Then suddenly Dillon pulled back, a horrified expression on his face. He dropped his hands like my sweater had caught fire.
“Becca, I’m sorry, I—didn’t mean for that to happen.”
I wanted to play it cool, but that was difficult when I was out of breath myself, more than a little dazed, and my nipples were clearly defined through the thin cotton weave of my sweater.
“It’s okay,” I said, taking a step back, too. “It was the moment, you know? I was so excited for you and we just—”
“Got carried away,” he finished.
I smiled shakily. “Exactly. No biggie. We’re both adults, right?”
“Yes. Right. Exactly.”
My knees were shaking, so I sat down before I fell down. “Let’s just eat and forget that ever happened, okay?” I said desperately.
“Yeah, good idea.”
We ate in silence, each avoiding the other’s eyes. I didn’t even taste the pasta. When we were done, I grabbed the dishes and cleared the table.
“That was great, Dil. Thanks.”
“No problem.” He stood watching me for a moment and I knew he wanted to say something else. God, I hoped he didn’t apologize again.
“Hey, don’t you have a show tonight?” I asked.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Wear the blue shirt. It looks good with your eyes.”
I flashed him a brief, uncomfortable smile and brushed past him, heading for my bedroom.
“You’re still coming, aren’t you?”
I stopped and turned, my heart thundering. I didn’t want to go, to face more of the discomfort we’d shared at dinner. I didn’t do tension, sexual or otherwise. But if I ditched, he’d know the reason.
“Of course I’m coming. Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Okay, well, I just thought—”
“I’m coming,” I said a little more forcefully. I grabbed a towel and headed into the bathroom for a quick shower. “See you there, okay?”
“Okay.”
I took my time in the shower, mind racing. This was ridiculous. We were acting like a couple of kids on the opposite side of the room at their first boy-girl dance, too afraid of each other to cross the divide. We were adults. We were both single, attracted to each other, and living in the same apartment.
There was only one thing to do.
Chapter Seven
Though he had never crossed the threshold of a bar before he turned twenty-one, dive bars had become Dillon’s second home. He’d been hanging out in the dank, smoky places that featured cheap beer and cheaper women since he’d attended Emory playing in his first band.
The tables were always sticky, the light over the bars always neon and the beer on tap always the cheapest stuff money could buy. It was night-and-day different than the sweeping green lawns and large, airy Southern home in which he had grown up, but if he wanted to achieve his goal of making it in the music business, Dillon knew he’d have to pay his dues.
Lately, though, he was finding it harder and harder to get excited about the lousy gigs Road Kill landed. Dillon felt like he was the only one in the band actually interested in the music. The other guys were so-so musicians but they did it mostly because it got them laid on a regular basis and, really, what else did they have to do?
Dillon still loved the music, but if it hadn’t been for the promise he’d made to himself and the people who cared about him, he probably would have quit this life of nights in bars a long time ago.
As he set up the amps and the mic stands before Road Kill’s less-than-anticipated show, Dillon wondered if Becca would show up. Willie’s was one of her frequent hangouts. She knew the bartenders, the regulars and, of course, the band. With her stunning looks, every eye would be on her the minute she walked through the grimy door. She always got a table up front and always listened to the whole set. If they had been cool enough have them, she would have been Road Kill’s lead groupie.
Ted, Bobby, Ted’s girlfriend, who was the new lead vocalist, and Dillon set up the equipment, had their customary pre-show beer, then took the stage to the light applause of the four or five half-buzzed people who realized they were there.
As much as the Becca issue weighed on his mind, as soon as the music started, Dillon felt all the worry leave his body. Music always had that power over him. He got totally lost in the sound, in the sensation of the strings beneath his fingertips, the vibration that reverberated through his wrist and forearms when he plucked the strings in the sort of country-rock song he’d written himself.
Everything else faded away: the bar, the stale cigarette smoke, even the other people on stage with him and the sparse audience nodding along in time to the song. It all went away, taking Dillon to a sort of musical Nirvana.
They were getting close to the end of the set when Dillon looked up and saw her strut through the door.
Every male eye in the room went to Becca like a magnet the second she stepped into the place. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman in room, but she had this air of confidence about her that made her the sexiest. It helped that she wore a short black skirt and deep-cut top as red as her lips. She sauntered through the smoky fog of the dingy bar as though she owned the place and claimed her usual table right in front of the stage.
Dillon knew he was staring. How could he not? She was beautiful. It was all he could do to keep it together long enough to play.
Becca looked right at him and threw him a sexy smile. Dillon missed a note or two and he was suddenly very thankful he was a guitarist and not the lead vocalist, because there was no way that skinny little mic stand could have covered up what he was feeling right at that moment.
He made it through the last song by sheer force of will, thinking all the time about what he would say to her, how he would play it. The other guys being there would help for a change.
She thought the whole thing had been a mistake, just something that happened by accident. But Dillon knew it had been inevitable. He’d been fantasizing about kissing those full, sexy lips for what seemed like forever, even though she didn’t think of Dillon as anything other than a friend and it would probably totally screw up the good thing they had going. But he couldn’t help it. She’d looked up at him, eyes shining, lips parted, feeling so perfect against him that Dillon let down his guard for a half second and kissed her.
It had been everything he’d imagined and more.
Road Kill finished the set to light applause and the guys tripped all over themselves throwing their instruments in the cases and switching off amps so they could drool over Becca in closer proximity.
Dillon took his time, putting his Fender in its place, winding up the cables, gathering up the amps and mics. Usually he’d bitch about tearing down by himself, but not tonight. He needed the time to settle my body’s reaction to Becca. His hands shook a little when he flipped the last latch on the last case and turned towards the table where Becca sat, expecting the guys to be gathered around her, vying for her attention.
The guys weren’t there.
Dillon put a smile on his face and strolled over as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
“Nice set,” she said, looking up at him. “Here.” She slid a cold one across the sticky table and Dillon took that as an invitation to sit.
“Thanks.” He took a long pull on the bottle, delaying the moment as long as possible. “Where did Ted and Bobby run off to? They have a sale on cheap gin or something?”
Becca looked at him with sort of a half smile as if she knew something Dillon didn’t. It made him nervous and turned him on all at the same time. “I told them to get lost.”
“Why?”
She leaned her elbows on the table and looked at him like he was a naughty schoolboy. That turned him on, too. “You know why.”
Dillon took another pull on the bottle, even as he felt blood beginning to flow southward all over again. His fly became suddenly very uncomfortable.
“Things have been different since the bathroom thing.
And then tonight.”
“Yeah.” Dillon finished off his beer and Becca slid her bottle over to him. He wasn’t sure whether he should apologize or what. He certainly wasn’t sorry it had happened.
“Honestly, it took me by surprise,” she said, tapping her blood red nails against the table rhythmically.
“Me, too.”
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”
Dillon choked. “Really?”
“Yeah,” she said in a breathy sigh. “It’s weird, ya know?”
Tension deflated like a balloon that had a slow leak. “I know. I mean, we’re friends.”
“Right. That’s what I kept telling myself.”
Dillon nodded. This clearing-the-air thing was good.
Becca tossed her hair over her shoulder and leaned in even closer. “But then I kept thinking about it.” She wet her lips. “And getting turned on.”
His male pride got a big boost and his zipper strained a little more. He hadn’t totally weirded her out, then. Dillon shifted in his seat, not sure how much he should cop to. All the cold showers since she’d walked in on him in the bathroom that day? The dirty fantasies that played out a much different ending to the waltz at the Christmas ball? The constant boner?
“Yeah. And I think you know what we have to do,” she said and disappointment laced through him. She was going to ask him to move out.
“What’s that?”
“We need to just do it. You know, get it out of our systems.”
Dillon wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. There was so much blood rushing away from his brain, he figured it could very well have been some sort of aural hallucination.
“Do it?”
She smiled. “Have sex. Hit the sheets. Fuck.”
“You mean you and me?” His head buzzed and the beer wasn’t the cause.
“Sure,” she said with a shrug like she was agreeing to buy the next round. “Why not?”
Dillon was sure there were at least a hundred good reasons why not. None of them came to mind at that moment.
“We’re both adults, right?”
“Yes.”
“And single.”
“Yes.”
“And attracted to each other.” She met his eyes and he saw the desire he’d been sure was one-sided reflected right back at him. He was a goner.
“I thought you didn’t like nice guys.”
She smiled. “That was before I saw what was under all those boring shirts.” Her grin faded a little and she sat back in her chair. “Unless you don’t want to?”
If Dillon hadn’t been in so much discomfort, he would have laughed. Want to? It was all he thought about anymore.
“No.”
She cocked her head.
“I mean, no, I’m not saying I don’t want to. “ Dillon leaned towards her and took her hand, hoping he didn’t seem too eager. She was used to suave men, cool men. Men who had tattoos and piercings and were “interesting”.
“I want to. More than anything.”
“Good,” she said, big smile back in full force. “Let’s go.”
“You mean right now?”
“You got someplace else to be?”
“No.”
She stood up and tugged her skirt down a little. “Then what’s the problem? I’ve got plenty of rubbers.”
“No problem,” Dillon said, getting up. “I’ll just grab my gear.”
She smiled. Even in the dark, her dark eyes were luminous and liquid, her mouth so ripe and lush he couldn’t wait to get another taste. She walked around the table and went up on her tiptoes. She slid a hand behind his head and pressed her lips to his. Before realization even penetrated his lust-slowed brain, she pulled away.
“See you at home, then,” she said. Her gaze lingered a moment before she turned and sauntered out of the bar, every male eye once again glued to the way her ass moved beneath her skirt with each tilt of her hips.
Dillon watched, as enthralled as all the rest, as Becca walked away from him. Then he scrambled up on the stage to grab his gear. He was going to have sex with Becca. He could hardly believe it and wanted to get back to their apartment as quickly as possible before she came to her senses.
Just then his cell phone rang. He grabbed it and flipped it open as he carried his guitar case towards the door.
“Dillon?” a high, familiar voice said.
He stopped in his tracks. “Hailey?”
“Hello, Dillon.”
He didn’t know what to say. There were a hundred things he should ask, the first being why the hell hadn’t she returned his calls and why was she calling now. Honestly, Dillon really didn’t care. He had other things on his mind. Well, one other thing, actually.
“So, how have you been?”
He set his guitar case down. “Uh, fine.” Finally his brain engaged. “Why are you calling me?”
“I can’t call my boyfriend?”
“Hailey, we haven’t seen each other for over two months. You disappeared.”
“You’re mad at me.”
The conversation was like some alcohol-induced dream. Dillon didn’t have the patience to deal with her games. “No.”
“Good,” she sighed. “I was afraid you’d be mad.”
“I mean, no, I’m not anything. We’re not anything.”
She paused. “Can I see you?”
“Why?”
“I just want to see you. Catch up. Is that a crime?”
“Hailey. I’m…I have to go.”
“Oh. Okay. I’ll um, talk to you later. Call me.”
Hailey clicked off and Dillon stood there staring at it, wondering what the hell had just happened. He shook his head and tucked the phone into his pocket. He didn’t have time to worry about Hailey.
His most vivid fantasy was about to become reality.
Chapter Eight
It had been a long time since I had been nervous before sex. I was confident, I knew what I wanted, and I knew how to get it. Even though I wasn’t a size zero, I didn’t have body image issues and none of my previous lovers had ever complained.
However, walking back to our apartment alone, thinking that in a few minutes Dillon and I would be naked together for real this time, gave me a fluttery sensation in my belly. I thought of us finally touching, licking, sucking—and it had my pulse racing and me walking just a little faster.
I unlocked the door and headed straight to my room. I had the scene all planned out. We’d start out on the couch with some deep kissing and heavy petting before moving to his bed—it was bigger. I’d already showered and shaved all the pertinent locations and would change into the g-string that practically guaranteed mutual satisfaction.
We’d have eyebrow-singing naughty sex, then I’d kiss his stunned features goodnight and slip back into my own bed, itch thoroughly scratched. Dillon and his hot bod would be off my mind so I could concentrate on something other than screwing him silly.
I dug a condom out of my top dresser drawer, considered for a moment, and grabbed a few more. Just touching the packets, thinking about ripping them open and rolling them on Dillon, was making me seriously hot.
I dove back into the drawer in search of my red thong, the one with the rhinestone star that would bulls-eye my sweet spot. It wasn’t there. I sifted through the other drawers, frantic now, because Dillon should be back any second. I wanted this experience to knock his socks off.
I dropped to my knees and tossed up the dust ruffle of my bed, wondering if I was woman enough to brave the dust bunnies to see if that was where my superstar thong was hiding.
The front door opened and closed and Dillon’s quick footfalls shook the floor, rattling my Elvis figurines and my composure.
“I’ll be right there,” I called, shoving my hand underneath the bed. I went further underneath, head and shoulders under the bed now, bare ass sticking up in the air.
Then I heard him enter the room and felt his warm hands on my waist.
“God,
” Dillon breathed a second before I felt him kneel behind me.
I jumped a little, hitting my head on the side of the bed, but once he started caressing my backside, I no longer cared.
Fire ripped through my veins and anticipation of this thing finally happening made me shiver. Even if my thong wasn’t going to make an appearance.
I backed out from under the bed, and came up on my knees. Dillon was still behind me and fully clothed. He pressed his front against my back and I could feel he was just as eager as I was. Maybe he’d been fantasizing about this, too. That thought sent warmth spiraling though my senses.
Dillon hugged me to him, then lowered his head and pressed a hot kiss to the side of my neck. Shivers raced across my skin and immediately hardened my nipples.
I raised a hand and buried it in his hair. He smelled like beer, night, and desire. Blood rushed through my veins, making me bite my lip. I couldn’t wait to feel him, skin on skin, on me, inside me, everywhere.
I tightened my grip in his hair, tugging, and he nipped at the delicate skin of my neck and whispered my name.
I turned in his arms and wrapped both arms around his neck. He kissed me then, his mouth telling me in no words at all that he was as eager and hungry for me as I was for him.
I pressed against him but there were too many layers of fabric between us. I pulled at his shirt, fumbling with the buttons until he finally brushed my hands away and undid them all himself. I pushed the shirt off his shoulders and he shrugged out of it before wrapping me up in his arms and taking us both down to the floor.
He lay on top of me, still clad in his jeans, one of his thighs wedged between mine while he ravished my mouth with his tongue and lips, stroking, teasing me into a frenzy.
I pushed at his chest. “Jeans off, now,” I gasped.
He smiled and stood up. He popped the button on his jeans and shoved them down his legs. His boxer briefs hugged every inch of his erection and I licked my lips, unable to take my eyes off him.
“Condom’s on the dresser,” I said. He grabbed it, slowly peeled down the last piece of clothing standing between us, and rolled on the rubber. I loved watching him touch himself that way, even if it was mostly utilitarian. I wondered if he stroked himself in the shower. I wondered if he would let me stroke him in the shower.
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