“About?”
“Levy, you, road rage incidents, psycho ex-boyfriends, shooting lessons…”
“Shooting lessons?” he repeated, looking up from where he had begun nibbling at the crook of my neck. His hands fell still as well.
“Mr. Craig and Em want to teach me to use a handgun. They think I should know how to protect myself.”
“Are you comfortable with that?”
I lifted my shoulders noncommittally.
“I think it might be a good idea, but I’d like to get Evan involved. No offense to Garrison and Em, but he’s a professional.”
“I didn’t realize that you were on first name basis with my landlord.”
“Oh, we’re like this.” He crossed his middle finger over his first. “Well, we are now. I’ll admit it was a little tense at first. The guy did polish his Winchester at the table while he evaluated my principles.”
“You’re lying.”
“Yeah, he’s like a year older than I am, Coop. I can’t call him Mr. Craig.”
Gasping, I covered my mouth. “Oh my God, you’re that old!”
Tate laughed darkly and stood, lifting me with him. “Oh babe, you’ve a few things to learn about me yet.”
“Like?”
“I’m like Whiskey; I improve with age.”
“And.”
“I hate surprises. The anticipation kills me.”
“You know what I hate?”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you later.” I squealed as Tate dug his fingers into my side and wiggled them against my ribs. Levy startled but didn’t wake.
In a few strides, we were wedged into the small bathroom. Tate set me on the sink. I prayed the particleboard vanity didn’t splinter under my weight. “Where is it?”
“I like the body search you’re doing better. Keep looking.” With a devious smile, he pulled my shirt over my head and continued to hunt for the telltale patch of gauze. For a moment, he stepped back, stumped, then reached and unhooked the back of my bra.
I sat up straight, watching with amusement as his brain stopped working and he stared at my breasts, consumed. His eyes glazed over, catch lights from the vanity enhancing his dark irises. Animatedly, he shook his head, tearing himself from his ogling.
“You’re killing me, strawberry girl. You know that, right?”
My lips curled into a euphoric grin.
Curling his finger, Tate beckoned me to him. I slid from the sink and turned, placing my back against his front. The space was small. As Tate pressed his chest to my back and reached to unbutton my shorts, I drew a deep breath of his musky scent. He was divine, virile.
A second later, my shorts dropped to the floor. Tate curled the sides of my bikinis around his fingers, slowly drew them down, searching my hips and lower back for the ink that he had yet to find. “Babe,” he said indignantly, “have you been torturing me all day for nothing?”
“No, you just haven’t looked everywhere.”
Spinning me, his gaze landed on the small patch of gauze. “Jesus Christ, you had your mound inked.”
Laughing at his shocked expression, I asked, “Do you want to see it?”
“That’s a dumb question.” Dropping to his knees, he began peeling back the tape ever so carefully to keep from pulling my skin. I had no hair down there. I’d had it lasered before I left for college. There was no way I was going to sunny California and having to deal with waxing or razor burn. At the time, I’d planned to live in my bikini and board shorts, and spend every free minute at the beach. Life didn’t quite work out that way, but the lasering was worth every penny.
“I’ve been dying to see it all day,” Tate said, drawing my attention with another soft pull of the tape. “Now I’m only more so curious.”
“You’re going to take forever at this rate.”
“I can’t just rip it off. This is a very sensitive situation. Besides, it’s like Christmas and my birthday all rolled into one. I want to take my time.”
Impatiently, I gripped the edge of the sink, bracing myself against the god-forsaken adhesive. “Holy crap, I think the tape hurts worse than the needle.”
After much gritting and bearing, the final length of tape pulled free. Thank the gods for small favors. Pubic hair or not, it still hurt.
Saying nothing, Tate sat back on his haunches, staring with what I hoped was absorption and not disgust. Naturally, I leaned toward the worst possible conclusion.
“You don’t like it.”
“I’m…speechless, Cooper.” Tate rarely called me by my full name. Like my parents, he only used it when he was serious. “This is really personal. You might as well have tattooed my name there.”
“It’s nothing I’ll regret if things don’t work out between us,” I said, reaching for my panties. Before I could get to them, Tate grasped my wrist and pulled me into his arms.
“I like it.”
“It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a tattoo.”
“But it does mean something. You tattooed your mound with a strawberry patch. That’s like a declaration to me, one that’s irreversible. I finally feel like I’ve gained an inch with you, that for once you’re not going to up and disappear, and then you go and burst my bubble by talking about breaking up.”
“I didn’t think you liked it.”
“I love it.”
“Fine…it means something.” Gazing at him, I watched his eyes widen, shock monopolizing his expression. “Don’t act so surprised! I made my feelings clear for you the other day!”
“I know, but women tell me they love me all the time. They shout it at me wherever I go. Oooohhh Taaaaaate—I love yooooouuuu Tate! Over here! I want to have your babies! Oh my gawd, he looked at me—Tate Watkins looked at me!” When I scowled and swatted at him, he was quick to respond. “What? It’s true. Come with me this weekend and you’ll see.”
Shaking my head, I rolled my eyes. I could imagine. I’d been to concerts before. I’d seen women throwing themselves toward the stage like schools of fish in spawn, their bodies writhing and struggling in their frantic race to be fruitful and multiply.
“Are you jealous?” Tate’s lips curled into a grin. “You are, aren’t you? You’re jealous of all my fangirls.”
I choked on a breath, gaping as Tate’s grin widened. I was quick to snap my mouth shut, gathering what composure I could. “Oh puleeze.”
“Don’t worry, strawberry girl. You have one thing that they don’t.”
“Just one thing?” I said dryly.
“The only thing that matters.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“Me.” Teasing me with a shallow kiss, he nibbled on my lower lip while his hands busied elsewhere. “The next few days are going to suck royally.”
“Mm?”
“Not being able to really kiss you.” Trailing down the planes of my stomach, he tormented me with the warm ball piercing his tongue. “No worries. I can think of other things to do with my tongue.”
Hitching my knee over his shoulder, he did just that. By the time he was done working his tongue between the apex of my thighs, my knees were weak and my body was quivering from head to toe. Slowly, I unwound my fingers from his hair and gripped the edge of the sink.
“Better hold on, strawberry girl. We’re not done yet.” Indeed, he unfastened his very fine designer jeans and freed himself. Taking his length in his hand, he stroked himself. The action was needless; he was hard as steel. I gripped the sink harder, my knuckles whitening.
Reaching behind me, Tate rifled through my vanity and extracted a square black wrapper. “You really do hide those all over my apartment, don’t you?”
“I like to be prepared.”
“Where else have you put them?”
“In the kitchen, the sofa cushions, the nightstand… I plan to fuck you in each room before I go back on the road. That way you’ll be reminded of me no matter where you are.”
“I already think of you no matter where I
am, Tate.”
“Do you now?” Tate’s smile lit a fire in my chest. Smiling back, I curled a finger under his chin, guiding his lips to mine.
“You are always on my miiiiiiind. You are alwaaaays on my…” I trailed off, watching Tate’s eyes cloud over with lust. “….miiinnnnd.”
“That voice of yours…” he proclaimed, “it makes me want to fuck your mouth.”
“I swear you say the sweetest things.”
“What can I say; I’m a romantic at heart.” Slipping into me, Tate closed his eyes, surrendering to our carnal endeavors. Me, I fought to remain lucid. I loved to watch him lose himself, to know that I had the appeal to satisfy his needs.
Resting on the vanity, I lifted my legs around Tate’s waist, hooking my ankles behind his back. Tate slid his hands to either side of my hips, lifting me to a better angle. Rhythmically, he plunged forward, his teeth set on the edge of his lip. His muscles bunched and rolled beneath his skin, revealing the hidden strength behind his lean frame.
Just those few small observations were enough to bring me to peak.
“Ah! My God, Coop! Not yet!” Pace increasing, the tendons in Tate’s neck tensed. His grip bruised my hips, fingertips dimpling my skin as the shudders of my peak sent him over the edge. “Fuck! Shit! Fuck!” I swear, even the man’s oaths were musical with his smooth baritone.
Collapsing over me, his chest heaved, aftershocks of his orgasm still firing deep inside me. A light sheen of sweat coated his body. His dark hair curled slightly at the roots. All of these things were secondary to the undeniable affection I felt for him. God, I had it bad.
“Sabotage, babe, that’s all I’m going to say.”
“What can I say—I enjoy watching you.”
“Then consider this fair warning—I’m blindfolding you from now on. You short circuit my brain when that magic muff of yours starts having seizures.”
Laughing, I ejected him unceremoniously. “Oh my God!”
Tate took a step back and stared indignantly. “Amazing, just amazing. Wham bam thank you man. Now get out. Is that the way it is?”
Still laughing, I added an indelicate snort to the mix.
“My God, here I thought I was getting a lady when I first saw you in that office number. Now the real Cooper Hale comes out. She likes tongue rings, tattoos and voyeurism. And she snorts to top it off.”
“Stop,” I gasped, holding my stomach. It hurt from laughing so hard. “I…can’t…breathe.”
Tate, on the other hand, had lost all sense of humor. My first thought was the condom broke. I was sure of it. The smile faded from my face. That was all I needed, another pregnancy. Tate Watkins’ baby or not.
“Come with me, Coop.”
“This weekend?” I asked, able to breathe again. Sliding the medicine cabinet open, I pulled out the fresh pack of gauze and the ointment Tiny gave me. I had to redress my ink. I was supposed to keep it covered for the next twenty-four hours with the one exception of Tate’s private unveiling. “You already know—”
“On tour,” Tate clarified.
“What?” Surely, I must’ve heard him wrong. Taking the gauze from my hands, he began peeling back the paper wrapper while I stammered in shock.
“Come with me. I’ll be touring hard through December. I’ll have some time off here and there to recoup, but for the most part, I’ll be playing back to back. If you come, at least we’ll get to see each other.”
“I have a kid, Tate. I can’t just up and go.”
“He’s not in school yet.” Unfazed by what he was asking of me, he knelt and began taping the fresh sheet of gauze over my tattoo.
“I still have a job, and things like health insurance to think about.”
“I’ll cover it. I’m sure they have a cobra plan.”
“And what happens if things don’t work out between us?”
“Coop, did anyone ever tell you what a pessimist you are?” he accused, pausing from his ministrations to look up at me.
“I’m not a pessimist; I’m a realist.”
Staring intently, he added, “You’d be safer with me. I have security around me at all times while I’m on tour.”
“That’s not playing fair.”
“I’m in this to win, strawberry girl.” Securing the last edge of the gauze, he ran his finger over the four strips of tape and then generously helped me back into my bikinis. “I have a place in Seattle. Nice big security system. Gated. Monitored twenty-four seven.”
“Now you want me to move in with you.”
“It’s big. Levy could have his own room. I’ll even get him one of those race car beds.”
“You’re crazy.”
“You love me.”
“Everybody loves you. You’re Tate Watkins.”
“True. What? I’m a lovable guy.” Rising back to his feet, Tate lifted me back onto the vanity and nestled his hips between my thighs. “What’s so different than what we’re doing right now? I practically live here. We disagree on things. I win because of my calm logic. We have great sex. And I’m a great role model for your son. What’ve you got to lose?”
Nothing. I had nothing to lose. The thought blinked at me like a neon sign, a harsh reminder of my pitiful existence.
Smiling as if he’d already won the discussion, Tate took my hand and brought it to his chest. “Think about it. I have another week before we move on.”
“Tate—”
“Think about it, Coop. Come with me this weekend. You can see what it’s like. Don’t make a decision until then.”
In the next room, Levy pitched a scream that raised the hairs on my arms. Tate and I grappled over who would get out the door first. He went into protective mode, going superhero chauvinist on me and used his muscle to get there first.
“Mommmmaaaaa!” Levy wailed, sliding from the couch and toddling sleepily toward me with his arms out. I scooped him up off the floor, sheltering him in my arms.
“What’s wrong, Lev? What happened?” He clung to me, nearly choking me as he burrowed under my chin, trembling from whatever woke him.
“The sandman.”
“The sandman isn’t real, kiddo.”
“I saw him at da winnow.”
After briefly meeting my eyes, Tate crossed the room and pushed the curtain back. “Screen’s cut. Was it like this before?” He held up the corner, which was cut completely down the right side and across the bottom. A moth the size of my left hand took this as an open invitation and fluttered its way inside. The shiver that ran down my spine had nothing to do with the insect, and everything to do with the clean slice in my window screen.
“No.”
Chapter 12
“He’ll be fine,” Tate promised, referring to Levy. “Carter can’t be a bad influence as long as he’s here with us.” He smiled wryly at his best friend, who flipped him the bird.
It was only three days and two nights, but I’d never left Levy for so long of a time. Carter’s sister Jess was watching him so I could attend Tate’s concert in Jersey. We were staying at the Hyatt for the weekend. The hotel was on the Philadelphia waterfront, right on Columbus Boulevard. The guys wanted to see the sights, check out South Street and some of the surrounding areas while they were in town.
Honestly, I knew Levy would be fine with Jess and Gabi. What really worried me was the intruder behind the damaged window screen. Neither Tate nor I were deluding ourselves with notions of robbery. And while I didn’t think Grant was to blame over the road rage incident, I was pretty sure he was to blame for the attempted break in at my apartment.
Tate had wanted me to stay at Jess’s house, but I refused to let Grant chase me from my home again. I ran too many times already. Hence, I put my foot down. I made my stand.
Consequently, so did Tate.
When I had refused to stay at Jess’s, Tate called in Evan and Taylor, whom Tate appointed as my personal security detail. Evan stayed in the car at night, and Taylor took over every morning. He drove me to and from work, and to
lunch if I decided to eat out. It made for an awkward situation because the girls all decided to join me, volunteering me to drive in hopes that Tate Watkins might magically appear in the backseat, though I promised he wouldn’t. I apologized to Taylor numerous times for the titters and whispering that occurred. He shrugged it off, but still, it couldn’t have been comfortable to be stuck in a car full of prattling women.
To boot, I did horrible with the shooting lesson. Truly. It was a scene from The Three Stooges, which wasn’t funny considering firearms were involved. Thus, I refused to keep one in the house. It just wasn’t happening. With a gun in my hand, I was a danger to society.
This only bolstered Tate’s suggestion to join him on the road, he’d decided. This he implied in every discussion, every non-discussion, and anything in between with no subtlety whatsoever. He was like a child, intent on obtaining the latest and greatest of games or gadgets.
Me, I was still hesitant to take that blind leap of faith.
“Cooper…ooper…ooper…oopper,” Carter echoed, his hands cupped around his mouth. He smirked as he elbowed Tate in the ribs. “Dude, does she do that often?”
“Block out annoying noises like the sound of your voice?” Tate retorted. “Yeah.”
“Down,” I said, in response to Carter’s question. While I was deep in thought, I was still cognizant to the world around me. It was a skill honed over time, thanks to Levy. “Tate’s right, you need to drop down a bar at the end.”
“Go back to wherever you just were,” Carter scoffed. “La la land or wherever the fuck you go. Twit singer.”
“See that scuff on my shoe, Carter?” I asked. “Cause I’m going to shine it with your balls in a minute.” Shane emphasized my retort by sounding a rim shot on his practice pad.
Carter scowled and gave me the finger.
“Oh what is that—the size of your dick or your IQ?”
“Brawl!” Jake bellowed as Carter grabbed my leg and pulled me beneath him and his bass guitar onto the nasty floor of the body bag. He was throwing mock punches to my kidneys while his guitar strings sliced my skin like a friggin’ mandolin.
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