Drumline

by Stacy Kestwick

  I sucked in a breath as my dick leapt for joy. Stay stay stay, it pulsed in time to my racing heart. “Reese. If I stay tonight, I’m not sleeping in that bed over there.” I held up a hand. “I’m not saying we have to fuck, but I can’t take another night of watching you from across the room, and not at least having you in my arms.” Sharing a twin bed, there’d be no way to be anything except close.

  Her sock-covered feet tapped out a nervous rhythm, the first part of the Bon Jovi song we’d been working on earlier today. “What about Oscar?”

  “I have a neighbor two doors down with a beagle. Oscar hangs out there sometimes if my classes run late. He could probably stay there tonight.”

  No more excuses. She had to make the decision herself. I’d laid it out there, but it was her turn to take a step toward me.

  She fiddled with the edge of the quilt that covered her bed. It was pale blue and had a crazy intricate pleated type of design. If I was in her bed tonight, she wouldn’t need it. I’d keep her plenty warm.

  “You should give them a call. See if they can keep Oscar,” she spoke to my knees.

  “I don’t sleep in pants, by the way.”

  “Jesus, Laird.” She tugged that oversized shirt of mine she was wearing away from her body, as if it was hot in her dorm too.

  “Or a shirt.”

  “You have to keep your underwear on!” Her voice was strangled and she wasn’t looking any higher than my ankles now.

  “Reese.” Her hand fisted the edge of the quilt, then smoothed it back down, while her feet segued to the second song. “If I stay, it means something. I’m not saying I have expectations for tonight, but it means something. And I need you to admit it.”

  Her feet stilled, and she ran her palms down her thighs and back up again, but her fingers were relaxed, not stiff. She raised her melted chocolate gaze to mine and looked me right in the eye. “You should call your friend. About Oscar.”

  I’d never texted so fast in my life.

  And two hours later, after she’d showered and come up with a million inane topics of conversation to delay the inevitable of climbing in bed with me, it was obvious she wasn’t going to be able to keep her eyes open much longer. It might’ve only been ten o’clock, but when you spent as much time being active in the heat as we did, exhaustion was real.

  I took pity on her and flipped the light switch, tipping the room into the near dark. The orange glow of the street lights below us filtered through the cheap metal blinds, providing some illumination, but not much.

  She fidgeted by the side of the bed. It was adorable.

  Without making a big fuss about it, I shucked my shorts and my shirt, making a little pile next to my shoes on the floor at the foot of her bed. Then I pulled back her quilt and sheet and climbed in, laid on my side, and patted the empty space next to me.

  “Waiting on you, Reese.”

  She edged in gingerly, as if she feared that together we were over the weight limit of the standard issue bed frame and it might come crashing down at any second. Positioning herself as the little spoon to my big spoon, she settled in place.

  And then wiggled. And squirmed. And shifted. When her last movement produced a soft groan, I’d had enough. “What’s wrong?”

  Utter stillness. She didn’t budge. But then she finally admitted on a whisper, “I’m laying on my bruise like this, and it hurts.”

  I felt like a grade-A ass and immediately readjusted us. Once I was flat on my back and she was glued to my side with her head pillowed on my shoulder, her leg thrown over mine, and my arm wrapped around her to hold her in place, I was satisfied.

  Her free arm lay bent across my chest, her hand resting near the G tattoo on my right pec.

  It was almost perfect. Except one thing. “Hey, Reese? What the fuck is poking my ribs? There’s no way your nipples can be that hard.”

  Was it possible to feel a blush? Because I felt her embarrassment like a tangible thing.

  “It’s… the underwire of my bra.”

  “Why the fuck are you wearing a bra to bed?” I asked it conversationally, to put her at ease. “Do you normally do that?”

  A pause. Then, “No.”

  There were several ways I could handle this, but considering her smart mouth was MIA, I assumed she was feeling more than a little vulnerable. I bent my neck until I could look down at her, and then brushed her hair away from her face gently.

  “Do you trust me?” I pitched my voice low and serious. “Because in case you misunderstood me earlier, I want you. And I’m not really looking to fuck this up. Take off the bra. Get comfortable. I’m not trying to get in your panties tonight.” I tapped the tip of her nose gently. “Not until you’re ready. I just want to feel you close to me. You’re safe, I promise.”

  Her breath whooshed out in a long exhale, and I could feel the tension melt from her muscles. She leaned up and performed whatever voodoo magic girls do that allow them to take off their bras without ever removing their tops, leaving her in just a soft cotton shirt and some tiny plaid boxer shorts.

  She sank down on the mattress again, and I nearly groaned at how good it felt to have her plastered against me. Her leg slid over mine, her thigh perilously close to my dick. Part of me begged her to shift over that last inch, to press against me, and the other part hoped she stayed right where she was, so my burgeoning erection didn’t scare her off. I told her the truth when I promised her I was content just to hold her, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t aroused as fuck.

  The curtain of her hair fell over my bicep, and I was careful to keep my hand on her lower back and away from her sore hip. The soft puff of her breath warmed my neck at steady intervals. It was her left arm, her free arm, that was making me crazy.

  Her fingertip lightly traced the black ink of the G, once, then twice. My dick swelled, and I flattened her hand against my chest to still her motions.

  “What’s the G for? Your middle name maybe? Laird G. Bronson? Or an old girlfriend?”

  Did her voice get a little brittle there when she said that last word? “No. G stands for Garrett, my brother.” My hand pressed hers down harder for a moment, right over the tattoo.

  “Aww, that’s sweet.” She tipped her chin up to me. “Does he have an L for you?”

  I blinked hard at the sudden burn in my eyes. “No.” Leaning, down, I dropped a single, soft kiss to the top of her forehead. “Enough questions for one night. Get some sleep.”

  I released her hand and tucked mine behind my head, propping myself up a tiny bit so I could have a better view of her curves against me. Sleep wasn’t part of my immediate plan, not when it meant missing out on this.

  Her hand drifted lower, away from the tattoo. I couldn’t stop my abs from contracting when her palm brushed over them. I growled in a mix of satisfaction and frustration. “You know,” my voice was deep, husky, as I whispered to her, “just because I promised to behave, doesn’t mean you have to. Feel free to touch me wherever you want, gorgeous.”

  Reese made a little noise in the back of her throat before those slim fingers of hers slid partially under the waistband of my boxer briefs, brushing back and forth over the sensitive skin just inside my hip. I couldn’t help thrusting up a tiny bit, begging her to continue her southward journey. But the little minx retreated, pulled back and snapped the elastic sharply against my skin, and had the gall to laugh at my pained moan.

  Then, her pleased grin so big I could see it despite the dimness, that dimple taunting me, she wrapped her arm around my waist, snuggling close and stilling her tormenting movements. “Night, Laird.”

  As I replayed the last two minutes in my mind with a very different ending, drifting off was the least of my priorities. But I was wrong. Sleep claimed me soon after her breathing evened out, her heart beating the same tempo as mine.

  The dream was both the same as normal and different from before, and it broke me like it did every time.

  The hospital was cold, like always, but the little boy sit
ting in the middle of all the beeping machines wasn’t wearing Eli’s thick glasses. Instead, he stared back at me with the same green eyes I saw in the mirror every morning.

  His pale fingers traced the line of tubing that ran from the port in his chest to the pump on the pole next to his bed. “She’s pretty, Laird.” I followed his gaze to the open doorway, where I saw a flash of dark hair and long legs.

  Reese.

  “I call dibs on that one,” he continued, leaning forward to try to catch another glimpse.

  “You can’t,” I said automatically. “She’s mine.”

  He smirked, those familiar eyes taunting me. “Does she know that?”

  I snorted at his trash talking, and flexed my biceps obnoxiously, putting my guns on full display. “Not yet. But who can resist all this?”

  He smiled wistfully. “Will I look like you when I grow up? So I can get a pretty girl too?” The blue veins were visible in his thin arms, and there were scars from so many needle sticks and IVs.

  No.

  No, he wouldn’t.

  Because he’d never grow up.

  “Definitely,” I lied. We both knew it was a lie, but I said it anyway, hating the way his eyes dimmed a little.

  “Hey, Laird?”

  “Yeah, Garrett?”

  His face was worried. “She might be out of your league, with legs like that. But don’t give up, okay?”

  I scoffed, and if he’d had hair, I would’ve ruffled it. “Are you doubting your big brother? Of course, I’m going to get the girl.”

  “Never.” He smiled up at me, lips dry and cracked. “You never let me down.”

  But that was the biggest lie of all.

  And we both knew it.

  Reese

  I parked my Honda CR-V three rows back from the nearest car at the hospital, not for the fear that someone would ding my doors, but because there was a big oak tree at the edge of the lot there, and it was one of the only parking spaces in the shade. If this Alabama heat had taught me anything, it was that shade trumps proximity every time. The black leather interior was great, except it could reach temperatures more suitable for baking a cake when left in the sun. I’d almost burned the backs of my thighs right off on my first day in Rodner. Lesson learned. Now, I parked in the shade or covered my seat with a beach towel when I left.

  Since it was new, the interior of my car was still spotless inside. My parents wouldn’t dare let me go off to college in anything but the most affordable vehicle on the list of the Safest Small SUVs, according to God knows who. Emphasis on safest. If cancer hadn’t killed me, they sure as hell weren’t going to lose me to a car accident. Their words, not mine. They loved me. And they preferred to show that love via smothering. And hovering. And micromanaging.

  In fact, the only way I’d managed to convince them to let me attend Rodner University, the school I settled on both because it had a fantastic drumline and it was geographically the farthest from home, was by threatening to not go to college at all if they refused. And that, to my upper middle-class professional parents, was a fate worse than death by helicopter-parenting.

  I scooped the handful of grape lollipops on my passenger seat into my small canvas purse. My morning had been unexpectedly busy. After an early thunderstorm washed out today’s band camp, I’d started the day by cleaning Marco’s dorm room per drumline requirements, then afterward, I’d met Smith for lunch at a small local taco joint. The lollipops were a gift from him.

  “Why so many?” I’d questioned, when he dumped five or six in my outstretched palms.

  “I was in the bathroom the other day. Ended up at the urinal next to Laird’s. Snuck a peek. Decided you probably needed some more practice sucking before things progressed any more between you two. And since I’m such a good sidekick, I brought some extras to help you out.” He’d nudged me with his elbow. “You’re welcome, Batman.”

  “Progressed?” I’d stumbled over the word, my mind still lost in the visual of Laird’s large shaft stretching my lips wide. “What do you mean?”

  He’d leveled an exasperated stare at me. “You mean that wasn’t his Wrangler I saw parked in front of your dorm all night long?”

  I’d mumbled something about Wranglers being so common, they were fucking everywhere, damn it, like the mosquitoes. I’d hightailed it out of there as quick as I could, my hands full of candy, his laughter following me.

  And now I was at the hospital on a whim, desperate to keep myself occupied. The alternative being sitting on my ass in my dorm room with way too much time to think about the fact that I woke up alone this morning, with no note or text from Laird since.

  Except for the one he sent to the drumline on behalf of the band director, canceling practice.

  And, I told myself for the billionth time, I didn’t need to talk to him. There was nothing to discuss, right? We’d… cuddled. Cuddling didn’t have to mean something. I mean, okay, I’d seen his junk too. In all its massive glory. But so had Smith apparently, so I wasn’t in an exclusive club or anything.

  We were cool. No, wait, not we. There was no we.

  I didn’t think.

  Well, obviously not, because if there was a we, then surely he would’ve stuck around until daybreak, when my alarm alerted me to my utter aloneness.

  By the time I reached Eli’s room, I’d shoved Laird and his big wiener to the far corner of my mind, in a box I’d mentally duct-taped shut.

  Knocking lightly in case he was sleeping, I pushed open the door and peeked inside. “Eli?”

  “Reese! You came back! Did you bring the tattoos?” Eli shoved his thick glasses up his nose and practically vibrated with excitement.

  Sitting on the hard, plastic sofa next to the bed was a thin lady with equally thick glasses who had the same eyes as Eli. There was no doubt from the resemblance this was anyone other than his mom. Plus, she eyed me warily, with the look every mom of every pediatric cancer patient watched someone new approaching their child. “They’re temporary, I promise, Mrs. Wagner,” I reassured her and introduced myself.

  “Mo-o-o-o-om,” Eli begged. “It’s okay, isn’t it?”

  She smiled indulgently at him once she realized I wasn’t here to poke and prod. “Of course, darling. I bet Amelia will love them.” Eli blushed and mumbled something under his breath. Rising from the sofa, she squeezed my arm on her way out. “I was wanting some coffee anyway. I’ll leave you two to visit. And, Reese, call me Melissa. Mrs. Wagner is my mother-in-law.” As she reached the door, she turned around, mouthed thank you, and pointed at Eli.

  After she left, we got to work on his arms and didn’t stop until he had a full sleeve on his right side and a half sleeve on his left. The joy on his face when he saw himself in the bathroom mirror warmed me inside. He wrinkled his brows, narrowed his eyes, and stuck his lips out a little, trying on a tough guy persona. I gave him one of the grape lollipops, and the white stick angled from the corner of his mouth like a fat toothpick, then I took a quick picture on my phone to text his mom later.

  “I have a few more suckers,” I mentioned casually. “Does Amelia like grape?”

  “Only one way to find out!” His confidence was adorable. The sleeves of his gown were rolled up to better show off his badassery, and with candy in hand, we strolled down the hall, IV pole in tow.

  Three doors to the right, he rapped on the door twice before sauntering in with so much attitude and swagger, he even gave Marco a run for his money. I bit my lip to hide my smile and hung back in the doorway, happy to let Eli do his thing.

  “Amelia, you know what makes chemo like a million times better?”

  A waif-thin girl with huge pale green eyes and a port connected to an IV pump just like Eli’s gave him a blinding smile. “What?”

  “A view like this.” He struck a pose, flexing his biceps like a bodybuilder. She cracked up so hard she got short of breath and had to take a couple of deep pulls from the oxygen in her nasal cannula. “And this.” Eli performed an elaborate bow, pres
enting her with a lollipop like it was a rose.

  Amelia accepted it gratefully, hugging it to her chest before tearing off the wrapper and sticking it in her mouth. Chemo wrecked your taste buds, and some had the worst metallic aftertaste. It was one of the weird facts you didn’t learn until you went through it—that chemicals pumped through a tube almost straight into your heart had a taste. A little candy could be a life saver sometimes, if the nausea wasn’t too bad. The perfect sugary distraction.

  “My hero,” she said around the stick. “And I like the ink.”

  “I know. I’m pretty hardcore these days.”

  I stifled my giggle.

  “And that’s not all,” he continued. “If you’re not too tired, I have UNO cards in my room. Want to play a few rounds?”

  Her eyes shone. “I love UNO.”

  “I know.” His voice was shy this time. “I asked my mom to bring a deck so we could hang out.”

  An hour and five rounds later, with Amelia the decided champ with three wins compared to my and Eli’s single win each, she was running out of steam and Eli was squirming enough that I suspected he needed to pee but didn’t want to miss a moment of time with her.

  “Miss Amelia, it was a pleasure to meet you, but I need Eli to escort me back to his room now.” I leaned close and finished in a stage whisper, “Those tattoos of his scare all the bad guys away. He’s my bodyguard.”

  Eli puffed out his chest as he gathered up the cards, and neither kid argued with me putting an end to things.

  “Tomorrow,” he told her, “I demand a rematch. I was trying to be all gallant and stuff today and let you win because you’re a girl, but a man can only take so much. I won’t take it easy on you next time.”

  She nodded solemnly. “I would expect no less.”

  When we got back to his room, he wrapped his arms around my waist and squeezed surprisingly tight. “Thank you,” he whispered. “That was awesome.”