21. Lennon
Chapter 21
Lennon
Put Me Down, Dammit
D ating was a new and unnerving part of my life.
It wasn’t all bad. Griffin made grocery shopping and laundry fun. I started leaving clothes at his house—which I’d never done in all my damn life. After long shifts, especially Saturday nights, it was nice to crash at his place. And Sundays had turned into relaxing day dates full of trips around the area. Since the taproom was closed on Mondays, we’d even done a few overnights.
This was my third season at the orchard, and I’d never looked around beyond the taproom or my little apartment. Griffin was all about exploring. We’d gone to a wine tasting, a concert in Syracuse—Hozier, thank you very much. He’d been on my list for a few years, but I rarely made space or time for entertainment that wasn’t part of a bar.
The Irish artist had blown me away, dragging out far too many emotions I hadn’t known what to do with. Instead of dealing with them, I’d banged the holy hell out of Griffin.
Songs about longing and an endless love weren’t in my wheelhouse. I wasn’t sure I wanted them to be, either. But being with Griffin made me wonder what it might be like.
And that scared me more than answering Richard Devon’s increasingly pressing question about the bar in Miami.
Luckily, the taproom left me little time to linger on that question. And the time out of the taproom was immersed with Griffin. Even the quiet moments were better with him.
Tonight, however, wasn’t a quiet moment. It was a Saturday night, which made me feel guilty for bailing on the taproom. I knew Dean, Kevon, and our new girl, Pam, could deal with a busy Saturday night. It didn’t stop me from feeling bad about asking for time off.
But Griffin was steadily getting into music mode for the concert schedule, which included scouting out talent. Tonight, we were seeing a local singer with a small band. Bridger Everette was an alt-country guy. It wasn’t exactly my kind of music, but it suited the orchard.
The rural aspect of the town of Turnbull was perfect for that kind of talent to bring in people to watch a show at the orchard.
We were at The Hat Trick, a dive bar, on the edge of Turnbull. The neon sign was missing the c in Trick, giving it extra character. I rolled down my window and leaned out to make a quick video for our social media page.
If Bridger was worth adding to our roster of local talent, then it might add some excitement to our announcement during Memorial Day when we released the list of acts through the summer.
Griffin parked at the back of the lot since the place was popping. He was wearing black on black, which always made me crazy. There was something about the way it made his dark hair and beard seem even more wild.
He glanced my way as he turned off the truck. “Did I mention how amazing you look?”
“Yes, but I don’t mind if you tell me again.” I unhooked my belt and slid across the bench.
“I never thought I’d see you in cowboy boots or want so much to strip you out of everything but those damn boots.”
I laughed. “I’ve had them since Arizona. Hand-tooled, just for my feet.” I straddled his lap and sat astride him. “Want to be a little late.”
He groaned and slipped his hands under the skirt of my short dress. When he felt only skin, his green eyes practically glowed in the dim light from the lone parking lamp. “Tell me that you’re...” He trailed off as he skimmed his fingertips to the small of my back and found no thong or scrap of panties. He growled. “How the hell am I supposed to concentrate on this kid’s work, knowing you’re bare for me?”
“Maybe I’m bare for me.”
“Maybe you’re driving me crazy.”
I grinned and nipped his lower lip. “I do like to drive you crazy.”
“Success,” he said, against my mouth before he gripped my ass and tipped my hip down until his shaft grazed my pussy. “Want to ride me until I smell like you?” His mouth drifted to my throat, and he dragged his bearded chin across my skin. “So, everyone knows who owns me?”
My chest tightened. Whenever he flipped that around me, I burned. Even though I knew it was becoming increasingly obvious that he owned me just the same. Especially with how he knew just how to touch me. With his other hand, he dragged down the stretchy fabric at the front until I spilled over the demi-cup bra I wore.
He reached around to cup both my cheeks with his hands and lifted me enough to get his mouth on me.
Incensed, I fumbled with his belt and zipper to get him free. “I want this. Not just a ride on your zipper, pal.”
He groaned when I gripped his shaft, freeing him of his denim and cotton. I dragged my pussy against his shaft and his voice became little more than a growl now. “Wet for me already, baby? You dressed knowing you were going to murder me in my truck like this?”
I grinned and covered his mouth with mine. Our tongues tangled and stroked as I rubbed myself against him. A dangerous road without a condom. I was protected, but I didn’t take these kinds of chances. I didn’t let a man ride bare inside of me. I wouldn’t be so stupid.
But right then, the way his hot, thick cock rode against me, it made me feel out of control.
Just once.
What would it feel like to feel every part of him inside of me?
I rolled my hips against him until the flared head rubbed along my clit. He sucked in a breath as he rested his forehead against my shoulder. “Darlin’ you keep that up and I’m going to fuck this sweet cunt right here, right now.”
“Yes.”
He panted out my name. “Wallet.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say no. Just get inside of me.
But I dug for his wallet.
With shaking fingers, I found the condom and tore it open and suited him up then I took him deep. He dragged his teeth down my neck then he moved up to my breasts as he lifted me up and seated himself even deeper. I threw my head back, the steering wheel digging into my back, which made me tip my hips forward even more, so I didn’t blast the horn.
He hit me just right and then his fingers were there, circling my clit to rocket me up and over in one of the fastest orgasms I’d ever had. I rode that one and shook around him, my nipples dragging against the soft cotton of his shirt, my clit against his calloused fingers, and my thighs gripping him so tight that we both soared.
Every muscle burned at the position, but I ignored it and rode him hard and fast.
His palm came down on my ass and the light sting unhooked one last brain-frying orgasm. I collapsed against him, my forehead on his shoulder as I melted like hot fudge all around him.
“Fuck.” He dragged in a shaky breath. “Fuck.”
“We did. We did,” I said, on a laugh against his neck. “Oh, we fucking did.”
He laughed and his rough hands turned soft and gentle.
Exactly what I needed as always.
And that scared me so damn much. He was always exactly what I needed.
“You wreck me beyond measure,” he said quietly.
I just held on, unsure what to say. The sex alone should make me run for the hills. And yet, I couldn’t. I didn’t want to.
Finally, we cleaned up and got ourselves situated. I picked up my hobo bag and pulled out a lacy black pair of high-waisted panties and waved them at him. “Now that I’ve killed you.”
He laughed. “Good. It’s bad enough your legs make me insane. Knowing you were bare would have me beating the hell out of too many men.”
“You sound like Kain when he talks to Bells.”
“Well, he’s damn right.” He zipped up his jeans and opened the door. Only then did I notice just how fogged up the windows were. “Call me caveman all you want.”
I wiggled into my panties and pulled the skirt of my dress down, then I slid across the bench seat with him. I grabbed my license and cash, then I stashed my purse behind his seat. He helped me down, shut the door, then he pinned me to the side of his truck with a kiss that blew off the top of my head.
Then he stepped back, laced our fingers together and stared down at me with an unreadable face.
“What was that for?”
“To hold me until I get you home later.”
Unnerved and a little shaky, I was glad I gripped his hand as we headed to the bar. There was a crush of people on the faded porch and still more loitering around the sides of the building. Music poured from the door and the windows. I could feel eyes on me as we climbed the stairs.
Ignoring them, we waited to pay our cover and go inside. Before I could pull out my money, he paid for both of us and handed me two paper bands for our wrists. Once we got inside, he held out his wrist for me. I attached his then mine before we pushed into the packed bar.
There was a super young guy on the stage with his guitar. His hair was shorn tight to his head, telling me it was Bridger. He had more hair than I did, I was pretty sure.
The guy was pretty decent. I caught Griffin taking a video, then he was making some sort of notes on his phone. I noticed he used his voice app quite often. It was always interesting to see him in work mode. There was an extra sharpness to his features, and he often toyed with his toothpick.
We had to wait through two more acts. One was a brother and sister duo, who showed a lot of promise. In a couple years, they’d probably be a force, at least according to the notes Griffin made and I peeked at.
I had to agree.
They were still a little timid, and this wasn’t a huge crowd. The stage at the orchard would probably make them shit their pants.
There was a brief intermission where we grabbed a couple beers before finding a seat with a good vantage point. Seeing how the dive bar operated gave me a few ideas about dealing with busy customers. They used a relay system that seemed to work a bit better for ease of pouring and less chitchat.
When Griffin’s hand landed on my thigh, I dragged my attention back on him. He was still watching the stage, and the hold seemed more possessive than trying to get under my skirt to cop a feel. I wasn’t sure which one was worse.
I was having a hard time concentrating on the activity on the stage.
Even after a few weeks with Griffin, he continued to surprise me with his need to always touch me. Usually, it was my lower back or the back of my neck. The thigh left me restless and tense.
And my body was far too aware of him. When he started stroking the skin just below my skirt, the hum became a buzz. When the strum of an acoustic guitar started, I was ready to kick him off his chair. However, I wasn’t entirely sure he knew how I was reacting.
Seeing him like this was new.
And it helped me recalibrate, and I relaxed as the conversations in the room dimmed, and they started listening to Bridger Everette. He was curled over his acoustic guitar and his smoky voice slowly filled the room with his soulful lyrics about not really knowing his partner.
I glanced over at Griffin, allowing me to truly see him in his element.
I’d seen the helpful man who gave his time and his strength to both the Mannings and the taproom staff. Unpaid, he still threw himself into every project that came up. Whether it was building or helping out in the kitchen or in the dining room. He never complained, and he always seemed happy to be part of a whole.
But here, it was just Griffin.
It was a look inside the man who’d been formed by music.
Lightly, he stroked my thigh as one song slid into the next. The vibe was similar for all of them, but there was a good mix of high tempo and syrupy thick ballads that had more than one woman in the room swooning.
I took a few short videos, especially of the sing-a-long song that had the entire bar in an uproar.
The drinks were free-flowing, and the mood was high. Since Griffin was driving, I let myself enjoy a few of the well drinks. It gave me ideas for a cheap night at the taproom. We didn’t overprice our drinks, but we were definitely on the bougie end for cider and Hayes’ spirits were a damn high-quality alcohol.
But the Irish Car Bombs with a cider twist had definitely been a fan favorite during our St. Paddy’s Day night.
There was a quick break in the set, as Griffin turned to me. “That was unexpected. I’m not sure how he’s still playing in a dive.”
“I can’t find him on social media. That might be one reason. Jess will be changing that if she has any say in the matter.”
“I will too. And I’m no social media guy, but as soon as he’s seen, he’ll have a damn deal, that’s for sure.”
“You going to turn into an agent, ace?”
“Fuck, no.”
I laughed and leaned into him, draping my arm over his shoulder. “Getting itchy to pick up your guitar?”
He laughed and met me in the middle. The kiss was smoky as I tasted whiskey on his tongue. We were in a dark corner, and I let myself fall into the kiss. The music had gotten under my skin, making me bolder.
“Jesus, if you keep that up, I’m going to haul you back outside.”
I laughed against his mouth. “Sorry. Music has me riled up. And this very shitty whiskey that is going down far too smoothly.”
“It tastes damn good on your lips.” He went in for another kiss then he buried his face in my neck.
Someone cleared their throat, and we broke apart.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt.” The guy had a head full of curls and his ruddy face told of his acute embarrassment. “Um, are you Griffin St. James?” He pitched his voice higher at the end.
Griffin wiped a thumb over his lower lip. “Yes. Who’s asking?”
“I’m Josh Merrit, Bridger’s manager.” He held out a hand.
Griffin arched a brow at him, and I was actually surprised that he wasn’t going to shake his hand. I pinched him in the side, and he gave me a salty look before clasping the man’s hand. “What can I do for you?”
“Bridger was wondering if you wanted to come up and play.”
“Oh.” He looked uncomfortable, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“Go on.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He glanced around, and I followed his gaze to find a few people murmuring around us.
For all the weeks we’d been together, I’d never been with him when someone had recognized him. I caught someone lifting their phone to take a photo.
Griffin barely noticed, but he did straighten his shoulders and put a protective hand around my back.
“I had to ask. He’s a big fan.”
“How did he even see us?” I asked. “We’re practically in the dark.”
“Bridger notices everything. He clocked you coming in during the previous set. He almost came out to see you but one of his ex-girlfriends is in the crowd tonight. He didn’t want a scene.”
“Tell him I appreciate the invite, but I’m good.”
Josh looked pained.
I leaned into Griffin. “I’ll work on him.”
Relief rolled over his face. “Thanks. You guys have a good night.”
Griffin gave me the arched brow this time. “Throwing me under the bus?”
I laughed. “I kinda want to see you up there.”
“Since when?”
I turned in my seat to look at him. “You don’t talk much about your music. Sometimes I hear you playing in the middle of the night, but that’s about it.”
He turned and took my hand, playing with my fingers. “It’s like my music turned off when the band broke up.”
“Not all the way off if I hear you playing at night.” I laced our fingers together. “So, why don’t you go up there? I’m sure he won’t make you play a Reversal of Fortune song.” I pitched my voice low on the last bit to make sure the nosy people around us didn’t hear if he really wanted to keep things a secret.
“You really want to see me up there?”
“Of course I do. Hot dude I’m with plays guitar?” I fanned my face with my free hand. “Lord have mercy.”
“All right, that’s enough.”
I fluttered my lashes. “But Griffin, when you play your guitar, it makes my loins ache.”
He laughed. “You really wouldn’t mind me leaving you here alone?”
“I’m coming up to fan girl at the front, what are you talking about?”
He gave me a hard kiss on the mouth. “Fine.”
“Goodie.” I did a light clap and smiled.
He stood and threaded his way around the tables where we were, then he spent time along the side wall of the club. He spoke to the guy guarding the hallway, then he quickly disappeared.
I finished my drink, then I moved into the crowd of women congregating in front of the stage. My cowboy boots and clingy black dress fit right in with the uber fans. In fact, I might have been overdressed, compared to some of them. There was a whole lot of lace and flesh showing on most of them.
I didn’t think groupies were still a thing—boy, was I wrong.
The lights dimmed and slowly, I moved my way around bony arms and sharp elbows to get to the edge of the stage. I rested my arms on the top of an amp or speaker and got out of the crush of bodies.
A single spotlight flicked on to show Bridger on a stool, his cowboy boot heel resting on the lower rung, and a golden-toned guitar rested against his body. His long hair fell forward to cover half his face. He slowly started strumming, but instead of singing, he started talking. “When I was twelve, I heard this song. It literally drove me into my brother’s room to steal his guitar.” He grinned against the microphone. “He only got it to get girls. Never actually learned to play.”
The crowd laughed.
“But there was this song that made it sound like a good idea. I never put it down after that. That song was ‘This Old Tattoo’.”
A murmur in the crowd turned into applause.
“You should know it. It was blasting out of every car radio back when we still listened to the radio. And I have a special surprise. The man who made me pick up a guitar is here tonight.”
The murmurs increased as people started looking around.
A shadow moved across the stage and my heart pounded in my chest. Another spotlight came on and Griffin sat on a similar stool with a borrowed guitar in his arms. His smile was a bit bashful and yet he looked so perfectly right on that stool with that guitar.
“Hey,” he said softly into the microphone set up in front of him.
“Put your hands together for Griffin St. James from Reversal of Fortune.”
The murmurs became a chorus of gasps as the bodies in front of the stage multiplied.
Griffin tipped his head in thanks. “This wasn’t at all how I thought my night would go.”
Bridger laughed. “I’m just happy you said yes. And now I’m nervous since Griffin agreed to play ‘This Old Tattoo’ with me. Now, I’m no Marc Justice, but we’ll see what we can do.”
Griffin found me in the crowd and winked at me as his fingers quickly climbed the fret board as he plucked out the notes of a song from his first album. The rich acoustic tones settled low in my belly, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him.
Bridger’s deep baritone was like smoke over water as the song rose into the rafters of the club. When the chorus started, Griffin’s soulful voice layered right over Bridger’s as if they’d been doing it for years.
The crowd lit up with cell phone torch lights as the ballad resonated with every damn person there. I could barely take my eyes off Griffin, but I couldn’t help but look around at their reactions.
And Griffin, through it all, just closed his eyes as he pulled note after note from the battered acoustic.
When Bridger sang the last long notes of the song, it echoed through the room in silence before the whoops and cheers thundered back at them.
Bridger smiled. “Bucket list man, bucket list. One more?” he asked Griffin.
He nodded. “Can I call an audible?”
Bridger inclined his head. “We playing jukebox? Do I need to find my iPad?”
Griffin laughed. “If you don’t know this one, there’s no hope for you.” He slid his gaze over to me. “For my girl.”
“I’m On Fire” by Bruce Springsteen slowly rolled out of his guitar. The two men sang together as the lyrics carried through the room. The crowd was silent, knowing this was a moment.
I didn’t even have the wherewithal to video the moment, I just sat right inside of it.
Savoring every second.
As the soft notes of the end flowed, Griffin looked up and found me.
Hell.
Double hell.
Absolutely not.
I was not falling in love with this man.
I hopped off the speaker and moved into the crowd. Long white-blond hair flashed in my periphery and then an elbow slammed into my temple.
The flash of pain rocked me back on my heels. If the crowd hadn’t been as tight, I would have gone down.
“Oh my God.” A girl caught me, trying to get me back upright.
Another woman hooked an arm through mine. “Did you see that bitch?” she asked. “Some blond aimed right for you.”
“I hope you did, because I’m going to give her one right back—with a fist,” I snarled. I shook my head to clear it and then I was airborn. “Hey.”
“I got you.”
I relaxed as Griffin lifted me against his chest.
“Man.” The woman who was helping me released a plaintive noise as she let out a sigh. “I never get that kind of luck.”
“What the hell happened?” His voice was tight with anger.
I tried to look over his shoulder to thank the girl, but he was pushing through the crowd at warp speed, and I lost her in the crowd. “I’m fine. You can put me down.”
“Let’s just get you outside.” He shifted me against him as he dodged people before pushing through the doors into the cool night.
“Griffin. Put me down.”
He just kept walking toward the truck at the back of the parking lot.
I didn’t want to own up to the fact that it was probably better that he did. It was like that chick had aimed for my temple.
What the hell did I do to her?
Just because I got serenaded from my...
Ugh, I just didn’t want to think about labels when my brain felt like a smashed watermelon.
Distantly, I heard the catcalls as he strode through the parking lot, which only increased the tension in his shoulders. The speed with which he walked didn’t help my scrambled brain.
Finally, he got to the truck and went around to the passenger side with me. “Open it,” he growled.
I reached for the door and lifted the handle when the door cracked open, he used his hip to swing it wide and set me inside. He turned my face and winced. “Already getting a shiner.”
“Great,” I muttered. “I swear, it felt like she was aiming for me. What the hell did I do to her?”
“I don’t know, baby.” He gently touched the side of my eye, and I pulled away. “Okay, okay. I’ve got a bag of peas in my freezer with your name on it.”
“I had many plans for you tonight that are now ruined.”
“Bath and peas for you.”
“Those were not my plans.”
He laughed and kissed my swollen cheek. “That’s okay. I like taking care of you.”
“I know, you must have some crazy mental defect.”
He swung my legs into the truck. “I swear, when you’re spicy, I just want to do it more.”
I settled my palm against his cheek. “Okay, hero. Take me home.”
He kissed the center of my palm then he stepped back.
How the hell had the most amazing night gone from sexy and fun to absolute trash?