“Do you love the posters?” he asked, the question tugging me back from my thoughts.
Love didn’t adequately express it. “They are truly glorious. And they made me feel so alive. Made me remember what it used to be like when I was growing up in that place. Before law school, before my career, that sense of music being the most important thing in my life. Well, that and getting perfect grades.”
His brow creased. “You’ve been missing that, huh?”
“More than I expected to,” I said. “How about you? Being gone for seven years could make anyone feel disconnected.”
“Spending time there, working with these bands, seeing how excited everyone is to do some good work for a good cause… yeah, I guess I didn’t realize how much…” He trailed off, tugging at the label on his beer. “I don’t know. How much I miss everything here.”
I bit my tongue to stop myself from asking if he was still planning on leaving. Because I knew he would. And knowing he would wasn’t limiting my crush in any way.
“I liked seeing you and Mateo together today,” I said quietly. “That made me nostalgic, in a way. The way The Red Room connected us and is now bringing us back together.”
He ran a hand through his hair and gave me a wry smile. “Can I tell you something that’ll make you like me a whole lot less?”
“What are friends for?”
Secretly, I needed all the ammunition I could get to fortify my like Max less barricades.
“Mateo’s pissed at me right now,” he said. “I mean, clearly we’re still friends, but I’m trying to make up for seven years of silence. Fixing his bike is one small step towards earning his forgiveness.”
“You didn’t call your best friend for seven years?”
His expression was humorless. “I swung by the gallery the other day and made a fucking fool out of myself. I’m used to things in my life being simple. I’d just had seven years of casual fun on the road, and yeah, I hadn’t spoken to Mateo and Rafael during that time, but I didn’t think it was a big deal. Figured I’d walk back into his life and we’d be best friends again. Even though I didn’t even know he’d gotten engaged.” His jaw tightened. “My mom kept her relationships pretty loose. But maybe that’s why she never came home. Too many people that she disappointed.”
“Would your mom change her behavior if a close friend was upset with her?” I asked, truly curious about the answer. He’d described his relationship to her as complicated. Given the expression on Mateo’s face when she came up in conversation, I could tell she evoked a number of different reactions and opinions.
“Of course, she would,” he said quickly. “All of that to say, he was pretty clear that he was pissed and hurt. As he should be. And he was pretty clear in how I could be a better friend, and I sure as hell listened.”
I crossed my legs, tugging the fabric down to my knees to maintain some semblance of propriety. “It seems like Mateo’s already on the way to forgiving you. Watching the two of you, it’s obvious how far back your history goes. If you put in the work, I bet you’ll gain his trust again.”
“You think so?”
“I know so,” I promised. The smile that lit up his face lit up my entire body. Then he raised his beer at me from across the room.
“How long has your family made you feel like the odd one out?”
I paused mid-sip, more than a little surprised. “Always,” I said, the truth sliding out quickly. “You know what the lifestyle is like for musicians at The Red Room. That was our house, all the time. And it’s always hard for me to describe because I’d never deny how fun that was. How much music was always on, always being played, always being discussed over dinner. That we spent our nights dancing or watching my parents play. It’s not for lack of love on their part. It was always a house filled with love and loud music.”
Max was quiet, dark eyes pinned to mine. “The flip-side of that was it made me feel very out of control. I know kids complain about their parents grounding them or making them do homework. But I think it does give children a sense of safety and stability. Guidelines, rules, boundaries.” I smiled a little. “My parents had no boundaries. I’m not sure Roxy and I would have graduated from high school if I hadn’t kept track of our tests, our field trips, our appointments, my college visits and exams, Roxy’s art internships. They tease me for being different, for working for The Man and climbing a corporate ladder that shouldn’t exist. For wanting to plan for my future instead of living spontaneously. But their love and support can’t be disputed. Which is why it’s been hard for me to be honest with them about this. My parents are so kind, so nice. Being honest would hurt their very sweet feelings.”
I took a giant swig of beer, let the bubbles make me slightly light-headed.
That wasn’t a truth I’d ever said out loud before.
“Is that why you avoided The Red Room for a year?” Max asked.
“Well, I was trying to snag myself a husband, and that was awfully time-consuming.” Max’s jaw clenched. “But, yes. It felt like a year where I wanted to focus on my own happiness and goals, which is easier when I’m not bending my schedule backwards to see them.” I shook my head, attempting an answer that was slowly shifting by the day. “But this week, being at The Red Room again, seeing my sister more…” I swayed a little bit to Zeppelin because I couldn’t help it. “Maybe I’ve been going after some things the wrong way. Maybe. I’m not sure yet. What I do know is that I will fight tooth and nail to keep your dad’s place open. That’s my priority right now.”
True affection flickered across his face. “The fight is much appreciated.”
I set my beer down and pressed the backs of my hands against my cheeks. “Am I flushed? That was a lot of vulnerability.”
He tapped the tip of his boot against my foot. “It’s okay to be vulnerable around your friends.”
I debated tossing out the question dancing between us, the question pushing me to step right up to the edge of my comfort. Which was, of course, if he had meant what he said last night. If he was flirting with me, knowing that I was only interested in pursuing him if he could give me the trust and commitment I desired.
I wanted to know if we were dancing up to that edge together.
“Thank you for that,” I finally said.
He was staring at my mouth. Then he wiped his hand down his thigh, kicked the ground a little. I tilted my head, waiting.
“Do you want me to share something vulnerable with you? Balance it out?”
I laughed slightly, sounding nervous. “Sure. Like what, though?”
“Mateo thinks I have a crush on you.”
Every drop of air left the garage. My skin buzzed lightly. “Oh?”
His gaze traveled all the way up the length of my body. I felt it, same as if he’d used his actual hands on me. “That would be an actual first for me. But given that we’re just friends, and you’ve got yourself a light celibacy situation, I’m not sure how to tell if its real.”
I tightened my fingers in my skirt to halt their shaking. “I read an article about crushes once. Turns out you can have them on your friends.”
His lips twitched. “Is that so?”
White-hot energy crackled in the space between us. “As long as you’re not secretly pining for me, then I think we’re still safe.”
“I’d say the same for you too, princess.”
“I’m not,” I said quickly. “Secretly pining for you.”
He crossed his arms again. “But would you say you had a crush on me?”
I couldn’t lie. He’d been so open. “A little one.”
A full smile appeared on his face. It was downright dazzling. I swayed toward it, hypnotized. “Little?”
I shrugged. Took my feet all the way up to that fucking ledge. “Maybe I need to be convinced.”
His fingers dug into the muscles of his biceps. He finally let go, released his arms, and patted the seat beneath him. “You ever ride a motorcycle before?”
My n
ipples were already hardening. The sight of him handling the bike, fully confident and fully competent, was a heady seduction I hadn’t expected. In general, motorcycles seemed like metal death-machines. My sister was no stranger to motorcycles and men who rode them. But I’d always steered clear. They seemed risky and reckless and much too dangerous.
“Never. But I’m a bit… intimidated by them.”
“Most things in this world should be intimidated by you, Fiona Quinn.” He patted the seat again. “Hop on. It’s still busted, so I can’t even turn it on. But I can give you a simulation if you’re curious what it feels like.”
What it feels like.
Call it overwhelming lust, clouding my long-term vision and repressing my rational thinking. Call it my subconscious, greedy to take him up on his illicit advice: When was the last time you did something that felt good?
Or Roxy’s words yesterday, a continual loop in my thoughts. Because I was definitely being swept up into some kind of hurricane—and didn’t I owe it to myself to find out what that meant?
I set my drink down firmly. Walked over to him as confidently as I was able, tracking the tension radiating from every muscle.
I was fairly certain my friend was about to do some convincing.
20
Fiona
Max swung his leg over the bike and sat all the way back on the seat, making just enough space for me to make the most spontaneous decision of my life.
But with him sitting right there, I wasn’t scared. I was fully in control of his lust, his affection, and his desire for me. He’d made that much clear. And there was a unique freedom in both of us admitting, however coyly, that we both had more-than-friendly feelings for each other.
He patted the spot in front of him, one long arm draped lazily across the handlebar. This was the closest we’d been to each other since the fire escape. His nose was slightly crooked, which I hadn’t noticed before. His lower lip was so sensual it could have been crafted by a sculptor.
His eyes were still dark and sexy, but the mystery had been replaced with humor and affection and a real kindness. And the second I swung my leg over and sat, utterly caged in by his long arms and his broad chest, I understood exactly what my sister meant.
His jean-clad thighs pressed against my bare legs. His chest curled around my back. Every time he exhaled, his breath caressed my hair. The feeling of safety, of protection, was immediate.
I hadn’t expected that. It was as forceful, and as tempting, as my all-consuming attraction to him. Becoming friends with Max might have ultimately been the critical error. He wasn’t only the hot, cocky bad boy vying for my attention. I now understood him for his complexities, his wry humor, his alluring tenderness. I’d seen him get choked up while watching his best friend’s engagement video, had seen the elements of their friendship that showed me how much Max really cared when he let himself connect with people again.
Confident fingers brushed the hair from my neck, allowing his mouth to dip next to my ear. That same hand pressed lightly against my stomach as Max tucked me firmly against his chest. His hand stayed put, inciting an urgent heat. I made a last-ditch effort to recall the language from my contract, tried to access the way I felt after Brendan had dumped me. Max doesn’t do commitment. Max will only fuck you and then leave. He wants the opposite of what you want.
His thumb stroked lazily across my stomach. If I tipped my head back against his shoulder, he would have been able to lick my neck, grip my throat, hold me in place to better ravage me with kisses.
“Is this okay?” His mouth at my ear was the sweetest torture.
“Promise you won’t let me fall?”
“You’re always safe with me.” His nose carved a path from my ear to my hairline, then back down again. This kind of hot, electric chaos was what I always swore I never wanted, because it couldn’t possibly serve my grander plans for my future. One taste of it though, one taste, and I was already lush and drunk with it.
We were only in Mateo’s cramped, crowded garage on a bike that wasn’t even moving. But I was being tugged toward a dream, a silky fantasy of flying down an open highway with the wind in my hair. No deadlines, no checklists, no goals. Just leaning in to thrilling sensation.
“Now place your hands here, and here,” he said. My hands rested on the handlebars, gripped them tight. His hands left my waist to rest ever-so-lightly against mine. “This is the throttle and the clutch.”
“What’s involved in this simulation?”
“Depends,” he said, voice husky. “How would you like me to make you feel?”
I licked my dry lips. “Free.”
He fully entwined our fingers together, squeezing. “Close your eyes and keep them closed.” I obeyed, eager to close off any visual distractions from this erotic fantasy. “Now picture the two of us, out on the open road. Rocketing down the highway, breaking the speed limit just because we can. We’re sharing this bike, sharing this seat, leaning together on curve after curve.”
I pressed more fully against him on instinct. Which meant pressing more fully against his hard-as-steel erection. It literally stole my breath away. Behind me, Max also seemed to have lost the ability to take in breath.
“But you’re not afraid, you’re in control,” he whispered. “This powerful machine between your legs obeys your every command.”
I hummed a little. I liked that.
“Choose our destination: Desert, ocean, or mountains?”
“Desert.”
“Good girl,” he said. “I’m always partial to the mountains, but for a dramatic drive, you can’t beat sweeping, flat desert and big canyons.”
“So wide open,” I murmured.
“And almost as beautiful as you.”
I giggled—a totally carefree sound I didn’t try to hide. “Such a flirt, even during a fucking simulation.”
“You said you needed to be convinced.” The edge of his teeth scraped the shell of my ear, making me shudder. “This is me convincing you, by the way.”
“Keep up the good work.” I was breathless, exhilarated, aching.
“Yes, ma’am.” His voice was the sexiest rumble. “Let’s see. We’re flying past rocks that look like they came straight from Mars. Massive canyons deep enough to hold lakes. And red, sandy land everywhere you look. A few Route 66 signs, some old motels with neon signs. Cactus. Bright blue sky and burning sun. And the bike cutting across it all.”
His thumb stroked up and down the side of my hand, splitting my attention between this waking dream and his sweet touch. How I wanted that same stroking movement between my legs. And like this, spread on a bike, he could accomplish his promise easily, could convince me with orgasm after orgasm.
It would only take Max slipping his hand between my thighs.
“What does it feel like?” The words came out more like a pant. My eyes were closed, but Max was vibrating with sexual desire behind me. His restraint, his control. Those sculpted lips at my ear, nose against my temple. His voice dropped deeper, grew rough and ragged.
“There’s no limit to where I can travel, no destination too far. If there’s a road, I’m there. No one can stop me.”
I fought the urge to roll my body, to seek deeper contact, firmer touch. Being unstoppable was certainly something I coveted. This concept was intriguing to me.
“And this machine between your legs, it’s a puzzle and a goddamn poem. I know how to put this beauty back together, but I also know how to take it apart. How to make it sing at the turn of the throttle. These hands do that.” The hands in question squeezed against my own, and with my eyes closed, I had to accept the very real strength in them. His fingers slid free from mine, slowly stroked up and down my forearms. My eyes fluttered open because I wanted to watch. Admire the black art tattooed on his arms, the tiny skulls inked onto his knuckles, the leather bracelets dragging along my skin. His fingers continued their exploration, past my elbows, along the curve of my biceps, up to my shoulders. He squeezed there, and I
bit back a helpless whimper.
“When I’m on a bike, I’m full of power and speed. That’s why I think you’d enjoy it. This bike is just like you.”
His palms smoothed down my back, sliding back to my waist again. His mouth hovered at my ear, warm breath tickling my skin.
“Like me?”
“Hell yeah.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
“Because I’m powerful and fast and you desperately want to ride me?”
There was a rumble from his chest—part pained laughter, part growl. Kiss him. It would be as easy as ripping up my contract and embracing this wild attraction. And those hands, gripping my waist, would absolutely take me apart before putting me back together again.
“Something like that,” he said—soft, like velvet. “It’s a machine that takes whatever the fuck it wants, whenever it wants. It crushes speed limits and dominates bends in the road. And in a race? It always wins.”
My cheeks heated at the compliment.
Was that a kiss, below my ear?
Were those Max’s hands, caressing my thighs? With a delicious drag, he shifted my skirt up, up. When his fingers finally touched my bare legs, I sighed with a happy pleasure.
“You know the best thing about riding a motorcycle, don’t you?”
I had an idea. But I wanted him to say it.
I pressed my legs wider apart. Tilted my head as his open mouth roamed along my skin, embracing the chaos head on. Hurricane didn’t even come close to this swept away sensation.
“Tell me,” I demanded. I watched his tattooed hands skim up my bare legs, my sex already clenching in anticipation of his rough, skilled touch.
Another kiss below my ear. This one was even filthier.
“It’s the closest thing to pure ecstasy next to fucking,” he whispered. “And if I’m ever lucky enough to have you on my goddamn bike, you better believe I’d make sure that ecstasy was yours for the taking.”
Not the Marrying Kind Page 15