Control Freak (Second Shots Book 1)

by Ana Novak

  “Girls,” I said, trying not to be too obvious about glaring daggers at Mistral, “This is Shane Kruger. Shane, these are my best friends, Mel Archer and Mistral Tremarco.”

  “Mel,” Shane greeted her, reaching out to take her hand. “I’ve seen you in the studio before.”

  “Several times,” she said, offering him the same megawatt smile that was currently breaking hearts all over the world. “Always a pleasure.”

  If he was fazed at all by Mel’s ethereal beauty, Shane didn’t show it, but I held my breath when he turned to Mistral. He said something to her, and she quietly responded in a clipped tone. Shane said something else I couldn’t understand, and then there was a pause, which was only broken when Mistral suddenly laughed.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” she said, shooting me a glare as I stood there glowering at her. “Don’t believe everything she says, baby. Taylor’s a notorious liar.”

  “I am not,” I protested. “What did he say about me?”

  “Nothing you’d be interested in, sweetie. Your new boy toy and I have an understanding.” Mistral raised her empty glass, and the server instantaneously materialized at her side.

  “Don’t tell Mistral anything personal. She has an analytical mind and she’ll dissect anything you say,” I said to Shane when he turned back to me. “And also, you are not my boy toy.”

  He grabbed my hand, pulling me down on a couch beside him, and feigned a wounded expression. “I’m not?”

  “Of course not. Aren’t boy toys supposed to be…”

  “Handsome?” he said dryly.

  “I was going to say younger. And don’t pretend to be modest. You’re beautiful and you know it.”

  He raised our linked hands, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “I know you’re beautiful.”

  “And you’ve clearly had too much to drink. I need to catch up.” I waved to the server, who was just returning with Mistral’s martini. “Excuse me? Can I get a Cape Cod, please?”

  “And tequila shots all around,” Mistral added.

  The server nodded and hurried off. I glanced at Shane to see his reaction, but he was looking out through the rails of the balcony, watching the band. One arm was slung casually over the back of the couch, the other one resting on the couch between us, fingers intertwined with mine.

  As I did, I saw our server returning with our drinks, and I didn’t miss the appreciative look she gave Shane as she passed.

  A rush of possessiveness raced through me. I’m not letting him go home alone, I thought suddenly, and I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or just his insane level of hotness that made me so brave, but I scooted closer to him and put our linked hands on his thigh, determined to let her know that he was off-limits.

  Her saucy grin as she handed me my drink told me that she’d noticed my jealousy and found it amusing. On any other night, with any other man- even Dave- I would have been embarrassed. But I felt zero trepidation about staking my claim on Shane, and as he accepted his shot glass from Mistral, I took a long drink from my Cape Cod, calculating my seduction already. I wasn’t normally a jealous person, but Shane brought something out in me that I’d never seen before.

  Mistral gave me my tequila and sat down on the ottoman opposite me. “What are we drinking to?” she asked, and her electric blue eyes were sparking under the blacklights.

  “Let’s drink to Taylor,” Mel said, “Not just because she’s a bestselling author, but because she flew cross-country so she could be here for my wedding.”

  “It’s about time you two made it official,” I said, speaking quickly to cover my embarrassment. “I’ve only been waiting for the last nine years or so.”

  Mel shrugged, smiling sweetly. “I like to do things on my own timeline,” she said. “And Van wasn’t in any rush, either.” The light caught the giant diamond on her ring finger, sparkling brightly. I looked down at my shot glass.

  “To Taylor,” Shane said, holding up his glass. We toasted and I gulped my shot, squeezing my eyes shut as the tequila burned its way down my throat. I didn’t want to think about marriage, even Mel’s, although I knew she’d been waiting a long time for her dream wedding and I was happy for her.

  “I’m ready to go,” I said to Shane. “What about you?”

  “We just got here,” he replied, grinning as I curled into his shoulder. “You okay?”

  “Fine,” I said. “I guess I’m just a little reluctant to share you, that’s all.”

  “I’m not here for anyone else,” he said, his voice low, and a shiver ran down my spine.

  “One more!” Mistral crowed, and I looked up to see the server carrying a second tray. The liquor in the shot glasses was clear.

  “Patrón,” Mel said at my questioning look. “Humor her, Taylor. She hasn’t been out in a while.”

  “I find that hard to believe.” I took the second shot glass and noticed for the first time that there was a fifth person in our group now- the same blond young man I’d pointed out earlier. He was seated next to Mistral on the ottoman, and she was leaning heavily into him.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you look like a Backstreet Boy?” I shouted to him, and Mistral gave me a dirty look.

  “All the time,” he said, totally nonplussed. “They’ve made a comeback now, so more people are noticing.”

  We downed our second shots, and then Shane stood, apologizing profusely to my friends while insisting that he had to get me home.

  “Get some, girl!” Mistral shouted, and I grinned at her over my shoulder, waving clumsily with my clutch.

  “You are probably the most decent human being I’ve ever met,” I told Shane as we exited the club. The shots were starting to turn my brain fuzzy, but I was trying not to let it show.

  “Where do you live?” he asked.

  “That way,” I said, pointing. “It’s too far to walk. Can we get an Uber?”

  “I have a car,” he said, and as if on cue, a towncar identical to the one the label had given my brother pulled up to the curb.

  “You’re kind of a celebrity, aren’t you?” I said regretfully, remembering the video from a year and a half ago.

  Shane laughed. “In some circles, I guess.” He helped me into the car and climbed in beside me.

  Chapter 7

  “Welcome to my home,” I said, sweeping my arm grandly as I struck a pose in front of my apartment building. “They know me here. They love me here. The neighbors and I are practically family.”

  “Didn’t you just move in?” Shane asked, looking up at the ancient brick building.

  “Yes.” I skipped toward the front door. I couldn’t recall telling him about my recent move, but that particular memory might have gone the way of my inhibitions, washed down the metaphorical drain and replaced by liquid courage. I held the door for him. “But I’m pretty skilled at making new friends in a hurry. Ask anyone.”

  He stopped in the doorway, meeting my eyes. “I have firsthand experience with that.”

  I felt a blush creeping up my neck under the intensity of his gaze. Shane stepped through the doorway, motioning for me to go first. I walked past him, and the heavy steel door swung shut with a loud bang behind us. As I made my way toward the stairs, I bit my lower lip, trying to think of a way to proposition him without making it completely awkward. Our previous hook-up hadn’t ended on such a positive note, and the last thing I wanted to do was remind him of that fact. Also, I’d been pretty handsy in the car and he’d been very gentlemanly about fending off my advances, so I wasn’t completely sure of his interest level.

  I stopped short on the first step of the stairs, faced with the seemingly impossible task of ascending to my apartment. “I forgot the elevator is out of order,” I moaned. “I don’t feel like walking up three flights of stairs. Can’t we just go somewhere else?”

  “Somewhere else besides your apartment?”

  Even I knew how irrational I sounded. “Yeah, somewhere that’s more accessible. Like, I don’t know, pretty much anywher
e in Williamsburg.” When he stopped beside me, I leaned my head against his shoulder. “I don’t want to climb, Shane. I’m tired.”

  “If you’re expecting me to carry you, you’re out of luck.”

  “You have no sympathy for drunk people,” I complained, but obediently put one foot on the next step.

  We climbed the first flight in silence, not counting my groan of despair halfway up. I stepped onto the next flight and looked over at him. “You don’t even look winded,” I said accusingly. “How is this fair?”

  “It’s not, because I’m going to have to walk you up three flights of stairs, get you to your apartment, walk back down and take my tired ass home,” he retorted.

  “You could stay over. We can make popcorn. I think I have cranberry juice in the fridge. Or maybe it’s cran-grape. It’s cran-something. Isn’t cranberry your favorite?”

  “How do you remember that?” he asked, amused.

  “I remember everything about you.” This was too good an opportunity to pass up, and I smiled devilishly, steadying myself with a hand on the railing. “You like cranberry. You broke your nose four times. You have mad skills with your tongue.” I winked at him. “I have firsthand experience of my own.”

  The adorable blush that flushed his cheeks totally made the awkwardness of dirty talk in a stairwell worth it.

  “You have a scar on your chest from where you were stabbed during a fight when you were in high school.” I was climbing faster now, warming to my topic. “You finished college while recording your first album, so you’re not just a hot musician, you’re also a dead sexy brainiac. Oh, and you like it when I run my fingers down the back of your arm, which I have to say is probably even more enjoyable for me since you have the most amazing triceps I’ve ever seen.” I stopped on the next flight and turned to face him, hands on my hips, as he took the last few steps. “Should I keep going? Am I scaring you yet?”

  He stopped on the last step, our faces mere inches apart. Even one step down, he was still taller than me. His sable eyes were crinkled at the corners, betraying the smile he was trying so valiantly to hide. Without another word, he framed my face in his hands and kissed me, long and deep, his tongue tracing my lower lip. By the time he pulled away, I was ready to tear off his clothes right there in the stairwell.

  “Was that because I complimented your arms?” I asked. “I have lots of things I could say about the rest of your body.”

  “Crazy woman,” he said. His fingers caught mine and he pulled me to the last flight of stairs. “We’re not hooking up tonight.”

  “Like hell we’re not!” I scampered up the steps behind him. “You think you can just kiss me and walk away? That’s…that’s…there’s a word for that. Cocktease? No, that’s for girls. What’s the male equivalent?”

  “The deal was that I’d leave the club with you. Remember?”

  “But we agreed that we’d try…” I was confused. “You said you wanted to be both.”

  “Both what?”

  “Now you’re teasing me. Are you really going to make me say it again?”

  “It’s a little late for modesty, Taylor.”

  “Okay, fine. You said you wanted to be friends and fuck buddies both. Which means that you should come into my apartment with me.”

  “I will. But not tonight. You’re drunk.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  Shane pushed open the door to my floor. “Which apartment’s yours?” he asked, clearly determined to pretend like we weren’t arguing about whether or not we were going to have sex tonight.

  “Second one on the left.” I fished my key out of my clutch, but it slipped through my fingers, clattering to the concrete floor. I bent down to pick it up and felt a sudden wave of dizziness. “Oh, dear.”

  “Are you okay?” He was by my side in an instant, his hands on my shoulders to steady me as I swayed on my feet.

  “Shouldn’t have bent over,” I muttered, pressing a hand to my forehead. “Alcohol and acrobatics don’t mix.”

  “Seems like you and alcohol don’t mix.”

  “Thanks so much for your support, you big oaf. Maybe I won’t seduce you after all. How would you like that, huh?”

  He picked up my key, holding my hand as he carefully unlocked my door and pushed it open. “All right. We’re here.”

  My gaze was fixated on his gorgeous mouth, and no matter how hard I tried to force myself to look away, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted to bite his lower lip.

  “I’m gonna kiss you again,” I mused, and he grinned.

  “You’re drunk.” He held my key up in front of me. “Here, take this and put it in a safe place. And drink some water before you go to bed. You’re going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow.”

  “I’m not that drunk,” I said. “Come inside.” I edged through the doorway, using my grip on his hand to keep him from walking away. I was determined to seduce this man, and I figured getting him inside my apartment was as good a start as any.

  I headed straight for the bedroom, slamming the front door shut behind us, but came to an unceremonious halt in the middle of the living room as Shane stopped short. I tipped forward under my own momentum, almost losing my balance. My clutch clattered to the floor.

  “Whoa,” Shane exclaimed, and caught me with an arm around my waist. “Yeah, you’re right. You’re not that drunk.”

  “Save the sarcasm,” I murmured, and shimmied around, twisting against his arm so that I was standing face to face with him. “I’ve got better ideas for that tongue.” My hands went to his waist, fumbling with the buckle of his belt as I stood on tiptoe, trying to kiss him again.

  He turned his head to the side, evading my lips, and the kiss landed on the hard line of his jaw. “I’m just being a friend and making sure you get home safe.” He closed his fingers around mine, pinning them against his belt. “That’s it.”

  If I’d been sober, a series of blunt rejections would have stopped me cold, but in my tipsy haze my only thought was, Challenge accepted. Time to play it sweet and innocent.

  I sighed and lifted my chin, trying to look as dejected as possible as I looked into his eyes. “You kissed me on the stairs, Shane. Are you seriously trying to say you don’t want me?”

  One corner of his mouth quirked up. “I didn’t say that. I said you were drunk.”

  “I am not drunk,” I insisted. “I’m still in absolute control of my mental faculties.”

  “You use big words when you’ve been drinking,” he said pointedly.

  “You like to argue with me when you’re sober,” I retorted. “Maybe next time you should be the one drinking and I should stay sober. Then we won’t have to have this argument.”

  In the pause that followed, my fingers crept up to splay against his abs, and the feel of taut muscle had me biting my lip. I needed him inside me, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol in my system. “You’re gorgeous, Shane. Any girl would be crazy not to want you.”

  He scoffed. “Now I know you’re drunk.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” I demanded. “I called you when I was sober and you didn’t have a problem with that. If you didn’t want me drunk, you should have warned me earlier. It’s a little late now.”

  He said nothing, and since the only things he didn’t seem to mind were cuddling and kissing, I rested my head against his chest, letting my eyes drift shut of their own accord. “We were good together, weren’t we? It felt good. I like how I feel when I’m with you.”

  I felt his hand slip from my waist. A moment later, his fingertips were brushing against my cheekbone, caressing my skin softly. “I like it, too,” he murmured, and there was reluctance in his tone.

  I nuzzled against his chest, inhaling his scent. Then, so suddenly that I hardly had a chance to draw a surprised breath, his hands were sliding into my hair, pulling my head up to meet his, our lips crashing together.

  I wasn’t going to waste any time. I started working at his b
elt again and managed to get it unbuckled. I’d successfully unbuttoned his jeans and was trying to shove them down his hips when Shane broke the kiss and took a step back.

  I didn’t release my hold, staggering along with him and hindering his escape.

  “Hey,” he said, clearly frustrated as he tried to pry off my hands. “Slow down.”

  It occurred to me that even though he’d experienced a brief moment of weakness, he was still resisting me. Maybe he didn’t really want me at all. I felt a little guilty, trying to corrupt someone who so clearly was uncomfortable with my clumsy fumbling. I finally let go of his jeans, defeated.

  “Kisses only, huh? I suck at seduction,” I muttered, and turned toward the kitchen.

  Shane grabbed my hand, stopping me. “Hey,” he said. “It’s not you. This isn’t right. I’m not gonna take advantage of you.”

  “Um, hello? I’m trying to take advantage of you,” I told him, yanking my hand free and folding my arms across my chest. “You said it yourself, Shane. One night wasn’t enough.”

  He quirked one eyebrow at me as he re-buttoned his jeans. “Is that why you want to sleep with me? I’m a good fuck?”

  “Sleeping is pretty much the last thing on my mind,” I retorted, and hesitated for just a moment before deciding to continue. It was now or never, and I didn’t think I’d get a second chance. “I want you. I want you inside me now. I want to fuck you so hard that you can’t walk tomorrow. I want to ride you until you’re begging me to stop because you can’t possibly handle coming again.”

  Shane’s hands stilled in the middle of re-buckling his belt, and I could see that my words had had the intended effect. “Fucking hell, Taylor,” he said, and his voice was low, rough. “What game are you playing?”

  “No games.” Hardly daring to breathe, I took a step forward. My thighs connected with his through the denim of his jeans, the cloth barrier doing little to negate the heat between us. “Just sex.”