Chapter 31
It’s been years since I’ve been at a concert.
My music tastes are vast. Country, techno, pop, alternative rock, rap.
I’m not picky with what I listen to, which can’t be said about Finn.
The last time I went to a concert, it was Brielle behind me with her arms in the air and her off-pitch singing in my ear.
We swayed together and held on to each other as we screamed lyrics into a loud crowd from the nosebleeds before getting upgraded to the pit.
That was the first time I’d ever been close enough to an artist to see the lines on her sheer tights and sweat glistening across her torso. It’s safe to say that it was a memory that I can still see clearly when I hear her music on the radio, regardless of how long ago it was.
Tonight is somehow similar, yet vastly different.
I’m holding on to the glass wall at the bottom of the stairs, not in the pit. Still, I’m close enough to the stage that I can make out the rips in Noah Hutton’s black jeans and the sweat across his forehead without needing the screens on either side of the stage.
It’s not Brielle behind me, nor is her voice in my ear or perfume in my nose. The hands planted on my hips are powerful and veiny, and the low rumble of Finn’s voice has travelled far beyond my ears. I feel the words he’s singing coursing in my veins and pressing between my legs.
The arena is red from the lights flashing and fanning through the seats.
Smoke creeps along the edge of the stage and drips into the pit, kissing the feet of those jumping and shaking their hands in the air.
I can feel the beat of the drums in my feet and over Finn’s low words, hear the growly voice in the microphone.
Behind where Noah stands, there’s a massive Devil head with flames roaring in its eyes.
His band is spread out behind him, with his drummer on a platform on the top of the head and flanked by its horns.
I don’t know any of the members more than what I’ve seen sporadically online, but they seem to have quite the fan base themselves.
The camera streaming to the screens pans the fans in the lower rows before focusing on a few women on the floor holding signs that have my eyes bulging as I read. Most of them are written for the band members, but there are a few that would have made my skin stick to my bones if I were Noah’s wife.
At the thought, I cover the hands Finn has on my hips and glide them higher. They heat my ribs when I leave them in place and press back against his chest, feeling him like a wall behind me. He runs his nose along the edge of my ear and continues to sing a string of lyrics.
I shut my eyes and move my hips slowly, revelling in the racing of my heart as I grin, taking this moment exactly as it is. Living.
The rest of the team stands in front of me and behind Finn, flanking us as they shout and dance to the music. It’s hard to be distracted by much else when you’re where we are, watching one of the greatest names in music own the stage for what could be the last time in years to come.
Yet, I am.
With Finn’s strong body flush against mine and his hands on my body, I’m tugged right back to earlier.
I’ve never put too much thought into when the appropriate time to have sex in a relationship is.
I don’t plan when I’m going to take that step or follow some random three-date rule that was clearly created by a desperate man.
Every choice I’ve ever made in my past relationships has been based off pure instinct. I use my gut as a guiding point more often than not, and right now, it’s screaming at me to spin around and kiss my best friend.
One kiss and I’ll know for certain what I want and need. For real this time.
The throaty bass tapers before the lights ease just enough to flood the stage instead of the attendees.
A slow, easy drumbeat picks up and carries in the background as Noah Hutton lifts an arm to the side of the stage and crooks his finger.
Cheers explode through the seats when a woman even I recognize as his wife walks toward him with a little girl wearing chunky over-ear headphones in her arms.
I settle my head against Finn’s shoulder and feel him kiss my temple.
“Thank you for coming to my show tonight,” Noah says while staring solely at his wife and daughter.
The dark sound of his voice is borderline terrifying despite the utter devotion that’s written all over him.
“You’re not here to listen to me give a speech, and I don’t care to try and hold your attention with one for longer than necessary. ”
The crowd grows quiet, hanging on to his every word.
Tinsley, his wife and pro boxer, reaches him now.
He eagerly reaches for his daughter, taking her into his arms. She reaches up with tiny fingers and tugs at the bandana tied at his forehead, holding his hair back.
He doesn’t pull her away, only tips his head toward her as his wife palms his back.
The way his eyes snap to her the moment she touches him has my own attention slipping to Finn.
I squeeze his fingers and swallow down the sudden flood of emotion that threatens to choke me.
“There are a fuck ton of rumours out there about me. Most are true. The one I’m addressing tonight is that yes, this will be my last show. Not forever. But for a long time.”
Screams pierce my ears. The signs in the air get waved harder, shoved higher. I watch the way Noah’s grip tightens on his microphone and his eyes flash when his daughter wiggles in his arms.
“I’ve done what I wanted here. I need to shift my focus now. To my family.” He takes Tinsley’s hand and brings it to his mouth, keeping it there when he speaks again. “My tour documentary is coming out next year. You’re fucking welcome.”
Stepping away from the mic, he brings his wife in for a brutal, claiming kiss that lasts for long enough that I shift, feeling like I’m watching something private. It isn’t until she pushes him away with a smirk that he releases her and leads his family off the stage.
I don’t miss the way the spotlights flash across the arena to one of the suites opposite us. The screams intensify, and I swear I hear one of the Havoc players shout something about Jamieson Bateman, a player for the Pythons and Noah’s cousin, being here.
Noah’s drummer keeps playing, getting louder now as the rest of the band joins in and leads into a familiar song.
It was the first I ever heard from him and also happens to be Beck’s walkout song.
The man himself turns to flash the rest of us a grin before starting to belt out the lyrics, flapping his arms in the air like two elephant trunks.
I laugh, unable to hear it over the music.
Finn’s thumb strokes my ribs at a pace that feels too slow for the beat around us, but I fall into it, all of my senses focusing on the thousands of sparks erupting beneath his finger.
I take a deep inhale and let it out slowly.
Reaching back, I drag my fingers along the side of his throat before gripping his nape and guiding him closer.
“Do you think you’ll play baseball forever?” I ask over the music.
“I’ll keep going as long as I can. But forever? No.”
“What will you do after?”
“I can think of a few things.”
My mind skips, trying to figure out what he means by that. Am I somewhere in those future plans of his? For when his body inevitably tells him to slow down, and he retires?
I want to be. Shit, I really want to be.
He pulls my hair out of the way before kissing beneath my ear, his lips parting, distracting me. The wet drag of his tongue calls a whimper up from my chest. He groans in response, sucking at the damp skin like he’s made it his mission to mark me.
I clamp my lip between my teeth and apply more pressure when he dips his fingers beneath the edge of my shirt, stroking my stomach.
The leather pants I’m wearing feel tighter than they did earlier, and the band sticks to the heat of my skin, making me wiggle against him.
My eyes flick upward as a hard bulge presses against my body, intensifying my lust.
The lights dance across the arena seats and flood the suite with sensuality. I’m trembling now, panting as I dig my nails into the back of Finn’s neck and keep him against me, tasting my throat. Every sway of our bodies makes his cock rub harder against my ass, until I’m moaning with need.
My cheeks are hot enough to burn. The air is tight, each inhale I take tainted with him.
He’s everywhere. On my skin, in my lungs, teasing invisible fingers between my legs and welcoming the steady drip of arousal that won’t stop soaking my panties.
I want him, and there’s no possible way I could deny that when my body is screaming it at me.
It’s far past mere attraction. This is . . . something that borders the line between love and the romantic interest that I’ve only just come to accept. It scares me but also draws me closer to him. Our history gives me the shove forward, reminding me of who he is to me and who he’ll always be.
Before I can convince myself to stay in place, I turn around.
His eyes fall to mine, and I use my hold on him to steady myself.
My toes curl into my shoes when I lean up on them and pull him in until I can taste his breath and he can feel how hard my heart is thumping in my chest. A bubble grows around us, creating a boundary between our bodies and where our friends stand.
The music dulls, and I smile, hovering, waiting for him to close the space.
“Do you want to leave?” he asks, the words biting.
My core tightens in anticipation. “Do you?”
“I’ve wanted to leave since we got here.”
“You’ve been patient, then.”
He blows a chuckle across my collarbone. “You could say that.”
“Think anyone will notice?”
“Yes. But I don’t care.”
His lips take mine, hard and desperate. I close my eyes and tug on his hair, feeding the spark of desire in my core until it roars, burning brighter. The heat is distracting, and I rub my thighs together to try and ease the sting.
Finn drops a hand to my ass and squeezes before rubbing his palm in slow, wide circles. “Let’s go.”
I give him a tug and lead the way.