I clear my throat. "A few times."
"A few times!" She nearly spits out her drink. Her eyes go to Kit's. "How few we talking?"
"Few dozen," Joel mumbles.
Kit shrugs without a hint of shame.
Violet nods, playing like it's fine. But I'm not buying that. There's trepidation in her eyes.
"Wasn't a big deal," I say.
"Yeah. Of course. You think I haven't experimented since we broke up?" Her voice is confident but her eyes are still apprehensive. She looks to Kit. "That was a lucky girl. Or few girls. Or few dozen girls."
"Were they?" I ask.
She nods. "Yeah, that's quite a man sandwich. And four masterful hands—nobody calls bassists guitarists, but it's a bass guitar so wouldn't it be four guitarist's hands? I mean, that's a great deal." She catches herself babbling and takes a long sip of her drink.
Kit shakes his head. "Guitarists have no rhythm."
She laughs. "Is that right?"
Kit nods.
"Ethan lacking in rhythmic capabilities?" Joel asks. "I can keep a secret, Valentine. My lips are sealed."
"Uh-huh." She clears her throat, shifting back into a poker face. "I believe it's, well, it's someone's turn. How about we go in a circle?"
That means it's my turn. Need to get Violet thinking about how good I can make her feel. There. That's it. I look into her gorgeous green eyes. "Never have I ever had an orgasm in the ocean."
"Damn." She drops a finger.
Joel and Kit do the same.
I look to Joel. "When?"
"Private beach. I couldn't pass up that opportunity." He looks to Kit. "You?"
"Gentlemen don't kiss and tell." Kit sips his OJ, nonchalant.
"Yeah, and what the fuck difference does that make to you?" Joel shakes his head. He looks to Violet. "You buying Kit as a gentleman?"
"More gentle than you are, Joel." Violet laughs.
Joel shakes his head with mock outrage. He turns to Kit. "It's the gentleman's turn."
Kit chuckles. He brushes his mass of curly bangs from his eyes and watches Joel refill his glass. "The King will kill you if you play hungover."
"If I play hungover and shitty. He'll just shake his head at me if I play hungover, miserable, and well." Joel mimes Mal's signature, this is a bad idea head shake and takes a long swig. "But your concern is noted."
"You call Mal The King?" Violet crinkles her nose. "Well, I guess that does sound about right." She turns to Kit. "Out with the questions, Rhythmic One."
He chuckles. He shoots me a watch how much she's drinking look, then he's back to his usual poker face. "Never have I ever insisted my adult friends play a game for teenagers."
Joel keeps his eight fingers up. "You looking at me, what was it you called him, Valentine?"
"Rhythmic One." Her eyes catch mine for a minute, then they're back on Joel's. "Not my finest work."
"This is a perfectly acceptable game for adults," Joel says.
Kit shakes his head. "Let's call a vote."
"We know how I'm voting." Joel says. "And how you're voting, Rhythmic One. What about you, Valentine? Strong?"
"We're adults," Violet says. "And we're playing. That makes it a game for adults."
Same logic she used to explain her shoes. I have to admit, it holds up. And it's pure Violet. God, there's something about her smile. She's still wearing all her makeup. Her lips are still fuck-me red.
Can't get ahead of myself. Any sudden moves and I'll scare her off. I take a sip of my drink but that only makes my cheeks and chest burn. This is shit vodka.
I fight a grimace. "Can't argue with Vi's logic."
"This is a failure of democracy." Kit shakes his head, but he accepts defeat.
Joel claps his hands together. His eyes light up as he pores over possibilities. "Okay, I've got one. Never have I ever received or performed oral sex in a recording studio."
Violet turns red, bright red. "Oh God. I thought the room was soundproof."
"The mic was still on," Kit says.
"They don't make rooms that soundproof." Joel laughs.
She hides behind her hands for a minute, then she looks to me. "Well, I believe I was receiving and you were performing. So you better lose a finger, Ethan." She's still blushing and nervous, but she's smiling too.
It takes a lot of self-control to keep from getting lost in the memory of Violet coming on my face. It was my first time in a real studio, a nice one, and I wanted to celebrate. She was wearing this short black skirt and those same knee-high boots. Fuck, those long legs of hers-
Violet's fingers brush my knee. She looks up at me with an I've got you smile. "Hmm. Never have I ever… had an orgasm in a dressing room."
I drop another finger.
I take back anything bad I ever said about Joel.
That man is a genius.
With me and Violet aiming at each other, Joel is the last man standing. Back in high school, back when I a too-skinny kid overshadowed by my cool older brother, I was always the last man standing. Of course, back then, being the last man standing meant you were a loser with your v-card intact.
Joel's proud of his victory. Or maybe he's mystified as to how he, the sluttiest of the four of us, won.
I'm mystified too.
We're well past night and into early morning. But I can't sleep. Not with Violet this close. Not with that smile on her soft red lips.
I put on The Fly, the original, grab two pairs of headphones—the TV has Bluetooth sound—and offer one to Violet.
She looks at the screen with recognition. "Is this the one where Jeff Goldblum gets naked or the other one?" Her eyes light up.
"Itching to see a naked guy with dark, wavy hair?" I cock a brow.
She blushes. "Yeah, you think Kit will strip for me?"
"No."
"Me either." She takes the headphones and takes a seat on the couch. "It's the other one, isn't it?"
"This is the original."
"Being first doesn't make it the best." Her eyes find mine. "Sometimes it's good to redo things. You can make them better. Fix the mistakes."
"Yeah?"
She nods. Her lips press together. Her eyes go back to the screen. "Sometimes, when I'm having trouble with a problem, I scrap what I'm doing. And I start over. Sometimes, I'm going at it all wrong and I need a break before I can figure out how I want to approach it again."
"I'm the same with songs."
"I remember."
I sit next to her. Close enough our knees are touching. "How about we watch the remake after this?"
She looks around for a clock. When she finds none, she looks out the windows, at the blue sky of dawn. "I don't think I'm going to make it through this one." Her eyes find mine. "How about tomorrow?"
"I'll hold you to that."
She nods. "Tell me something I don't know."
Ten minutes into the movie, Violet rests her head on my shoulder.
Twenty minutes in, she lets her eye close.
By minute thirty, she's fast asleep.
I can smell her hair, the same floral shampoo as always. When I close my eyes, I see us in the shower, me pinning her to the hard tile wall. She's giggling at how slippery we are. Then she's groaning at my hand on her clit. I have to put my other hand over her mouth so we won't wake anybody up.
We were fucking amazing together.
Then Asher died and she locked me out and everything got fucked.
I scoop her into my arms and bring her to the bottom bunk across from mine. She stirs as I lay her on the bed. Her eyelids flutter open and her eyes find mine.
She smiles. "Ethan." Then she's blinking and shaking her head. "I, uh, I think I forgot pajama pants. Do you have boxers I can borrow? If… well, I'm not sure they'll fit my ass. You have narrow hips."
"That a compliment?" I play incredulous.
Her eyes are on my hips right now. Her eyes are filled with desire. She's thinking about taking off my jeans. She's thinking about taking me back to that couch.
>
We used to practice staying quiet.
I can do that tonight.
Fuck, Mal and Kit have woken me up with sex enough times I don't feel bad about repaying the favor. Joel really does avoid mixing business with pleasure. He never picks up women at shows or brings them back to the bus.
"You know it's a compliment." She looks up at me. "My ass has gotten bigger."
"You can add a guitarist to your list of musicians complimenting your ass. You look amazing, Vi."
She blushes. "Thanks. I've been doing martial arts."
"Yeah?"
"So don't cross me. I can kick your ass."
"You think so?"
She nods. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she looks me up and down. She wants me. Badly. It's not like before, when she wanted someone to wipe away her pain.
Right now, she wants me. Not a distraction. Not Ethan Strong, Dangerous Noise guitarist. She wants me.
I press my palms to my thighs so I won't put them on hers. Need to take this slow.
I go to my dresser drawer and pull out a clean pair of boxers, then I hand them to her. "Here."
"Thanks." She climbs out of her bunk, grabs a few things from her suitcase, and heads to the bathroom.
I can hear her brushing her teeth, washing her face. We never had the chance to live together, but we shared a few hotel rooms. This is familiar.
She steps out of the bathroom in a tank-top and my boxers. The damn top is clinging to her bare breasts. Her nipples are hard.
It's hot in here. She must want this as badly as I do.
She climbs into her bunk. Her eyes meet mine. "I owe you one."
Guess I'll have to get in her pants in exchange.
I kneel next to her. "Don't worry about it."
She looks up at me. "Goodnight, Ethan."
Damn, that look in her eyes. Need to restrain myself here. I lean down enough to brush my lips against hers.
It's a peck.
A goodnight kiss.
Not platonic but not enough to scare her.
"Goodnight, Vi."
She smiles and slides under the covers.
I practically float into my bed.
Chapter Eleven
Violet
Mal's on top of shit. Well, somebody, the tour manager I guess, is on top of shit. The hotel already has a room for me.
I'm running on three hours of sleep. Four, maybe. I need a bed. Then lunch and a shower. Then it's me and Mal's laptop until I clean up the books.
Ethan slides his arm around my waist and motions to the elevator bank.
Kit shoots me a concerned look. Mal smiles like he's pleased with himself. Joel watches with mild amusement.
We're entertainment for the three of them.
That's neat.
At the moment, I'm too tired to care. Or maybe I'm too high on the heat of Ethan's palm against my side.
I grab my rolling duffel bag—Ethan bought it for me because its purple color was labeled electric violet—by the handle and wheel it towards the elevator. Then I shoot Mal a mind your own business look.
He raises his eyebrows, incredulous.
He can play as incredulous as he wants. I know what it's like to look after your little brother.
I chew on my bottom lip. I can't go back to that. Not right now. I fight the desire that wells up on my chest. I want someone to understand, to hold me and tell me it's okay, that it wasn't my fault, that it will hurt less tomorrow, and even less the day after that. And, if I keep going, it will keep hurting a little bit less every day, and eventually it will be like an achy joint instead of a broken bone.
I want to believe that, but it's been two years now, and I still feel like the ground is crumbling every time I think about Asher.
We step into the elevator. Ethan pushes the button for my floor. He's smiling, his blue eyes bright. There's a real boyish charm to Ethan. Don't get me wrong—he's a man in every sense of the word. But he lights up like a little kid on Christmas morning when he's happy.
His smile is warm enough to melt glaciers.
Maybe even the one around my heart.
He was supposed to be that person—the one who held me and promised it would be okay.
But now…
I want him, I do, but I need to be careful. My heart won't survive another fracture.
Ding. The elevator doors slide open. I squeeze my suitcase handle and shove my free hand into my back pocket.
He presses his palm into my lower back and guides me to my room at the end of the hallway. I set my duffel bag down, take the key from him, and unlock the door.
I take a deep breath and look into Ethan's clear blue eyes. "Thanks. I, uh—"
"I'll let you get back to sleep." He smiles. "How about lunch?"
"I should work."
"We'll make it a late lunch. I know a place in the city that has fancy tea and food pairings. Drew's fiancée, Kara, she's into tea too. She loves it."
"Okay." I've seen Drew before and he's all kinds of hot (or maybe I have a thing for tattooed guitarists). The woman clearly has good taste.
Just like last night, Ethan moves closer. Then his lips are on mine. It's a quick second, but that's enough to set my body on fire.
"Sweet dreams, Vi."
It takes every bit of restraint I have to resist inviting him in.
I take a long, hot shower and collapse on the hotel bed. The room is cool and dark, the bed is comfortable, the covers are encompassing but, still, I can't sleep.
My brain refuses to slow. It's fixed on the feeling of Ethan's hand on my side, of his lips on my lips, of his hard chest against my palm.
I close my eyes and let my mind fill with beautiful mental images—Ethan stripping out of his jeans and pressing his hard, sweaty body against mine. Ethan undoing the buttons of my jeans, pushing them off my hips, and pressing his palm against me. Ethan sliding his tongue into my mouth, pulling my panties aside, and stroking me to an orgasm.
My body wakes up. Hell, it's on fire. Sleep, what sleep? This bed is no place for sleep. This bed is a place for Ethan to strip off his clothes. Then mine. Then his hands—those strong, nimble guitarist's hands—can be on every inch of my skin. And my hands can be wrapped around his cock, and I can be the one making his blue eyes fill with pleasure. And then he can be inside me, pinning me to the bed, sinking his teeth into my neck, and the two of us can come together again and again and again-
I push my boxers off my hips and slide my hand below my belly button. I think of Ethan and me together, here, our bodies erasing all the hurt between us.
It only takes a few minutes for pleasure to fill my body. Tension knots inside me, then it's unfurling. Every part of me feels good, but I'm not satisfied. I'm only hungrier for him.
Maybe I should go again.
Maybe…
I contemplate the matter for long enough to drift into that half-asleep, half-awake state.
A knock on the door pulls me out of my fantasies.
"Hey, Vi, you up?" Ethan's voice is soft.
Sleep isn't happening. But I can't invite him into my bed. Not yet. "Yeah. Give me two minutes." I go to the bathroom to wash my hands and brush my teeth.
I'm not wearing any makeup. My hair is a mess. It's not that I'm vain. Makeup is my shield. Without it, I feel naked and vulnerable. I'm not ready to feel like that with Ethan. Not yet.
He knocks again.
"One more minute." I grab my concealer and apply it. Then eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick. There. That's better. I go to the door and pull it open.
He's smiling that same I'm happy just to see you smile. He hands me a take-out coffee cup. "Your unsweetened matcha latte."
I take it. "Thank you."
"Don't worry. It's with almond milk."
"I wasn't worried." Okay, my brow is a little furrowed. It's unsettling how well Ethan remembers everything. It doesn't make sense—he remembers all these little details about me, about us, but he also goes around nailing strangers every ni
ght.
Maybe that's his way of coping. Fine. I can live with that.
But he threw me away. How can he be so happy to see me now? How can he remember my drink order?
Why is he looking at me like he's still in love with me?
I take a long sip to keep from touching him. It also spares me the trouble of forming a response. I appreciate the drink but I'd rather have you in my mouth is not what I want to say here.
"Thank you. It's perfect." I hold his gaze. Somehow, I manage to keep my feet planted firmly on the ground too.
"I'll let you get to work." He takes a step backwards. "Unless you want to head to lunch now?"
I look back into my room to check the time. Lunch is reasonable and my stomach is growling at the thought of food. Say eggs with avocado, or a sandwich with extra avocado, or a giant bowl of guacamole and a spoon.
Ethan laughs. "Let me guess—you want tacos with extra guacamole?"
I admit nothing. "We should try the tea place."
"They have an avocado sandwich."
"A wise menu addition."
"Meet me in the lobby in five? We can walk from here."
My knees go weak as his smile spreads across his cheeks. My body is still tuned to the Ethan is a sex god channel.
I want to feel good. And his smile fills me with warm, gooey affection.
It's only lunch.
I can do lunch.
"Make it ten," I say.
"Need more eyeliner?"
I laugh. "Yes."
"Me too."
Lord help me.
Chapter Twelve
Violet
In downtown San Francisco, Ethan's navy hoodie and designer jeans are not code for rock star hanging out on his day off but rather another young tech millionaire. Nobody stops him or looks at him sideways.
We have the day off today. Tomorrow, the band is playing a sold-out show at some big amphitheater. Then we head to Portland, then Seattle, then Chicago, then New York.
There are a few days off and another few in transit. That gives me nine more days in Ethan's company.
Nine days with my body screaming give me Ethan.
The back of his hand brushes against mine. Immediately, my body responds. My stomach flutters. Heat spreads to my cheeks and chest. I allow myself a moment to check him out—tight jeans, wide smile, navy eyeliner making his blue eyes look bluer.
Tempting Page 38