Chapter 29
Theo
“Get your hands off me!” I snarl, thrashing beneath the solid weight pinning me to the mat and clawing at the thick forearm locked around my throat. No matter how hard I fight, the grip only tightens, squeezing my voice into ragged gasps and smothering the air from my lungs.
A low, mocking rumble vibrates against my ear. “Nice try, pretty boy.”
The words send a fresh spike of determination through me, and I force one long, deliberate breath and shift tactics.
Planting both feet flat against the floor, I arch upward with everything I have, lifting our combined weight just enough to break the seal of his chest against my back.
In the same heartbeat I let gravity take over, dropping hard and driving my elbow backward into the soft meat of his stomach.
He grunts, the sound punched out of him, and the arm around my neck slackens for one precious second.
I twist to roll free, spinning until I straddle his hips and loom above him. Hands flung triumphantly into the air, I suck in a theatrical breath and crow, voice still husky from the choke. “That’s one point for Theo the Theatrical! His opponent lies completely helpless—”
“You realize I could just pin you right back down?” Dante deadpans.
“—utterly, amazingly powerless, incapacitated and feeble. Dante the Destructive is in shambles while the newcomer, Theo the Terrible—”
“I thought it was Theatrical?”
“—rules supreme! This historic takedown heralds the dawn of his reign of terror—”
Dante moves in one fluid, effortless surge, flipping me beneath him so fast the world tilts and I yelp in half-laugh, half-surprise.
My back hits the mats with a soft thud, and before I can recover he captures my wrists and stretches them high over my head.
His thighs bracket mine, and that wicked grin spreads across his face.
“Why do I absolutely believe you’d be the ringleader of a reign of terror?” he murmurs, releasing my hands only to lean down and claim my mouth in a slow, melting kiss.
I sink into it for a blissful instant before my arm creeps up his side, fingers already snaking toward his armpit. I howl in pure irritation as he snatches my wandering hand and drags it flat against the mat.
“Were you seriously about to tickle me?” he demands.
“Don’t be jealous of my ingenuity.” A roguish grin spreads across my face as I flick the waistband of his shorts with my other hand.
“There are half a dozen ways I could distract you enough to get out from under you,” I murmur, “and you would enjoy every single one of them.”
My hand drifts from the small of his back, tracing along his hip until my fingertip finds the sensitive crease where his thigh meets his groin. I swipe slowly, feeling the involuntary twitch of his body beneath my touch.
“Fuck, Theo,” he breathes. He leans down and captures my mouth in a kiss that’s all heat and hunger, his hips giving a sharp, instinctive buck against me. The adrenaline from our rolling has his aggression dialed up.
I seize the moment, trying to spin us again, but he anticipates it this time. His weight drops heavier and pins me flat, and I slap the mat once in frustration.
“Nice try.” He drags his teeth along my bottom lip. “But you have to work harder than that to catch me a second time.”
“If I work any harder,” I counter, voice breathy against his mouth, “we’ll get kicked out of here.”
He laughs, then pushes his lips to mine again, softer this time. We stay tangled like that for long, lazy minutes, lost in the slow drag of tongues and the quiet rhythm of our breath mingling, until a sharp wolf whistle slices across the gym.
We both turn our heads to find Jugs is striding toward us with that giant grin splitting his face. “Others are going to see the two of you and think this is a new service I’m offering,” he teases as Dante finally eases off me, extending a hand to pull me up.
I rise, brushing off the mats, then let my gaze roam over Jugs’ massive frame. I lift one brow, reach out, and wrap my fingers around his bicep.
“Honestly, Jugs,” I say, giving the muscle a firm, appreciative squeeze, “you could make a killing if you did.”
Dante lets out a low, disgruntled huff beside me. I turn to him, letting a sly smile curl my lips. “Don’t be jealous, baby. I’m Goldilocks, and you’re the seat that’s just the right size. Jugs over here is Papa Bear, and everything’s too big for a boy like me.”
Dante’s face flames crimson, the flush climbing high on his cheeks, and even Jugs has the grace to be embarrassed.
“God, you fuckers are too easy to manipulate,” I say with a laugh. “I could take either one of you down right now because you’re so distracted. You know that old saying? You can lead a man by his dick, but you can’t make it think… or something like that.”
Jugs throws his head back and laughs.
“Alright, trouble,” Dante teases. “We’ve got a few minutes until we have to leave for rehearsal. How about you see if Theo the Terrible can get me down again?”
“I’d rather get you up.”
“That’s my cue,” Jugs mutters as he walks away shaking his head with his cheeks flushed once more.
Amateurs.
Several hours later, the sweat from my self-defense lessons has only intensified after we head over to practice and spend another couple of hours rehearsing with the band.
I push the damp strands of hair from my face, wrinkling my nose at the way they cling to my fingers, but it doesn’t stop me from climbing into Dante’s lap and settling there with a soft sigh.
“I’m gross,” I whine.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the curve of my shoulder.
Eric makes an exaggerated gagging sound from where he sits cross-legged on the floor, which earns him identical glares from both of us.
“Alright, listen up so we can get through this,” Dante says, raising his voice enough to carry across the room. “Dmitri let Monica know we’re on board with interviews. She’s trying to line a few up after our show this weekend, so keep your phones on in case it comes in as a last-minute request.”
“Are we planning to discuss this whole tour idea?” Tai asks from where he leans against the wall, not a bead of sweat on him, looking cooler than a snowman’s asshole in his leather jacket.
Jerk.
“We’re putting the idea on hold for now,” Dante answers, “until we can assess the new album’s success.
If we pull in enough money to cover our salaries and still afford the expenses that come with a tour of that magnitude, then it’s possible.
As it stands right now, we’d go broke trying to fund it, and if the gamble didn’t pay off… ”
He trails off, but we all nod in agreement. Thankfully, we mesh well. Some of us are more hotheaded than others, but none of us are careless.
It’s been a godsend, really. We hear stories all the time of bands devoured by the promise of fame, only to lose everything to a lifestyle of luxury and drugs. Our group is too busy with practical jokes and naps to get hung up on the party scene.
“Are we going to do any more joint shows?” Eric asks, his teasing tone unmistakable. “I heard our gig with Battlefield Tweed went over really well.”
Dante’s grip on me tightens.
I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face as I slide my fingers between his. “You’re right,” I say, voice light. “The show was extremely well-received, and we got a ton of positive reviews. If needed, I could always reach out to Sayid and plan—”
The world spins until my back hits the cushions with Dante looming over me. “If he gave you his number, I’ll cut his fucking fingers off,” he mutters.
My smile only widens. “I really tried my best to refuse it, but he used permanent marker to write it on my arm and I couldn’t erase it.”
He snorts and shakes his head. “Do you really believe I wouldn’t know if someone else had marked you?”
“Does… anyone else feel like we should, uh, maybe… go?” Dmitri says while they all blatantly stare, not even trying to hide their interest.
Dante ignores him entirely, catching the sleeve of my hoodie and rolling it up to expose one forearm. “Definitely not seeing anything on that arm,” he muses before moving to the other one. “So strange—nothing here either.”
“Maybe I was mistaken,” I say, voice light, “and he wrote it somewhere lower.”
Dante grunts, baring the tips of his teeth in a flash of warning. “I will strip you down right here to check,” he threatens.
“And that right there, folks,” Tai mutters, already pushing off the wall. “That’s our cue. We’ll see y’all when you aren’t so…” He gestures vaguely down the length of our bodies.
I burst out laughing and shove Dante back into his seat. “No, no, we’re good.”
Dante grumbles under his breath but settles, and we spend a few more minutes hashing out housekeeping items. We’re reviewing our monthly calendar when both our phones buzz with incoming alerts.
Dante pulls his out first, scanning Monica’s email with a list of interview options, but my attention snags on the message sitting just below it.
I open the same email on my phone, and after I scan it, our gazes lock and something electric passes between us.
“Dmitri,” Dante calls, twisting to look over his shoulder. “Monica sent over a list of interview possibilities. You guys mind digging into those for a few minutes? Research if they’re scenes we actually want to be involved in?”
“Sure thing, boss,” Dmitri answers, reaching for the laptop while Eric and Tai pull out their phones.
Dante’s hand closes around my wrist. He drags me to my feet in one smooth motion and leads me down the short hallway, ducking us into the small bathroom.
“All clear?”
I’ve barely nodded when he lifts me onto the counter, then tugs my shorts and underwear down until they bunch just beneath the curve of my ass.
Dropping to his knees, he yanks me forward until my hips hang at the very edge.
The cold porcelain bites into my skin and the faucet digs into my lower back, but I don’t care as my knees open.