toilet—in case she jumps me in the shower—is normal practice.
Sheila snatches the package from me and tears it open, ready to do the honors. Once she’s suited me up, she pulls me back on top of her. Digging her nails into my skin, she thrusts me toward her.
The moment I enter her, I lose my breath. This fucking girl. I’ve imagined being with her a million times. The second she walked into that interview, the moment I realized she was the one who started our band’s fan club, the day she reamed me for taking another girl in her bed, even after she hooked up with my brother. I’ve coveted her for months and having her doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t seem real. But it feels…Jesus fucking Christ. I can’t breathe. The sensation of her is suffocating me, like it always does.
I find her mouth again, kissing her softly, trying my hardest to slow things down. We’re always going so fast. It’s always crazy and out of control. For once, I just want to go slow. Savor every moment. Because one of these days she’s going to come to her senses and leave me with nothing but memories.
I roll onto my side and pump slowly in and out of her, caressing her back with one hand and cupping her head with the other. Our tongues wrestle each other, leaving little room for breath. But Sheila isn’t having it. Like most days, she doesn’t want gentle. She’s not looking for a long drawn-out session. She’s working her hips against me, so hard and so fast, I know I won’t be able to hold on much longer so I simply give in. I match her movements thrust for thrust, dip for dip. That’s when she starts calling out my name, screaming for me to give it to her harder.
Apparently, I’m not meeting her expectations because the next thing I know she’s mounting me. Her knees are pressed into the sides of my ribs and she reaches back with her arms, her hands gripping the tops of my thighs. She stares down at me, her gaze so mesmerizing I can’t look away. She holds her bottom lip between her teeth and stirs her hips, taking me deeper. Tiny little moans escape her, her face contorting, but her eyes never leaving mine.
Damn those blue eyes. Some chicks have guys wrapped around their fingers. I’m wrapped around this one’s goddamn soul.
We almost always release at the same time but this time around I hold off, grasping her waist. I just want to watch her. That beautiful mouth parting, those sapphire eyes rolling back into her head, as she throws it back, her hair falling behind her. It isn’t until I’ve witnessed every entrancing moment of her pleasure, that I take the time to enjoy my own.
Five minutes later, we’re still in the same spot. Our legs are tangled together, her arms wrapped tightly around my waist. My heart is still beating a mile a minute and I know she can feel it.
“You okay?” she asks.
“I’m good.” I kiss the top of her head.
“You were very good,” she says with a giggle.
“What about Blue?”
“Huh?” she looks up at me.
“For a nickname. Since you despise ‘sweetheart’ and all.”
“I don’t despise it.”
“I get it,” I tell her with a squeeze. “I just never thought about it until now. But you’re right. I shouldn’t call you what I call other girls. Because you’re not other girls.”
She smiles, broadly. “I’m not?”
“Hell no. Are you fucking kidding?” I run my finger up and down her arm. “I get it from my dad. The whole ‘sweetheart’ thing. I used to hear him say it all the time. Luke says too. Even my mom does. It’s just a stupid habit. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I know.” She kisses my chest and my heart starts to skitter. “I was being stupid. You call me Carlson. Or sometimes Sheila Carlson.” She laughs. “No one else does that.”
“Yeah, but it’s not…romantic.”
“Ross,” she says, holding me tighter and letting out a little sigh. “I told you I don’t need romantic. It’s cheesy. I like you just the way you are.”
“You said it yourself,” I reply. “Once in a while doesn’t hurt. So Blue it is. I thought about Blue Eyes, but—“ Sheila bursts into laughter and I join in. “Exactly. So, we’ll stick with Blue. That alright with you, Blue?”
“Still a little cheesy,” she admits. “But, coming from you, I’ll deal.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sheila
I lie back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. I’ve managed to make it through another day. I only had one shot of rum when I woke up. Then after an hour of coaxing, Coco convinced me to go shopping at this little boutique in town. But once we finished a late lunch at the cafe across the street, I’d had enough of watching happy people live their happy lives. I begged her take me home instead of going to see Ground Hog Day like she’d planned.
The second I got back, I numbed myself with another two shots and we’ve been holed up in Ross’s room for the past two hours. Coco’s been talking nonstop—telling me stories about college guys, New York and her relationship with Dash, which I still can’t wrap my head around. She’s trying to distract me—and I’m grateful. But it isn’t working.
I close my eyes and allow my mind to drift to Roscoe instead. The way he looks at me, the way he touches me. Then I think of last night. Everything about it was perfect. Despite the mushy jambalaya and the fact that I narrowly dodged the explanation about our restored power, it was perfect. For some reason, his presence always creates an illusion that everything is.
“I can’t believe this is his room,” Coco says from her perch at my feet. “It’s so normal.”
“I know. I was expecting posters of girls in bikinis and Zeppelin memorabilia. Maybe even a waterbed,” I add with a laugh. “But this bed doesn’t need any extra help moving if you know what I mean.”
“Ew.” Coco rolls her eyes. Then she cocks an eyebrow, easing up off the mattress, slightly. “What’s it like?” she asks with a devious grin. “Is it like you thought’d be? After all these years of fantasizing, does Roscoe Black live up to the expectation?”
“Well he’s better than his brother. I’ll give you that.”
Coco’s mouth drops open and she slaps me lightly on the leg. “Sheila!”
“What? He is. He just seems…I don’t know…more into it. More into me, maybe? Which makes sense when you think about it. I mean the whole time I was with Luke he was in love with Shannon, so…” I let out a shaky sigh, and sit up, brushing off the discomfort. “Ross is great. I’m happy.”
A doubtful expression overshadows her shocked one and she starts playing with her hair. Pulling the tight curls straight and watching them bounce back. I know what’s coming next, so I do my best to avoid it.
“Cole still getting on your nerves?”
Coco shrugs. “What’s new? I think he’s just annoyed we’re both home at the same time. Not my fault his girlfriend dumped him the same week my best friend lost…” She clears her throat. “He’s just being his usual asshole self. He wants me to go back to school. I told him you’re not ready.”
“I’m fine,” I smile. “You don’t have to stay here for me. I know you m
iss New York.”
“No big deal. I’m taking a couple correspondence courses, so I won’t have much to catch up on. Besides, New York isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I kind of miss home and I was thinking maybe I’ll transfer to UI or State.”
“New York isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?” I laugh. “Have you forgotten how much time I spent there in the past year?”
“You know what I mean.” She reaches up to pile her thick, dark brown hair on top of her head. “It’s a crazy, sleepless, fantasy. But it isn’t home.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“Speaking of…” She lies back on the bed next to me. “Have you called your mom yet?”
I sigh. “No, Coco. And I’m not going to. Not yet.”
“Did you call that Dave guy?”
I nod and she turns her face, hiding a smile.
“What?” I ask.
She points to the shopping bag at the foot of the bed. “Based on what you said earlier, about Roscoe not being the source of your good fortune and, you know, the whole you-not-having-a-job thing…”
“It was just a loan. No big deal. He’s a family friend.”
“Seems like a pretty good friend. When do I get to meet him?”
“It’s not like that. Dave’s just…he’s a good guy and wanted to help me out.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
Coco sighs. “What’s one phone call? They’re just worried. And they have every right to be. You have to know they’re not angry with you.”
“Tell that to their faces,” I sputter, recalling the day of the funeral. Things were so uncomfortable I walked out. “It doesn’t matter. There’s more to it than that.”
“Like what?”
“It’s complicated. And it’s hard. I just need some time.”
“It’s hard on everyone, Sheils. Not just you.”
I turn to slowly to face her, literally shocked by her words. “So, what? I’m making myself a victim now?”
“Relax.” Coco eases up on her elbows. “That’s not what I mean. I just think you have a tendency to…” She shakes her head and chews on the corner of her bottom lip. “Never mind.”
Blackout (Lewiston Blues Series/Black Family Saga Book 2) Page 5