Chapter 13. #2
A storm inside my chest that has no rain, at least not the kind you can touch that soaks your clothes. And as for thunder, well, my heart is generating plenty of that every time I think of him.
My secret storm called Chase Holt—one which I don’t think any matter of umbrella can hope to shield me from.
It’s sometime later after I’ve wished my mom a good night that I’ve changed out of my wet clothes into a tank top and shorts.
I’m up in my room on the edge of my bed and just put my phone on the charger.
It lights up with messages right away. Apparently, I missed a call and a text from AJ, who wants to catch up with me and see what’s going on.
He probably still feels guilty about the road trip thing.
Maybe it’s just my mood, but I’m almost ready to forgive him for everything.
If it weren’t for his selfishness, I never would’ve met Austin, right?
Speaking of: a message from Austin asking me to call when I’m back home. Or should I start calling him Chase now?
He answers right away. “Made it back in one piece?”
“If you don’t count the one or two I left with you,” I answer.
He sighs contentedly into the phone. “I ain’t giving ‘em back.”
I chuckle, then glance at the window when it flashes, tears of rain running down the glass. “You on the road already?”
“Yep. But couldn’t sleep ‘til I knew you made it back.”
I smile. “That makes two of you. My mom stayed up waiting on me. I sorta scared her half to death ‘cause my phone died.”
“Said you should’ve called her before you left.”
“I know.” I lie back on my bed with my phone, its cord pulled over my chest from the wall charger. “I still can’t believe I made it out of there undetected.”
It was a bit of a heist in reverse. When we finished consuming each other in that musty dressing room—apparently we had thirty minutes on the dot, courtesy of the drummer, who is completely in on my existence—Austin poked his head out of the room, saw the coast was clear, and told me to follow him.
We had four close-calls, causing me to have to duck behind a trashcan or slip behind a wall before finally reaching some side door.
The rain did not let up one bit, but I assured Austin I’d be fine with a little wet jog around the building to the parking lot.
He fought with me on it for a minute until the sound of footsteps forced us to make a move.
I put a kiss on him, said something cheesy like, “Call you later, hot stuff,” and hurried out into the rain.
I sorely underestimated how large the building was, taking me a full six minutes before I finally reached my car, got inside soaked down to the underwear, and enjoyed a blissful moment of wondering who the hell I was.
Who am I, really? What is this life I’m living lately?
I don’t recognize it at all.
“Where are you headed to now?” I ask.
“No idea the name. Starts with an H. I think. Let me just pull it up.” His fingers tap along on his screen. My phone buzzes with a notification. “Sent you a pin.”
I pull my phone away and check. “Ooh. That’s about an hour south from me. Your tour’s drawing a circle around Spruce.”
“Doin’ a slow-motion do-si-do,” he confirms. I hear the smile in his voice. “I’ve got a day off after tomorrow.”
“Any plans?” I ask coyly.
“Let me ask my secretary, and nope,” he answers immediately. “Got the whole day off.”
“Sounds like an opportunity.”
“That it does.”
Silence falls over the line as we listen to each other breathe. I bet the silence is as filled with thoughts and questions for him as it is for me. Like, is this really going to work? Are we crazy for even trying? Or are we for once doing the right thing in our lives?
Even if it scares the shit out of us?
“If we hadn’t … been interrupted …” I start to ask.
“Hmm?”
“In your drummer’s dressing room. Raj’s room. Tonight. If we, uh … didn’t have just the thirty minutes.” I bite my lip, wondering what it is I’m hoping he’ll say. “What would we have done?”
“If we … had all night?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, let me think ‘bout that for a minute.” His voice is low. I hear him shift over bed sheets. I wonder what it’s like to sleep on a tour bus.
Does he have an actual bed? Or one of those built-into-the-side bunks?
Do just his bandmates share the bus with him, or does it also house crew?
“Let’s think about that for a nice … long … hot minute …”
I run my hand down my chest. “Your minute is taking a long time. Is someone … listening in?”
“Nah. Most of ‘em are asleep,” he answers, “except for maybe Raj finger-banging the air. Don’t ask. Besides, door’s closed, road’s roarin’ tonight with the rain … Anyway, I’ll tell you what I’d do.”
“Yeah?”
“I’d have taken that damp-ass Soul Biter shirt off you, ‘cause nothin’ belongs on your chest unless it’s me or my face.”
“You want to put your face on my chest?” I ask, hand drifting down to my waist.
“I’d like my face in lots of places.”
My hand slips under my waistband and finds my cock, already stirring awake. “Go on.”
“Mm-hmm.” His voice trembles, like he’s shifting around on the bed, too. Are we both doing the same thing? “I sure as hell would’ve kept kissing down your neck.”
“And then?”
“Without that shirt in my way, I would’ve kept goin’. Down, down, down to your chest. Y’know, where I said my face belongs. I already know your neck is sensitive as all hell … made you squirm when I kissed on it …”
“I squirmed?”
“Just about.” He chuckles in my ear. My fingers wrap around my cock and slowly start moving. “I think I’d try and find out what else is sensitive on you …”
“Almost everything,” I blurt.
“Almost everything?” he throws back, sounding amused. “So I guess if I … started mackin’ on your nipples …?”
I let out a sharp sigh as if he did exactly that.
He doesn’t have to sing for his voice to be downright magical in my ears.
Austin just has a way with his words. His tongue.
His lips. I watched an entire concert of him working the microphone like a lover.
Strumming his guitar like a lover. Caressing every lyric with his sultry, hypnotizing melodies that closed around me like strong arms drawing me tightly to his chest.
“And then if I … made my way down your stomach …?”
I’m moving my hand faster inside my underwear. I try not to let out breath after breath, but with each word he says, the less capable I become of holding them in.
“I’ve only held you a few times now,” he reasons, “but I think I could imagine a map of your body, just from those few touches … a map of where I’d like to take my lips next …”
He speaks slowly, carefully, choosing his words like lyrics.
“A journey from one end of your body … to the other …”
His voice is as firm as flesh. Each word, a fingertip. Every pop and crackle of his lips as they open and close upon these words are kisses on my bare skin I can literally feel.
“I wanna take that journey, TJ … I wanna take it from one end of you to the other …”
“I’m ready,” I breathe out, barely capable of speech.
“Can we even wait ‘til we’re in the same room again?” There’s a sweet, glorious pleading in his voice that begs me not to move my hand too fast, not to waste this. “Is that even possible? Or have I popped the lid off this thing too fast to close it back up?”
I stop moving my hand and open my eyes.
I catch my breath, gazing at the ceiling.
Rain and wind slapping the window.
“Anything’s possible tonight,” I answer him.
“You woke up somethin’ inside me, TJ … somethin’ I damned near forgot was there. And I can’t promise where this is gonna go between us, but I know I want to see it through.”
I’m on the edge of my bed again, feet swung around, eyes on the window, imagining him on the highway in the middle of this storm. “I wanna be on that bus with you right now. I want you to take me away from here … take me on that journey with you.”
He sighs with pleasure into the phone, breathing deeply.
We crossed a line tonight we can’t ever uncross. That much is clear. Everything is different now. And I don’t want it any other way.