“But what, Lauren?”
There’s a world of emotion in his question—frustration, hurt, maybe even anger. I swallow hard. “I’m sorry. I’m not good at this.”
He doesn’t answer. Instead he sits up, pulling away from me, and slides off the hood, his arms crossed and his shoulders hunched as he climbs into the car.
Dejected and sad, I climb off as well, the metal of the hood clanking and banging as it pops back into place. Me and my big mouth. I always have to be a smartass. You’d think I’d learn by now when to let it out and when to stuff it down. Note to self, this would’ve been a good time to keep the smartass tendencies in check.
With a heavy sigh, I climb into the car, jamming the key into the ignition and starting the engine. Before I can get my seatbelt on, though, Brendan reaches up and turns on one of the reading lights. The tiny light is almost blinding in the darkness, casting high relief shadows over everything, including the hard set of Brendan’s mouth, his level brows, the long straight blade of his nose. He studies me, not saying anything.
I let my hands fall to my lap, blinking down at them, fighting the urge to cry or to blurt out something stupid again. Right now my best bet is to let him say whatever he clearly wants to say and keep my mouth shut. And then we can drive in awkward silence back to my house, where I can return him to his brothers and go hide in my room until they leave.
“What aren’t you good at?” His voice is even, betraying nothing of what he might be thinking or feeling.
I glance at him. “Talking.”
A tiny smile pulls at one corner of his mouth. “That is completely untrue.”
I roll my eyes and let my head fall back against the headrest. “Fine. Talking about relationships and feelings and opening myself up to being vulnerable. It never ends well. So I make bad jokes.”
He studies me again, before taking a deep breath, his overly observant eyes never leaving mine. “Fine,” he says at length. “I’ll go first then.” He pauses, still staring at me like he’s trying to read my thoughts. “I like you, Lauren. A lot. And I know we said we’d just have a fling for our trip, but that’s not good enough for me. It never has been. I hated leaving you at the airport to fly home. I hated every second of the drive back without you. And I’ve been driving myself nuts ever since working at the diametrically opposed goals of holding on to the memories of our time together and moving on. I want to see you. Talk to you. See where this goes. And not feel like I’m risking a slap in the face every time I see you.”
I look away, unable to sustain the naked vulnerability of letting him look into my eyes. Not when I’m about to start crying. Again. Damn my stupid hormones and my stupid tendency to cry.
He sighs, sitting back in his seat. “Am I alone in this? Since you keep taking my calls and you agreed to get away from the others with me tonight, I thought maybe you might want something more too. Am I way off base here?”
“No.” My voice is a croaky whisper, and I have to clear my throat. “No. You’re not. But …”
“But what, Lauren? Dammit, just fucking talk to me. You spilled your guts the first twenty-four hours we knew each other about anything and everything, and now trying to get you to talk is like pulling teeth. Just tell me what you’re thinking. It’s not that hard.”
“I miss you, okay?” It comes out loud and angry, but I can’t help it. “All the time. I’m pissed that you missed my recital”—I hold up my hand when he opens his mouth to interrupt—“and I know that you couldn’t help it and you apologized, and I still feel the way I feel.” I stop to breathe, making an effort to lower my voice. “I wanted you to be there. And I’m as mad at myself for being upset that you weren’t there as I am at you for not making it. And I don’t know how to be around you anymore. I don’t know how to talk to you and tell you that I miss you and I want you, and dammit, I’ve even looked at grad schools in California so I could be a crazy stalker chick and move closer to you. I hate that you’re the first person I called when I lost the concerto competition. And that every time I see you or hear your voice, my brain short circuits. I have another year left before I complete my degree, and then it’s either grad school or auditioning for orchestras while I cobble together an income with teaching and gigs and maybe a part time job.”
“You’re looking at schools in California?” The question is soft, inserted into the space where I pause to take a breath.
I swallow. “Yeah.” Another croak. I clear my throat again. “I haven’t contacted them or anything. Like I said, it made me feel like the horror stories of crazy ex girlfriends. But …”
“But it’s a possibility? If we were on the same page?”
“Maybe. Yeah. There are a couple places with decent programs, but I haven’t looked at them closely, because it seemed like I shouldn’t.”
He reaches across the console, his hand settling on my leg. “Do it. Request information. Look into it. I want this. I want us. I want to see where this can go.”
I suck in a shaky breath and meet his eyes. “Okay.”
Chapter Seven
Brendan
Relief floods me, and a bubble of hope fills my chest. She said okay. She wants this too.
I squeeze her leg. “Let’s go somewhere.”
“Where?” she asks, her voice still rough.
Unable to hold back any more, I release her leg and slide my hand behind her neck, wanting to comfort her, needing to taste her again. It’s been so damn long. And there’s no reason not to.
Leaning over, I pull her face to mine, starting with a tiny kiss, little more than a peck, just to see how she reacts.
Her hand reaches up and wraps around my arm, gripping tighter when I start to pull away. Taking that as encouragement, I kiss her again. She opens for me, seeking out my tongue, pulling on my arm to bring us even closer together.
When we part, we’re both panting, and she doesn’t look like she’s on the verge of tears anymore.
Good.
“I don’t care where we go. Your place. A hotel. I just want to be with you, and I’d like it to be somewhere warm and with more space than your damn car.”
A laugh burbles up from her throat. “What? What’s wrong with my car? We spent literal days in your damn car.”
“True. But we were driving somewhere. Somewhere you wanted to go, I might add. Is there some random road trip we should take now?”
With her smile still in place, her eyes dart back and forth between mine. “Not that I can think of. Anywhere you’ve been dying to go?”
“Just wherever you are.”
I see it coming, watch her expression as the thought moves through her brain. It’s a cross between amusement, that sassy look she sometimes gets, and a should-I-shouldn’t I uncertainty. And I just know she’s not going to let something like that go without some kind of snarky comment. Not Lauren.
Finally, she blurts out, “Awww, such a charmer.” Reaching out, she pats me on the chest. “Seriously, though. Where should we go? Your brothers are still probably at my place, along with Gabby and Charlie. I’m sure Damian’s there by now too.”
I press one more quick kiss to her lips, because I can, then settle into my seat and buckle my seatbelt. “It’s your house, right? Can’t you just kick them all out?”
She moves her mouth from side to side, tilting her head. “Um, kinda? But also not really. It’s Charlie’s house. She owns the place. She just lets me live there. Rent-free, I might add, so I feel shitty about trying to kick her out.”
Several responses come to mind, mostly variations on the fact that Charlie has another place to stay in town, so she really shouldn’t care if Lauren kicks her out, but I swallow them down. “Let’s go to my hotel. No one will bother us there.”
Pulling her seatbelt across her body, she looks up at me through her eyelashes. “Fitting, right? Us in a hotel? We’ve never spent a night together at a house. Why start now?”
The drive back to the hotel is more comfortable than the one to th
e lake. I get to lean on the console between us, my hand settled on her thigh, enjoying the ability to touch her again without worrying she’ll react badly.
After navigating the curves around the lake and making our way back to the freeway, she seems to have worked through whatever’s in her head, because she starts chatting, telling me about her semester.
“I basically lived in the music building. Between the recital and the concerto competition, I was in the practice room every chance I got.”
“Why don’t you practice at home?”
She tilts her head to the side, the faint glow of the dashboard illuminating her crinkled brow and the way she presses her lips together in thought. “I don’t know. For some reason, I just can’t. I have a few times, but it’s never as good. With the couch sitting there all tempting, beckoning me to snuggle in and watch a movie, it’s hard to keep my focus on the violin.”
“Alright.” I chuckle. “I can see that. I could technically work anywhere, as long as I have my laptop, but I do my best work in my studio at home or at The Professor’s studio.”
Her eyes cut to me. “You could work anywhere?”
My mouth opens, and I freeze, realizing the reason that caught her attention. I give her leg a little squeeze and rub it gently. “Not all the time. I have some flexibility with my schedule and my workspace, but I work directly with The Professor several times a week. I have to stay where he is.”
“Oh.” Her straight posture crumples in disappointment. “Yeah. Makes sense.”
“But I can probably get away more than you can. As long as I hit my deadlines and I’m there when he needs me to be, I can split my time between there and Spokane.”
She looks at me out of the corner of her eye again, but somehow my reassurance does nothing to lift her spirits. “Mmm,” is all she says in response.
“And you’re almost done with your semester, right? You’ll have a lot more free time soon.”
“Yeah,” she says slowly. “I have finals next week and that’s it. But I’ve got lessons lined up for the summer. Students. Gigs. I can’t just up and leave, if that’s what you were trying to suggest.”
I swallow my disappointment. “Oh.”
“That’s …” She doesn’t finish the thought, cutting herself off with a shake of her head.
“That’s what? What were you going to say?”
With a frustrated sigh, she straightens. “That’s why this is all so hard. We want to be together, but you’re working in California, and I’m here for at least another year. Unless one of us is willing to give up something, I don’t see how this can work.”
I withdraw, studying her profile as I sit back against my door, my teeth grinding in frustration. “You’re ready to give up before anything’s even started.”
She throws one hand up in the air. “What do you mean before anything’s even started? Pretty sure this all started months ago.”
“No. That was something else. That had a definite end date. We had an agreement, and this, now, maybe the feelings started then, but what I want now is something else. There’s no end date here.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Isn’t there?”
“Dammit, there better not be.” My heart rate is spiking, but not from anything pleasant like arousal. No, I’m starting to get pissed. What’s the point of any of this if she’s ready to give up at the first roadblock?
She snorts, giving a tiny shake of her head. “So what? You think we’re going to get married? That’s what you’re talking about? Is this some kind of crazy and stupidly unromantic proposal?” Her voice edges higher, a hint of hysteria creeping in around the edges.
“What? No. That’s not what I said.” All the breath goes out of me, and a tiny kernel of warmth embeds itself in my chest. But my anger is dampened, and my heart pounds at the thought of marrying her. Not from anger or fear, but from excitement. I mean, not now. Not yet. But maybe someday …
Shaking my head, I dispel those thoughts. “I didn’t say anything about marriage. I just said I don’t want us to put artificial limits on the length of our relationship. If we don’t work out, then we don’t.” I hate saying those words, because discussing the end already fills me with a combination of rage and despair, but I manage to keep my voice normal. “But it shouldn’t be because our road trip is over.”
She’s quiet, and I don’t know what that means.
“That’s why I wasn’t going to say what I said. I knew you’d get mad.”
“I’m not mad.” It’s a transparent lie, especially since I spit the words through clenched teeth.
Her laugh is low and humorless. “Oh, okay. My mistake.” She sighs, and the sound is laced with sadness. “I just … this is hard. This thing with us. It’s complicated, and it’s not going to be easy.”
I consider that, my arms still crossed over my chest. “You’re right. It’s not. I never said it would be.”
She nods. “You still want to do it anyway?”
“Yeah.” I swallow against the dryness taking over my mouth, forcing out the next question. “Do you?”
Her chest rises on a deep breath. “Yeah,” she says at last. “Yeah, I do.”
Chapter Eight
Lauren
As fraught and unpleasant as most of our discussion tonight has been, I’m glad we’re at least talking. Laying everything out.
Bottling it up and stuffing it down and dancing around the topic every time we’ve talked or seen each other hasn’t helped, so maybe this will. We’re both more at ease as we approach the hotel, Brendan’s earlier anger having slowly dissipated the longer we talk. His shoulders are relaxed, and his hand rests heavily on my thigh, making me feel connected and cared for.
I scan the sidewalk for signs, but all I see is the one pointing to the valet parking. “Where’s the regular parking garage?”
Brendan looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Why? Just use the valet. It’s easier.”
When I open my mouth to protest the cost, he gives me a wicked grin. “Don’t worry about it. Jonathan will pick up the tab.”
I laugh, the sound free and unrestrained. “He stole my roommate and best friend, after all. The least he can do is pay for my parking.”
Brendan’s grin spreads wider. “Exactly.”
After parking the car and handing the keys to the valet attendant who looks about my age, Brendan guides me inside with his hand on my lower back. When we get to the elevator, he pushes the button, then turns me to face him and wraps his arms around me, holding me against his chest. He lets out a sigh, the kind of sound you make when you sink into the most comfortable bed on earth, his breath ruffling my hair. “I’ve missed you,” he whispers.
I press my face into his chest, breathing him in, wrapping my arms around his waist, content for the first time in a very long time. “I’ve missed you too.”
When the elevator dings, and the doors open, he steps back and takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine and leading me onto the elevator after the previous occupants step out. Keeping my hand in his, he presses the button for the sixth floor and stands leaning against the wall, his eyes on me.
I step closer, standing between his feet, feeling strangely at peace to be here with him like this. Even though this is messy and complicated, being with him feels good. It always has. And I don’t have to fight with myself anymore. I can just go with it, enjoy it while it lasts.
Charlie and Damian are making a long-distance relationship work, so why can’t we? A little voice pops up in my head, reminding me that she has a private plane at her disposal, and that makes a big difference, but I tell it to shut up, choosing to focus on tonight.
Even though we’re the only ones on the elevator, we don’t kiss, don’t touch except where our hands are joined. We just stand close to each other, looking our fill. It’s … strange, but I like it.
When the elevator stops, Brendan straightens away from the wall, brushing a kiss across my lips as the door opens, then silently lea
ds me down the hall to his room. Once inside, though, the bubble of distance—or discretion—pops. The door shuts behind us, and he pulls me close by our linked hands, his other hand sinking into my hair, curling it around his fist and tugging my head back with a sharp jerk. His mouth covers mine and his tongue thrusts into my mouth.
We kissed in the car, but it was nothing like this. This is heat and desperation, a starving man presented with a feast, a drowning man getting a breath of air.
His fingers tighten in mine then release so he can wrap his arm behind my back, trapping me against him.
I reach up and curl my hands into his shirt, using it to pull him closer even as I press up on my toes, my tongue dueling with his. I’m starving for him as much as he is for me.
When he breaks the kiss, I almost snarl.
He chuckles, scooping me up in his arms and carrying me to the bed. I scramble back up to the pillows when he lays me down, reaching for him, making room for him between my thighs. He climbs on, settling himself on top of me, diving back into my mouth.
My hands slide into his hair, holding onto his head as his mouth worships mine. The growing bulge in his jeans presses insistently at the juncture of my thighs, and I flex into it, making him groan.
He tears his mouth away, looking into my eyes. His are dark with desire, all pupil with a rim of liquid gold. I want to lose myself in those eyes and not come back.
“Christ, Lauren,” he pants. “I—” His throat works as he swallows, trying to regain control of himself. “I want to rip all your clothes off, but then you wouldn’t have anything to wear tomorrow.” Sitting back on his heels, he looks me over. “Fuck, though, I love seeing you like this. I want more.”
“Me too.”
The words are barely out of my mouth before he’s reaching for me again, but instead of settling back over me, his fingers find my waistband and start pulling. I guess we’re getting naked now.
Reverb (Songs and Sonatas Book 7) Page 4