THIRTY-ONE “Not Enough Time”

THIRTY-ONE

“Not Enough Time”

INXS

Easton

N ot long after the last of the drinks are consumed, Natalie’s eyes begin to droop. After paying the tab, Tack and Syd opted to leave us and hit one of the downtown bars for a night ender, while LL remained unaccounted for. At first, I thought Syd would be the one to watch, but as it turned out, when we hit the road, LL became the front runner for the possibility of becoming the most problematic. Since we started, he’s opted to partake more often than not and shows up for band engagements a clammy, shaking mess. So far, he hasn’t missed a sound check or showtime, nor has anyone been forced to summon him, so I’m not touching it for now.

Once alone, Natalie and I head up to our floor in the elevator as easy, liquor-induced chatter and mixed laughter erupt from her—her buzz far outweighing the few bites of pasta in her stomach.

“And when you started playing Cult , I totally lost my shit,” she recalls enthusiastically. Safely behind the closed doors, she turns to me and diminishes the foot of space she’s been putting between us since the restaurant. “How do you feel, Easton?”

“Good.”

“No, really,” she grips my T-shirt, stretching it until I give in, and pulls me down so we’re nose to nose, imploring me. I can’t help my grin.

“In comparison to you right now, I think you’ve got me beat.”

“Shut up.” She widens her eyes. “It’s happened, it’s happening! You kicked your fear’s ass, and now,” she gestures a hand grenade toss and makes an explosion sound.

“Not quite kicked, but it feels good,” I admit honestly.

“You’re downplaying it. Tell me all the good parts. Did Stella freak?”

I can’t help my growing smile when I think of Mom’s reaction. “That’s been the best part. She’s pretty emotional. She pukes when she gets excited or upset, and that day was no exception. It was hilarious. Every time she started to talk, she’d gag.” I clear my throat and spout my best impression, “‘Easton, I’m so proud-bleck,’ ‘Easton, I can’t believe—bleck,’ and then she’d run away. I thought we were going to have to sedate her.”

Natalie throws her head back in laughter, and I join her as the elevator doors open once we reach our floor. She stumbles a little with her exit, and I reach out to steady her. “Good?”

She looks at me with ‘touch me’ eyes before blanking them out. “T-those shots are catching up with me,” she laughs. “Sorry, I can usually hold my liquor a little better.”

I don’t bother to call bullshit, but in truth, they caught up with her a few minutes after she took the first shot. I can’t say she isn’t an entertaining drunk because she is. Back at the table, she bombed us with stories that had Tack and me laughing hysterically, which only endeared her to me further while, in turn, frustrated the fuck out of me. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise or pull her chair closer to mine. Things I could have easily gotten away with in Seattle—but didn’t attempt—seem off the table now.

She and Tack went back and forth for most of dinner, acting more like old friends than new acquaintances. I know some of her eager interest in him was an attempt to skirt around us . But I found myself becoming increasingly disgruntled as she allowed Tack to monopolize her time just to avoid me.

“I knew all the words,” she speaks up as we head down the corridor full of rooms. “The critics can’t stop raving, Easton. You’re going to be a household name,” she shoots me a fearful look. “Sorry, I don’t mean to spike your anxiety.”

“Well, that’s a hell of an exaggeration, so I’m good.”

“You need a reality check,” she makes another emphatic hand gesture, “because it’s not at all an exaggeration. I’ve read everything, every single review on the web. Even the toughest critics are testifying to your talent.”

“Thanks, but I wouldn’t know.”

“I knew you weren’t reading them!” She shakes her head, “You really have no idea what’s going on out there, but you need to trust what I’m saying and trust the screams in that audience tonight. You’re only going up from here,” she points skyward with her finger.

“You’re so drunk,” I muse.

“I’m a li’l tipsy,” she spouts, producing her keycard from a pint-sized purse. “I can’t invite you in . . . so,” she unlocks her door and opens it a few inches.

“I wouldn’t accept,” I say as she draws her brows adorably.

Crossing my arms, I lean against the jamb. “You look disappointed, Natalie. Tell me, why is that?”

“No, it’s not—”

I turn her toward her door and smack her ass. “Go on, enjoy your denial.”

She does an abrupt about-face and damn near clocks me with her forehead as she postures up to tell me off. Fuck if I don’t want this to turn into a push and pull, ending in me pushing into her as I pull on her wild, light strawberry curls.

“I’m not the bad guy ,” she announces. “So, stop making me out to be one. I’m trying to protect us both .”

“Go to sleep, Natalie,” I push her door open to usher her in, her exotic floral scent wafting into my nose as the moral battle ensues.

We have a fight coming, an important one, but I’m not about to reason with liquor.

“I kissed you back,” she blurts, as if I need a reminder. “You know I did.”

“Is that what I know?”

“Fine . . . okay, all right, I guess . . . you must be so tired,” she stalls, her eyes begging me to act on what we both want. A victory I refuse to give her when she’s gone out of her way to avoid this very thing. More underlying anger flares as I imagine pinning her down and punishing her for it. Spreading her wide and fucking the truth into her mind only to have it pouring like a confession out of her mouth.

Right now, I don’t trust myself even though she seems cognizant enough for me to trap her denying lips with mine before gagging her quiet with my tongue. But she’s mistaken if she thinks I’ll allow her to use booze as an excuse to relapse on me. She’s playing dirty to avoid culpability. If anything happens this weekend, she’s going to have to fucking own it. She’s going to be stone-cold sober when we have this out for good.

“Yeah, I am tired. I’m driving tomorrow, so I’m going to turn in. Night, sleep well, Beauty,” I say, dipping to kiss her cheek and lingering, feeling her tense as I pull away. She grips the side of her door as I stifle my chuckle and move to head toward my room. “Hey, uh, Easton?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s the second . . . you know, the reason you . . . called the second time?”

“Nuh-uh. You closed that window when you flew away with Grey Goose.”

“I’m not the bad guy,” she repeats defensively.

“Okay.”

“I care about you, a lot .”

I dip my chin in response.

“Why won’t you talk to me? I’m being honest!”

“Well, don’t hurt yourself.”

She glares at me. “I missed you too, when I left.”

Despite her state, her neck reddens a little with her admission, and it’s all I can do to keep from snatching her to me.

“We can talk about it tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not doing this with you right now.” I take two strides away as she speaks up.

“You really missed me? Even with all you have going on?”

I pause and glance over my shoulder. “No, I’ve only called you twice a fucking week—every week—since you left because I haven’t thought about you at all.”

“What do you think about?”

“Don’t go there,” I warn, fishing my keycard out of my jeans.

“Tell me.”

“We’ll talk in the morning,” I snap, the fight to keep the space she needs me to keep diminishing by the second.

“Fine,” she slams her door behind her as I tap my keycard against my lock before trapping myself inside the room adjacent to hers.

Aggravation for our situation begins to eat at me as I smack my head against the door, fists clenching at my side. She’s fucking infuriating, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop wanting her.

“I thought about your hands,” I hear in muffled confession from the other side of the adjoining suite’s door. “Your beautiful hands.”

In three strides, I’m pressed against it like a stalker, eager for her alcohol-induced revelations because it’s the only way I’ll get any real truth from her right now. What pisses me off the most is she’s got a warped sense that there’s some chase going on between us, but her feelings are so fucking obvious that it makes the notion ludicrous.

“. . . the way you looked at the hotel the day you sang for me . . . it was like the damned clouds parted just for you, and because you’re you , they probably did.” A long, exhausted exhale follows before shuffling ensues. I can only assume she’s struggling to get those tight-ass jeans down her legs.

“I think about the day I left,” I hear this admission clearly, seriously questioning the quality of our hotel as I catch the faint sounds on the other side of the door—the clank of her bracelets hitting the dresser, the unzipping of a bag. “Best sex . . . ever,” she proclaims.

“Couldn’t agree more,” I mutter, rolling my forehead along the inches-thick wood that separates us.

“I think about your dick. God , just wait until some groupie discloses the size of that particular gift,” she bites out. “You’ll have to load up on tasers.”

I bite my fist to stifle my chuckle as another bang echoes with an “Oww, oww, oww, shit!”

Grinning at the sound of the small crash that follows, I resign myself to another sleepless night. I don’t do the hard-up, beat-around-the-bush bullshit, but somehow, she has me participating in her fictional chase. The truth is, this battle was over for both of us the day she let me in. While I’ve already accepted defeat, she seems to want to die on this hill.

“Seeing you is going to screw me up all over again,” she whisper-yells, confirming it, as if she knows I’m within earshot. I manage to draw some inhuman strength and stay still to keep myself from going to her, from being in the same space with her, even if I can’t be with her the way I want to.

“I didn’t tell a soul, not a soul, and it’s because I wanted to keep you . . . all to myself.”

“Feeling’s mutual,” I sigh.

“Well, I told Percy, but our secret is safe with him. I feel . . . protective of you. I sent you what I wrote because I want to protect you so much.”

“You did,” I whisper, feeling the bite of my fingernails in my palms while managing to keep my groan inward. “Please, Beauty, go to sleep.”

“You don’t even realize you’re too good for all of us, for me.”

“Jesus,” I grip the frame, knuckles turning white. I bat all notions of giving up as the girl I sought out speaks to me from the other side of the door.

“I cried,” her mournful voice becomes clearer, as if she’s only a foot away, “the whole way to the airport.”

“I know, baby,” I whisper.

I’d opened the studio door after she slammed it on us to see her crack just before Joel shut her inside the SUV. I had to fight myself for ten minutes in my truck not to call and have him stop so I could drive to her, but I knew it would be pointless.

“Who does that? I felt like a lunatic.”

“You’re still not crazy,” I murmur, stepping back and ripping off my shirt before unbuckling my jeans. “Because if you are, so am I.”

I slip into the cool sheets and grip myself in my hand. Frustration and lust battle as I hasten my strokes at the memory of her spread out before me, post-orgasm, skin flushed as she reached for me. She murmurs my name a few minutes later, the need in her voice sending me over as I tense and shatter, holding in my groan as cum glides down my fist.

“I can’t fall for you, Easton,” she whispers hoarsely. “I’ll lose everything I’ve worked for . . . my whole life is in Austin, my future.”

“You’re already mine,” I declare, knowing that’s the truth for us both.

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