“For the tenth time that guy did not give you a blow job. You are not a man. You do not have a penis.”
Hey, everyone, it’s Holland Drake, anatomy professor.
“O.M.G., Holland, you know what I mean. We were so freaking safe too. I’m on the pill because of my period thingy, and he used a condom on top of it!”
“You do understand the condom is for more than just pregnancy prevention, right? You get what it does?”
“You do understand you’re a million times worse than Mom? At least her version had a diagram and no screaming.”
“I’m not screaming. I just, god! Why now, Sylvie? You were with Dimples Dan for how many years, and you decide to go for it on my watch?”
“Ah stop calling him that. He didn’t even have dimples. And second, yes, that’s right. Because Dan made me feel like watching weather specials and sipping lemon tea. Shandor makes me feel like my insides are going to explode. Like all hot and weird. You have to see his eyes. Unbelievable.”
“You’ve known this guy for a day!”
“You were practically married to Luke after two weeks.”
Bam. Points for me when her gaze narrows.
“That’s completely different.”
“Why?”
Yes, my hands are on my hips. Yes, I’m going to project serious sass straight to her mom-brain. ’Cause I’m right, and I can be a bitch about it.
“For one, we’re a lot older, more mature.”
“Oh? And how old were you when you were engaged to Wes?”
“Don’t even…”
I’m so getting booked on the next flight home.
“I’m just saying, how many twenty-year-old virgins do you know? You weren’t. You were ready to get married. Hannah sure as hell wasn’t. Emma...” Okay, not going there. “Just, I’m an adult. I was careful. What’s the big deal?”
“Do you even like this guy?” Hmm. Mom would be in her room sobbing by now, questioning God, Buddha, Zeus, whoever was listening. Holland’s still talking details. Has to count for something.
“Of course I like him. A lot.”
Her sigh is a great sign, maybe not her peek at her phone. She’s the only person in this universe who pulls off “mulling” the way it’s supposed to be done.
“And he was respectful? He didn’t pressure you in any way?”
“So respectful. I’m the one who pressured him.”
I don’t know why she snorts.
“Okay. Well…”
“Holland, I’m serious. He’s the one.”
Oops.
“The one?” That’s a definite scream. A shriek, really.
“Not that kind of One. Geez, I meant the virginity One. Well, I mean, he could be that kind of One, but he still hasn’t texted me back so I’m not going to propose yet.”
She doesn’t like my joke.
“He slept with you and hasn’t texted you?”
“Well, I guess he did. He said he couldn’t talk.”
I’ve opened a whole new can of why-can’t-I-keep-my-mouth-shut?
“You said ‘texted me back.’ What did you say exactly? You didn’t tell him any of this stuff, did you? About being the one?”
“Come on. I’m not twelve. Of course not. I just told him that the pineapple at breakfast was good.”
Again with the blank stare. She loves pineapple. I even remember seeing some on her plate.
“That was your first message after having sex with a guy?”
“Duh. I didn’t want to sound like a whore.”
“Oh my god, Sylvie.”
Crap, we’ve upgraded to the mom headshake now. It’s way worse than the mom counseling.
“I know. Probably not the best, but I didn’t know what to do. How do you tell a guy you can’t stop thinking about him and he just gave you one of the best nights of your life?”
“Well, not by referencing pineapple.”
I hide behind my fingers. “I know. What do I do, Holland? I blew it, didn’t I?”
The thing I love about sisters over moms is that even though they totally suck one minute, they can be amazing the next. Mine slips her arm around me and squeezes.
“It might not be over. If he’s a decent guy, he’ll understand you’re not on the same playing field.”
“Gee, thanks,” I mumble.
“Am I wrong?” Her grin is because she’s not.
“No, I know, but I’m telling you, Hol. He was so sweet about it.”
“And quick?”
I bite my lip. I think she’s teasing me again. I guess that’s better than yelling. “Um, not like quick, quick. I mean, the rest wasn’t quick. He was just, I don’t know, really into it? Wow, he definitely knew what he was doing.”
Again, Sylvie, seriously?
“Not helping your case. You think I want you with a man-whore?”
“Oh, because you were Luke’s first?” It comes out too fast. So not fair and way too soon. “Sorry,” I continue before she can punch me. “I didn’t mean that. What you and Luke have is special. Maybe I’m a little jealous.”
She decides not to slap me and settles back into sister-mode. “It’ll come, okay? I just don’t want to see you force anything. You have to wait for the right guy. Luke and I weren’t looking when we found each other.”
“I’ve been waiting almost twenty years.” My tone isn’t desperate so she relaxes. Since I’m on a roll, I decide to go for it. “Look, I’m not saying I want to marry Shandor. But he’s sweet and hot and makes me feel like I’m the only girl in this sea of supermodels. Why can’t I enjoy it for a few days?”
She’s wavering.
“I wasn’t even drinking.”
Still thinking.
“He’s multi-lingual.”
Lips are turning.
“He has an overprotective cousin hovering around.”
Full-on smile.
“He made me promise if we did anything that we’d go at my pace and I would call the shots.”
Score.
She’s navigating her phone, pressing buttons.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling Luke to tell him not to murder your fling before we have a chance to sort this out.”
I cross my arms and watch them meander toward the bar. I have the perfect view of a certain unaware teenager. She’s tucking strands of pink hair behind her ear and eyeing her sister who’s dialing away on her phone.
Luke picks up. “Hey, babe.
“What’s that?
“Oh the hit is off?”
I frown and study him. Luke Craven’s nostrils flare, giving away his amusement. “Not ‘all that bad?’
“A-ha.
“No, for sure: dudes should stay away from Sylvie.” He purses his mouth shut over his smirk. “What? Of course I mean that. No, hun, not trying to be clever.”
Girl brains. Irresistible.
“With someone else’s sister. Because never yours. Like, ever.” He clears his throat of humor. By the tirade of words on the other end, he’s overdone it.
Luke Craven, as it turns out, is hilarious. I have to turn away not to get him in even more trouble by chuckling out loud.
“Where I am? Well, let’s just say, ‘I see you,’” he says.
And there. Holland nudges Sylvie in the ribs. Jerks her head toward us once, and Sylvie’s entire body changes. She straightens and hikes up on her toes, ready to leap toward us. God she’s so—
I lean against a partition garnished with palm leaves and ivy, waiting for her to make up her mind.
Sylvie takes two steps and hesitates. Holland, though, strides toward us and means it. In passing, she grabs Sylvie’s arm. It’s time we menfolk move too in this replay of some showdown.
“Ladies,” Luke begins. I second him by bo
wing my head in greeting, which seems to ease some of Sylvie’s trepidation.
“Hey, I couldn’t find you,” Holland says.
“I was busy, remember?”
“Shh,” Holland replies. She tips her chin up, moving on with, “So who’s your friend?”
That’s the game she plays? I guess the showdown continues. Unless she truly has no idea who I am.
Maybe I should give her the benefit of the doubt. It’s not like we remember all quick intros made at the beginning of a green-room, pre-show meet-n-greet.
“He’s Shandor,” Sylvie ruins her plan by saying. “Remember, the guy I’ve been telling you about, that I was with last night—and I slept over at his hotel room and—”
“Right,” Holland interrupts, and I swear she lifts her hands as if she wants to cover her ears. She catches herself though and lowers them.
“Shandor Xodyar.” I try to salvage by introducing myself. My humor has got to show on my face though.
“Holland Drake, Sylvie’s sister. It’s nice to meet you.”
“He’s awesome.”
Everyone stares at Sylvie, who turns beet red. She starts to shake her head slowly at first, then more vigorously.
“No,” she adds to her damage. “No, no, I didn’t mean that. I mean, I didn’t not mean it. Or... crap. I just mean it’s not like I meant to say it or anything. I like him a lot but just— Gah, shit!”
“Sylvie!” Holland exclaims, and man, I might be overprotective of Aishe, but this girl’s got the virus bad for her sister.
I reach for Miss Hotness of the Universe, who eagerly entwines our fingers. “Excuse us for a moment,” I say. Relieved, Luke waves us off, and Miss Protective Sis doesn’t object either.
I guide Sylvie away, toward Luke’s and my former outpost. She’s wearing flat shoes, pink ones that remind me of dancers. They’re as innocent as she is.
“Are you mad? Sorry I said all that. Shit-shit-shit,” she adds now that Big Sis is out of the way.
I turn her around and link her against me. Ah talk about insta-whatever-this-is. It’s only been hours, and I already missed holding her close.
Love Fire.
She’s young. Complicated. I shouldn’t do this. As if that wasn’t enough, she lives in Canada, while I tour the world for a living. I’ve only known this living compulsion of a woman for twenty-four hours. “No, I’m not mad. Good day so far?” I force myself to add.
“It’s been whatever,” she says, sounding composed and subtly unhappy at once, a girl thing. Gypsy women are clear about their feelings though. If it’s red, it’s red. It won’t be salmon-colored.
“You know what’s super-sad about texts? You can’t take them back.”
I’ve found my wall partition again and lean the two of us against it. “Yeah?” I tug on a turquoise loop of hair that happened to land on my knuckles. “What would you have taken back? I’ll erase it from my mind.”
“Yeah, right,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Anyway. I wanted to say that...”
I meet her gaze, waiting for the rest, but the more she stares back, the more she chickens out.
“Sylvie?”
“Yeah...” She breathes it out. Which is an issue. We’ll have to work on that.
“Will you stop?”
“What?”
“Stop being mouthwatering.” Eyes like saucers do exist, and they’re the prettiest thing you’ll ever see. “Listen.” I frame her face with my hands and try to make her understand. For emphasis, I give her a headshake before I move on. “You know how long it’s been since we met?”
She nods fast though my question was only rhetorical. I realize she probably has it down to the hour.
“Okay, because I’m trying really hard, here.”
“You are?” She sounds like that’s a good thing, but I was going to tell her I’m thinking we should not do the quick version of an entire relationship in four days. If things go according to—I don’t know—everything we’ve done so far—we’ll be fucking pregnant in four days.
Wait...
No, we’re good.
“Yes. Sylvie.” I tighten my hold to make her focus. “You’re how old?” Rhetorical again. It’s not like I’ll ever forget face-planting to a teen goddess.
“Twenty.”
Um.
“So. Sylvie. You just started college. You’re stead-bound for four long fucking years. Me, I’m about to turn twenty-six, and I’m never in one place more than a week at a time.” I’ve been with her since Friday, I think next. What in the freaking world makes me even talk like this?
He’s saying stuff, important stuff?, but he has to know it’s impossible to focus when he holds me like this. It feels so forever. I’m tucked in his arms, staring over the ocean with his voice vibrating through me as words about logistics punctuate the air.
Logistics. Please.
I forgive him for his speech though. I know he thinks he’s being all responsible and crap. Lots of people worry about future stuff. My sister Hannah buys her Christmas gifts in freaking June. I never understood that because a great idea in June could totally suck in December. You think Leafs tickets are a great idea for your sister and her boyfriend? Well, they’re not when the game is a month after he dumps her.
“Will you just stop?” I mumble, finally annoyed. His logistics are interrupting my concentration on the riveting pattern his muscles create with each movement. It’s like I can identify every one. Maybe I’m more interested in anatomy than I thought.
“Wait, did you just tell me to shut up?”
His amusement solidifies my stance that what could happen is way less interesting than what’s happening now. He thinks he’s so mature, considering future problems that are still a day away.
Adults think too much. You know what happens when you spend your life worrying about logistics? You turn into Kat Kontry. News flash, Shandor X. I’m never going to prance around in a dominatrix leopard costume.
I force his addictive gaze back on me. “I did. So what’s your point with all of this?” I know his point, but I can make points too.
“My point is, after this weekend, then what?”
I shrug. It’s a crappy point. “So because I’m going to college and you’re on tour, you don’t want me to do this?” I trace my fingers on his lips. “Or this?” I tug the waist of his jeans until our hips collide. “How about this?” I’m freaking awesome at debate with my tongue in his mouth. Funny how a few hours ago I was a virgin. Now? It’s his own fault for switching on sex-crazed Sylvie.
“Dammit, Sylvie,” he mutters.
Go ahead. Try to argue.
This guy must have a will of steel because he pulls away to grumble, “I’m serious. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Me or you?”
“Both.”
“That’s funny, because I’m pretty sure we’re both hurting right now.” I make sure of it with a slow grind that stalls his breath. He can also thank himself for that weapon from his hotel room yesterday.
But his sudden smile? Total forever-moment.
“Not fair.”
I cast a read toward Mom Holland and O.M.G.
“They’re gone,” I point out, waiting as he verifies my story.
“Wow.”
“Perfect. So what’s the verdict, Mr. Responsible? You in or out?” Gosh, it better be in because I’m about to explode. How can I be intertwined with this guy, breathing the same air as him, and still not feel like we’re close enough?
While he keeps sorting out his logistics, I weave my fingers behind his neck, exposing every inch of myself to him. Is it desperate? Maybe. But I don’t care. Text-whore, real whore, whatever. I’m concerned with now, and right now I need that mouth, that smile, those eyes, to be mine even if this is the last time. I get all three, and more as he hardens against
me, proving bullshit logistics have nothing on this kind of chemistry.
I open my lips for him, everything surrendered. He takes me in, and I resist an I-told-you-so when our bodies fall into the seductive rhythm of alone, ignoring that we’re not.
“You still owe me more lessons,” I murmur through our kisses.
I can feel his grin against my lips before I see it.
“Yeah? It’s two o’clock in the afternoon.”
“Your body doesn’t care,” I say and score another point with my brave hand that slides, grips, and constricts. I should have been on the debate team.
He sucks in a breath. “You’re cheating again.”
“So?”
I hate that he’s back to thinking about rules, future crap. Why can’t he see I don’t want a knight in shining armor right now? I want the freaking dragon.
“In or out?” I whisper.
We both jump at the intrusion of his phone.
“Shit.” His eyes scan the screen. “I have to go.” He plants a very unsatisfying peck on my lips, and I groan with disappointment. “Call you later?”
His pace when he escapes, though? Not a good sign.
“Shandor, wait!”
Amber eyes lock on me.
“I want to go with you.”
I stride off fast. Years away from my family, my clan, my roots, have had their impact, and here I am, freaking relieved at the buzz of my phone.
I don’t like the look on Sylvie’s face when I leave. Still, I’m here for work, and it wouldn’t make sense to bring a girl along for this.
Strap pin screw came loose again.
On the Charvel? I type back to Mariana.
Yes. I want to start on it tonight. She’s fickle about her instruments but never sticks to a shred guitar like the Charvel through an entire concert. We’re talking one song, if that, and now she obsesses over starting the set off on it?
Mariana’s timing is impeccable though. I fucking needed a break to use my head instead of every other cell of my body. I was seconds from pressing Sylvie into a corner and ravishing her in full view.
Does it not hold tight in the hole?
Not at all! Can you make it useable for tonight?
Sylvie + Shandor (Rocker Shenanigans Book 1) Page 8