Chapter 7
LAUREL
The goodbye in front of the diner got awkward. I almost offered Jordy my hand to shake, as if it had been a business meeting, but realized in time how weird that would seem. I stuffed my hands into my jacket pockets.
“Yeah, so. Thanks for the, eh, experience.”
“My pleasure.” His crooked smirk looked sarcastic. Did he suffer through my company, or did he enjoy himself at least a little? I couldn’t read him at all. And I hated that, because yeah, I was totally attracted to him, with his smoldering gaze and that stupidly cute beanie.
Jordy headed for the pub to prepare for opening, and I went to the grocery store. I bought a salad for dinner, because the meatloaf would probably stay with me for a while, and walked back to the B otherwise, they would make their own music instead of tearing down mine. That didn’t mean they couldn’t be right. Maybe I was unoriginal. A fake. After all, nothing I’d tried to create during the past year was worth shit.
“You need rest, Laurel, physical and mental. You can’t expect your mind and body to keep performing without any fuel.”
I’d yelled at my therapist that I sure could! At the beginning of my career, I was able to play a three-hour gig, get drunk at a party, write genius music at four in the morning, and go to school at nine.
“Yes. And you’ve exhausted yourself completely.”
“Then why can’t I sleep, huh?” I asked the empty room.
I thought this would stop when the tour ended, but here I was, shattered but awake.
What the fuck was wrong with me? I was on vacation. I could finally relax. I had no obligations whatsoever for the upcoming month—I’d made sure of that. And whatever came later would be optional. This should be Zen, dammit.
I flopped around on the bed, kicking at the duvet. My big toe got stuck in an opening between two buttons, and I growled, wriggling my foot out.
“For fuck’s sake!” I shoved the duvet aside, and it slid off the bed, the cotton whispering.
I wasn’t too hot or too cold, the bed was comfy as hell, and the house was quiet. What was bugging me?
Groaning, I sat up and stretched my back. I eyed the glass on the nightstand. Beauville had great tap water, fresh from the mountains, without any weird aftertaste. I gulped the rest and set the empty glass back. The water felt cold in my stomach, waking me up further if that was possible.
Tea. I could try tea. There was some in the breakfast room downstairs.
It was past midnight, so hopefully, Monty would be asleep. Not that I minded meeting him all that much.
Anyway. Tea.
I dragged a hoodie over my T-shirt, wriggled into my jeans, and put on my sneakers without socks. The stairs squeaked as I padded downstairs, but hopefully, I wouldn’t wake anyone.
I paused on the landing on the first floor.
Faint music seemed to be drifting from the breakfast room.
Something soft and jazzy I didn’t recognize.
Weird. Was Monty awake? Or maybe he’d forgotten to turn it off.
But it sounded more like something Jordy would listen to.
I imagined Jordy having a wild, eclectic taste, ranging from dark ambient to folk rock.
Monty could be more of a sing-along-to-pop-hits kind of guy.
As I neared the breakfast room, the air grew hotter, filled with strange fragrances. Hot cocoa. Dammit, I recognized Monty’s scent already, but on top of that, there was woodsmoke and chili. I descended the last flight of stairs and rounded the corner, only to freeze in my tracks.
Holy shiiit.
At first, my brain didn’t comprehend what I was seeing.
Under the dim lights above the bar, Jordy stood, his elbows on the counter and his face tilted up, the piercing in his eyebrow glinting.
His eyes were closed. A man knelt before him, the wide span of his back adorned with bulging muscles. And he moved his head…that way.
I could barely see the outline of his jaw from this angle, but it was Monty, no doubt about it.
Sucking Jordy’s cock.
Oh my fucking…
He grunted, and Jordy cupped the back of his head.
A low groan fell from his lips, and he thrust forward.
Monty braced one hand on Jordy’s jean-clad thigh but didn’t move away.
After a few fucks, Jordy sighed and stilled.
He ran his fingers through Monty’s hair.
Monty’s head moved in a way that suggested licking.
Then I heard a distinct gulp, followed by the sound of smacking lips. Monty stood.
I’d been staring at them like a creep.
Panic rising, I stepped back.
The floorboards creaked.
Jordy turned his head, and his dark eyes widened.
“Oh fuck,” he said.
Monty flipped around to face me.
He blinked a few times, then grinned. His lips were red and glistening with spit. Maybe precum?
“I just want tea,” I blurted, my heart pounding. “Can’t sleep.”
“We have tea,” Monty said, still grinning happily. Was he glad I’d caught them mid-blowjob?
After quickly stuffing his dick into his open jeans, Jordy nudged Monty to the side, rinsed his hands, and grabbed three snifter glasses from a shelf.
“Screw tea. You look like you need a drink.”