Reverse (Bittersweet Symphony Duet #2)

TWENTY-SIX “Come Find Me”

TWENTY-SIX

“Come Find Me”

Emile Haynie, Lykke Li, Romy

Natalie

“H ey, love,” Elena sounds through my console. “I’m going to head home. Do yourself a favor and get some rest this weekend.”

“Is that your way of saying I look like shit, Elena?” Silence ensues on the other end. I know it’s because she hates it when I use profanity. My father can cuss like a jilted, drunken sailor, but God forbid I swear around her. Sadly for her, I’m just the asshole to keep doing it. “Tough room,” I joke. “I’m right behind you. I’ll lock up.”

“’K. Have a good weekend, sweetheart.”

“You too.”

The pit lights dim as Elena makes her exit. I revel in being the last in the office some nights, especially when the sun sets late because of the time change. Behind my desk, I light a tiny candle for a slight shift in atmosphere before ambling down the hall to claim a dark beer. A taste I acquired in Seattle and refuse to part with, allowing it to be a small consolation.

Twisting the top off, I wander back toward my office as I scroll through the latest hourly headlines and stop altogether when my phone rings. EC fills the screen as it rumbles in my hand, feeling like a five-alarm bell though I keep it on silent. With the slide of my thumb, I could hear his voice and possibly stifle the ache that’s been nagging at me for endless weeks. At the very least, I can congratulate him.

“Maybe you should fucking answer it this time, ’cause from where I’m standing, it looks like you want to.”

The bottle damn near slips out of my hand as I look up to see Easton standing just short of entering the pit at the edge of the lobby. His phone rests in his palm, his eyes damning, his beautiful features twisted in a mix of irritation and hurt, chest heaving like he just ran here.

I stand stunned, tempted to fly to him and rain his gorgeous face with kisses. He’s nothing short of breathtaking in a simple T-shirt, board shorts, and high tops, his black cap flipped backward, giving me a clear view of his face and rapidly darkening expression. His hostile eyes dip and rake me over in a slow, appreciative sweep. Today I wore a plaid tennis skirt and matching collared shirt, which bares an inch of my midriff. I left my hair down and tamed my curls before painting my lips a hot pink to match my pumps.

“Easton,” comes out more like a moan, and his eyes hood slightly in response as he takes a step forward, and I jerk my head. Coming to my senses, the exhilaration kicks in, and I rush toward him, then past him, yanking his arm to follow. He chuckles as I nearly rip his arm off, his laugh amplifying as I shove him against the exposed brick wall of the lobby near the door, praying we’re out of view of the cameras.

“You been working out, Beauty? Because I’m feeling a little manhandled.” His clean, woodsy scent envelops me as I palm his chest before looking up to him, and the awareness hits me like a freight train. My mouth refuses to do anything other than lift in a full smile.

Damnit!

We drink each other in for a few thirsty seconds before he speaks up.

“I should’ve just walked out of here, but Jesus Christ,” he rasps hoarsely, “you look so fucking beautiful.” His pained, faraway gaze shifts to focus fury on me as I try to register the fact that he’s standing in front of me.

“Easton,” I croak out, equal parts terrified and enthralled, before glancing toward my father’s empty office. “You can’t be here.”

“The fuck I can’t,” he snaps, his eyes roaming my profile again as if he’s fighting himself.

Panic takes over as some vampire-like motor functions kick in.

“Just . . . wait here,” I demand, and he nods quickly in reply. “I’m serious. Stand right here . Not an inch to the left or right, okay ?”

He nods slowly as if I’m the dummy as I rush to gather my purse, blow out my candle and flip off my office lights before hauling ass back into the lobby.

“Don’t move!” I bark as I set the alarm.

“If you’re this bossy at the office, I’m not sure we’d make it as coworkers,” he jests.

A nervous laugh escapes me, and as soon as the alarm begins to beep, I rush him out and remotely lock the door. Turning, I start at a dead sprint around the side of the building and past Speak’s designated parking area. Glancing toward the street in a panic, I feel his eyes on my profile as I weigh whether or not we’re far enough away from the security cameras. Dad should already be on the golf course with his best friend, Marcus. I know this because I spoke to him half an hour ago. Mom is at the spa with her girlfriends from the station. Even knowing they’ll have no reason to scan the cameras, my anxiety spikes significantly at the idea they might. Easton’s minty exhale hits the side of my neck, causing my lashes to flutter briefly as his arms encase me. When his fingers curl around my waist I look up at him and feel nothing but the same debilitating attraction that’s been haunting me for eight straight weeks.

“Are you fucking crazy?! What were you thinking?”

“That there was only one car in this parking lot, and I doubt your dad drives a hybrid with a bumper sticker that reads ‘World Dominance’ with a stiletto heel running through it.”

“This isn’t funny,” my scold contradicts my smile. The friction of his fingers against my bare skin has goosebumps erupting on my flesh, despite the heat, as I grapple with the fact Easton’s in Austin. “Seriously, what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on tour.”

“I am. I was in the neighborhood . . . on Butler Street.”

I frown.

“In Oklahoma, where I have a show in,” he pulls out his cell and checks the screen, “six and a half hours and another tomorrow night in Dallas, so we need to get you packed.”

“Yeah, right,” I scoff, loving the feel of his hands on my hips, putting my entire focus on him and instantly wishing I hadn’t. I can’t bring myself to remove his hands as he continuously sweeps lazy thumbs along the bare skin above my skirt.

He gives me the barely-there lift of his lips. “Tell me you aren’t happy to see me.”

“I am . . . really. I am. It’s just . . . I can’t come with you to Oklahoma, you know that.” I glance around nervously. Dad’s probably three beers in with Marcus already. Damon’s supposed to join them both. I could text Damon to confirm they’re occupied. When I look back at Easton, everything starts to dull, the world around him blurring into nothing but a backdrop.

“There you are,” he whispers.

“I’m just . . . I’m freaking out. You can’t ever do that again, okay?”

His grip on me eases as his nostrils flare. “Right, bad idea. Got it.”

“I’m serious.”

He ignores my blatant reprimand. “You have weekends off, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Come with me then,” he says, his eyes sweeping me intimately.

“You’re making this so hard for me.”

He smirks. “I could say the same.”

“Not funny,” I snap, my heart picking up rhythm.

“Then why are you smiling?”

I push against his chest so he’s forced to loosen his grip on my hips, his touch too seductive. “I’m so happy for you. Seriously, I’ve been watching the progress. Are you happy?”

“Yeah,” he gives me the half-smile I love so much. “I am.”

“So, where is everyone?”

He lifts his chin in the direction of the back of a coffee shop less than a block away. “They’re waiting in a van out front.”

“You’re really doing it.”

“Yeah, I really am,” he lifts a hooked finger to trace the side of my face, “and it’s been a mix of awesome and fucking terrible. I brought them with me so you can get to know them on the way back to Oklahoma.”

“You seriously drove from Oklahoma to pick me up, thinking that I would come after not answering your phone calls for two months?”

“Fuck yeah, I did. I’m pissed at you, but I can’t bring myself to act on it yet because I want to give you a proper tongue lashing.”

“Easton,” I admonish with a sigh.

“Beauty,” he fires back, unphased, continually running his fingers down my cheek. “I’m not letting this go, yet , so if you’re going to let me down, you’ll have to do it gently over the weekend.” His eyes trail his fingers as he caresses me, “Because we really don’t have time to argue.”

“I’m supposed to be having dinner with my parents later.”

“Well, you’ll be dining on peanut butter and jelly in a van that smells like blue cheese instead.”

I can’t help smiling. “You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

He leans in. “I’m planning on doing my fucking best.”

“Easton,” I smack his chest playfully. “You’re putting me in the worst imaginable position.”

“Seriously, you’re killing me with the easy puns. Clock’s ticking,” he taunts, running his fingertips up and down the bare skin of my arms. “It’s hot as fuck here,” he glances around curiously as if just now seeing my corner of the world.

“This is so unfair. This is entrapment.”

“Come on,” he urges gently, “just this weekend. I’ll have you tucked in by Sunday at midnight.”

“If I go, there will be no tucking in.”

“Uh huh.”

“And this is a really, really bad idea.”

“Senseless and reckless,” he murmurs heatedly, bringing it all back so effortlessly, “so come .”

“If I do come, I will be turning you down gently.”

He replies on exhale. “I have a feeling you’ll try.”

“I’ll succeed , but I’m dying to see you play.”

Victory flits through his eyes. “I’ll give you the best seat in the house, baby.”

“Uh huh, after I travel for hours in a van full of sweaty men.”

“Five hours, six tops, depending on traffic, and I’m so fucking pissed at you right now,” he repeats, his eyes flaring, “so expect a fight.”

Before I can speak up, a horn blares obnoxiously a street over, and Easton chuckles, glancing in that direction before turning back to me. He looks so beautiful. His hair is longer, his skin darker, seeming drenched from the summer sun, which beams down on him as it lowers in the skyline.

“Natalie,” he murmurs, pulling my chin by his fingers back toward him. “I really just want to talk to you, so please don’t force me to play dirty because I have time to kill between gigs, and if you don’t get,” he bites his lip, “your perfect ass in my van, I’m going to bend you over Monday morning and bite it right in front of your daddy. Bet. ”

I gape at him. “You did not just threaten me.”

“Yeah, I did, and don’t look at me like that. It’s par for the course, but don’t mistake me. I’m just A-sided enough to make good on mine.”

“This is serious,” I snap.

“You’ve made me painfully aware, Beauty,” he runs his hands down my back and presses his forehead to mine.

“Jesus,” I sigh, sinking into his hold.

“Easton,” he corrects, pointing to himself.

My grin wins again. “Stop being so . . .”

“Irresistible?”

He grips my face and licks his lips, and I follow the trail of his tongue.

“Easton, please,” I say breathlessly as he flashes a devil’s grin. He closes his eyes briefly before reopening them, the intensity of the man I met still there. Inside them I see nothing but a reflection of my own desire. It’s as if a second hasn’t passed at all, but so much has changed. So much, at least for him.

“You know, Mr. Crowne, months from now—probably a lot less, you’ll be selling out stadiums.”

“We’ve already sold out the Staples Center at the end of August.”

“Oh my God! That’s incredible! I truly am so . . . so very happy for you.” Sentiment waters my eyes as he stares at me, seeming satisfied by my reaction. “I mean, I knew it was going to happen . . . and I’m happy to say I told you so, and Easton, the things the critics are saying . . . it’s . . .”

His eyes glint as though he’s justified a thought or a notion.

“What?” I prompt. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Well, you seem happy,” I say. The creased line I thought was permanent between his eyes appears to have all but disappeared. He seems more approachable and, altogether . . . lighter.

“I’ll be a lot happier when you get the hell in the van.”

I shake my head, and he pinches his dark brows. “What?”

“Nothing. I just can’t believe you’re here and that you came all this way for me.”

“Would have come a lot sooner had you answered the fucking phone.”

“East—”

“Like I said, we’ll fight later. Let’s get you packed, okay?”

I bite my lip and find myself nodding. “Okay. But I have conditions.”

“Of course, you do,” his smile stretches his lips as his hands ghost over my skin. He can’t seem to stop touching me. I can’t seem to stop wanting him to any more than I can turn down his invitation.

“Follow me home, and I’ll pack a quick bag.”

“I’ll help,” his gaze dips to my navel.

“I’ll be packing alone .”

His eyes flick up before he grips my neck and crushes our mouths together, his kiss promising and demanding. He ends it just as abruptly.

“You can’t—”

“I just fucking did,” he replies smugly before releasing me. Running a hand through his hair, his eyes shine suspiciously as he rakes his lower lip with his teeth, dangerous plans seeming to formulate as he does. “Lead the way,” he orders, his expression flashing with smug surety before a satisfied smile blooms on his face.

He turns and saunters toward the coffee shop, natural swagger on full display. Studying his silhouette, I bite my own lip, loving the snug fit of his board shorts and the spectacular outline of his muscular frame beneath his T-shirt.

“I’m not sleeping with you,” I call after him. With his back to me, he shakes his head in obvious annoyance before jogging in the direction of his van.

I can’t help but watch him go, my heartbeat ramping up as I walk toward my car. Once behind the wheel, I catch my beaming smile in my rearview as I buckle in and take a few sobering breaths.

“Just the weekend, Natalie,” I tell myself. Just the weekend. Two more days.

Just to see him play.

And then I’ll let us both down gently.