by Wendy Owens
I feel his head shift, and I know he’s looking down at me. I lift my chin so our eyes meet. His eyes drop to my mouth and, though the idea is fluttering around in the back of my thoughts, I won’t be fooled again. I won’t let myself hope that he wants to kiss me.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” he asks.
“Why do people start questions like that? I mean, really, does anyone ever actually say, ‘Why no, you can’t ask me a personal question, but thanks.’”
He laughs. “Okay, point taken.” Then falls silent.
I prop myself up on an elbow and look in his eyes. “Oh no, it’s too late. You can’t put that out there and then drop it.”
“I didn’t think you wanted me to ask,” he chimes defensively.
“No, I was just saying you shouldn’t ever set up a question like that again because it’s total bullshit,” I explain, then return to my position with my head on his chest, his arm around me. My hand is on his stomach; he starts using his other hand to tickle the flesh of my arm, rubbing it up and down with his fingertips.
“How did you keep going after you lost them?”
I’m quiet. I’m not sure if my ears are playing tricks on me, or if Dean has actually just asked me that question. The silence continues to grow, as I have no answer. I’m not really sure I did keep going.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” he ends the silence at last.
I shake my head. “No, it’s fine…” I begin, still unsure what I’m supposed to say. I want to move on—that’s what I’m doing right now—but I have no idea how I finally took that step, except out of necessity.
“What?” he asks.
“I didn’t keep going. I shut down. I only started functioning again because I had no other choice. My dad died. There wasn’t anyone else left to take care of me except for myself.”
“How long has it been?”
Surprisingly, I’m not uncomfortable telling him these details. I’m able to speak without bursting into tears. “A few years.”
“I wish you didn’t have to go through that,” Dean offers, and I can tell he means it.
“It’s funny … at first there are enough distractions that it really doesn’t hit you completely. You’re consumed with your feelings, don’t get me wrong, and you’re still processing the pain, but you don’t realize just how much the loneliness hurts until a few months pass and the visitors with their casseroles disappear. Then it’s just you and your pain.”
“I’m sure it’s hard on friends too,” he suggests.
I tilt my head up and look at him. “Why would it be hard on them?”
“Death is hard on everyone. I’m sure there are people who loved you and felt helpless and frustrated that there was nothing they could do to take the pain away.” I wonder how Dean knows so much about grieving.
“I guess,” I say in a near whisper.
“Thank you,” he whispers, pressing his lips against my forehead.
I shift, moving my head from his chest to his arm. “For what?”
He licks his lips, his eyes shift once again down to my lips. Oh hell. “For sharing that with me. I know it can’t be easy.”
I give a slight nod. He rocks up onto his hip, hovering over top of me. His body locks mine in place. His chest is pressed firmly on my shoulder against the floor. I close my eyes; I have to before I literally beg him to kiss me. His hand returns to my jaw line, tracing it gently.
I try and wiggle a hand loose. I want to lace it though the back of his dark hair, but as much as I try, I can’t seem to break my limb free. I try my best not to move too much, as I don’t want him to think I’m struggling. He might move away, and that’s the last thing I want.
I can feel his breathing growing shallower the closer he moves toward me. Then suddenly, our eyes locked on one another, his lips now only inches from mine, and I think his breathing has stopped entirely. He’s looking at me. Why are you staring at me? Do you get off on torturing me? Why won’t you just kiss me already?
And that’s exactly what he does. Dean closes the last of the gap between us; my eyes close as our lips meet at last. My lips part, allowing his tongue to enter and find my own. His mouth is soft on the inside, a sensation I’d forgotten.
I’ve forgotten to breathe, and when I finally force the air in and out through the small breaks between our mouths, it causes a vibrating moan between us. Dean tightens his grip around me when I do this.
Dear God, don’t let this end.
His hand shifts from my jaw to the back of my head, taking a hold of my hair and lifting me up into him. My back arches as I try to meld my body into his, fusing us. The kiss builds in intensity, then calms, then once again builds. It’s a roller coaster of lust, and I can’t keep the thoughts in my head from drifting to places that makes me burn from the inside out.
He tears his mouth away from mine, and both of us are gasping for the precious oxygen we’ve been deprived of. Desire swimming through my body, I wait for our lips to reconnect. Opening my eyes, I see his face is now hovering several inches above me.
“I’ve gotta go,” he moans.
“What?” I cry.
“I’m already going to be late for sound check,” he explains, still not moving.
I groan in frustration. This makes him smile.
“Don’t worry, I don’t mind picking up where we left off,” he offers with a mischievous grin.
“Promise?” I whisper, lifting my head to free his arm.
He sits up and rolls off me, and, standing, he turns and offers to help me to my feet. “Oh, without a doubt.”
“I guess I should probably go cook you guys some food, huh?”
He lifts his shoulders. “I know the guys might appreciate it.” He laughs softly, before pulling me close and pressing his lips to my forehead. He looks into my eyes again, and I think I might see my reflection dancing in them. It’s like joy might burst from my core and level everything within a mile radius.
“Tonight,” he says, turning and leaving me. My skin is still tingling as I watch him walk away through the windows.
You kissed him. You’re a damn sex kitten. You kissed him. Him. You kissed a man who isn’t your husband. Your lips touched someone other than Travis. Stop! You have to stop. He kissed you, and it was good. Be happy, for once.
That kiss … it was amazing. I could have continued to kiss him all night. But ... he was the one to stop. Was it just because of sound check? I know he’s missed it before. Did he want to get away? Stop it! He likes you. Don’t be paranoid. Be happy, damn it!
Chapter Sixteen
Letting someone love me isn’t something I ever thought I would do again. Dean makes it easy. If he’s anywhere near me, there’s a shared smile, a sweeping touch of his fingertips. We kiss every chance we get, despite the groans from the rest of the crew, but Dean never presses me for more. I’m not sure yet if this is something I’m happy about or not. I know he thinks I’m fragile, and I love that he’s sweet and sensitive, but sometimes I think the only way it will ever progress between us is if he takes the lead.
I think the first few days were the hardest—mostly because they were awkward. It’s in the first few days that people comment when they notice a budding romance. But on top of dealing with everyone else finding out, we get to deal with the extra baggage: this is my first relationship since Travis passed away.
Dean asks a lot of questions. If he sees that I’m sad, he always encourages me to talk through it. With each week that passes, this new thing in my life seems a little more natural. I worry it’s more of a challenge than Dean thought it would be, but I think I’m the one who’s been surprised. When everything in your life you care about goes away, it’s easy to accept you’ll never care about anything ever again. So suddenly, when you do, it’s like a plant you thought was dead begins to bloom again; a river you were certain was dried up years ago begins to flow. I’m that flower. I’m the water flowing over those rocks. I can breathe and move again, rat
her than only wither and decay.
The schedule has been intense over the past few weeks—we made it down the coast, over to Texas, and this morning we arrived in Atlanta. It’s been the roughest portion of the trip, travel-wise, but Dean and I always manage to find a chance to spend time together every day.
Last night he asked me to make a batch of my mac-and-cheese for him today. I got up early and headed to a grocery where I found some incredible local farm cheeses and fresh smoked bacon. I’m determined to make it the best batch I’ve made for him yet. A romantic lunch with his favorite dish—maybe this will be the moment he will seize the opportunity and take our relationship to the next level.
“What smells so good?” Dean’s voice makes my heart flutter.
“Hey you,” I smile, pausing as he walks over and leans in for a kiss, those silky lips brushing against mine. “The mac and cheese is browning in the toaster oven.”
In an instant, he shifts direction, peeking in the door, the heat waves beating him in the face. “Oh my God, it smells amazing.”
“Thanks.” My cheeks flush.
He closes the door again, peering in through the small glass window. “I just know she’s going to love it.”
“She?” I gasp. A hundred scenarios of what he meant by she fly through my head.
“Yeah, when do you think it will be done? I’m not sure how long I’ll have to deliver it and still get back on time,” Dean explains as if I should just know what he’s talking about.
He never had any intentions of this being a romantic lunch for us. I’ve misunderstood. There will be no next step. No, instead he had me make his favorite meal for … well, for God only knows who. “Of course.”
He turns to face me, cocking his head and curiously lifting an eyebrow. “Of course what?”
“I can’t believe you had me make this for one of your—Jesus, I don’t even know what.”
“Wow, where the hell is this coming from?” he asks, his mouth hanging open in shock.
Honestly, I don’t know where it is coming from. I’ve never been a jealous girl, but I’ve also never been with a man like Dean. I see the way all of the girls who come to the shows look at him. He never makes me feel insecure—in fact, quite the opposite. I always know I’m the center of his world … at least I thought I was.
“I’m here to cook for the band, not to help you get a hook up.”
He laughs, moving toward me. “Did you really just say that?”
He reaches out to take my hand, but I pull away, worried I’m going crazy. Why do I keep saying these horrible things? “I thought you wanted to have a special lunch with me.”
Dean pauses, and I can tell he’s frustrated, but then, much to my surprise, his expression shifts as he asks me, “I’m sorry I wasn’t clear. What are you doing today?”
“I don’t see where that’s any of your business.” Dear God, I’m still doing it!
“I’m trying here … can you relax for one minute?”
I look behind me, but there is nowhere to run except to the bathroom. I face him, crossing my arms, and with as much contempt as I can muster, I say, “I have the band’s meals to prep for tonight.”
“What if I can have you back a few hours before the show? Is that enough time?” He’s smirking. I’m pissed off, and he’s smirking.
“Back?” I huff.
“Yes, I want you to come with me.”
“Where?” I ask, softening my posture, realizing perhaps I may have overreacted. All right, I totally know I overreacted.
“You’ll see.”
“Just tell me,” I insist.
“You’ll see,” he repeats.
“I don’t know.”
“Please.” He moves closer, and this time I don’t pull away when he reaches out to take my hand. “I want you to meet her.”
“Who?”
“Will you just trust me?”
I tilt my head, glaring at him suspiciously. “Okay. Do I need to change?”
“No—well, you don’t have a lot of metal on you, do you?”
“What?”
“Never mind, I’m sure you’ll be fine,” he reassures me.
“Now you’re weirding me out … where are we going?”
Dean presses his lips to my forehead. Way to almost screw this up, idiot. Must be some sort of record, I silently curse myself.
“It’s hard to explain, but, once we’re there, I’ll answer any of your questions. Can you pack up the food, and I’ll meet you at the van in ten?” I nod and watch him leave the bus. He looks different. He’s now a man shrouded in mystery. Why is that so damn sexy?
Chapter Seventeen
Frantically, I scoop up the dirty laundry that’s strewn all around the bus. I’ve never been the tidiest of individuals, but Storm puts me to shame. In moments I know he’ll be here. I’ve never cared if my bus was messy while he was around, but suddenly every detail seems to matter. I quickly give the small living quarters one last scan, when a cardboard box at the foot of my bed catches my eye.
I’d been so excited when Monica told me she was shipping a care package last week I literally squealed. It’s not an easy feat to receive mail while on the road. Things have to be carefully planned. We chose a city we would be hitting a week out, and she sent it to the venue. I picked it up yesterday, but I’ve been so distracted I never got around to opening it.
I place the box on the small counter area in the kitchenette at the front of the bus. Pulling out a knife, I carefully run it down the packaging tape. Monica knows everything I love so I’m positive I’m going to like what’s inside.
I open one flap and then the other; a small pink envelope sits on top of tissue paper. Tearing into it I find several pictures of Buttons and Monica all over our hometown. I flip the note over to read:
Hi Beautiful,
I’m missing you like crazy. I included some pictures of Chubbs and me around town. As you can see, she is getting some much-needed exercise. She’s been eyeing a bull terrier at the park. I think we could have a love connection on our hands.
I hope you’re finding a little love connection of your own, but no worries, in case you’re not, I packed something for that too. Love you. Can’t wait until you’re home.
-Monica
My cheeks ache from smiling so hard. I’ve missed her too. I can’t wait to call her and tell her what’s happened lately. I can imagine how hilarious she’ll think it is that I came on to Christian, but somehow ended up with Dean.
“Knock, knock,” I hear Dean’s voice directly behind me.
I gasp and turn around, holding the letter and photos tightly in my hand. “Hi! I— umm …” I stammer, caught off guard.
“We had plans, right?” Dean asks, sensing my hesitation.
I shake my head, pausing for a moment to drink him in. He’s wearing the distressed jeans that I love on him and, for a change, a button-down, dark gray shirt, untucked, and some charcoal loafer-style shoes that I would have never imagined him owning. His hair still looks wet and is slicked back, and, much to my surprise, he has shaved. I like a little stubble on a man, but it’s nice to see Dean looks gorgeous either way.
“Yeah, we are. Sorry, just got distracted,” I explain, tilting my head to tuck a sliver of hair behind my ear.
“Oh yeah?” He moves closer, trying to get a look at what might have pulled my attention away from our date.
“Oh.” I shake my head and hand him the pictures from the envelope, careful to hold on to the letter. “That’s my dog, Buttons, and my best friend.”
“Monica, right?” he asks, flipping through the images. I’d only mentioned her a few times; I’m impressed he was listening.
“Yeah, she sent me a care package,” I continue, turning and pulling apart the taped layers of tissue paper.
“Anything good?” he inquires, moving even closer and setting the images down next to the box.
I glance in, but the box is dark inside all of the tissue paper. My hands retrieve the
first item. “Buckeyes!” I exclaim.
“I can see why she’s your best friend.” Dean leans on one elbow, watching me explore the contents one by one.
I reach in, continuing to pull out items—a black hair scarf with cherries, a pair of earrings from one of my favorite local jewelry designers in Cincinnati, Abbi Glines’s newest steamy romance. My cheeks go hot as Dean sees the cover, lifting his eyebrows.
“Well, I think that’s it,” I say, lifting the box, the sound of something shifting inside catching my attention. “Oh, there’s something else.”
I reach in, and as I do, I can feel Dean’s eyes locked on me. I feel something long and cool slip into my hand. Locking my fingers around it, I let the box fall away. Instantly, I see Dean straighten up, a half-cocked grin on his face.
Much to my horror, I look down to see a pink rubber penis-shaped device in my hand. I freeze, but my cheeks are on fire. All I can think about is the different ways I am going to torture Monica before I kill her.
“I can explain,” I begin. I’ll tell him she’s crazy—like actually certifiable.
He’s still grinning at me as he gives me a slight nod. He closes the gap between us even more.
“You know, I can help with that,” he offers, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s serious, or perhaps maybe I’m wishing.
“You think I’m that easy?” I hit the ball squarely back to him. I consider licking my lips, but worry that may be over the top. I’m looking directly at him, and damn, he’s incredible.
“A guy can hope.” He pauses, playfully lifting an eyebrow. “Can’t he?”
I grin. In fact, I can’t do anything but grin. He moves closer, and I glance down, realizing I’m still holding the device. My breath hitches, but he still moves closer. He’s facing me, never moving those gorgeous blue eyes away from me. He slides his arm around my waist, and as he presses himself against me, I’m sure I can feel an erection. This surprises me, and my hand releases the dildo, which falls to the floor with a thud.
“What’s wrong? Can’t contain your excitement around me?” he whispers, his breath warm on my neck, just below my ear.