Chapter 8
Make love to me. Those words travel straight to my dick, causing it to jump where it’s pressed against Brittany’s hot pussy.
“Fuck, yes,” I tell her.
Make love.
Because holy shit, what we’re doing is so much more than fucking. Would it scare her away if I told her that?
Yes, you fucking idiot. Keep your thoughts to yourself and keep kissing her.
I deepen the kiss, and she responds with a moan.
A wave of euphoria washes over me, ramping up my need for her. I grind my pelvis against hers, but when a sharp hit of worry takes over, I rip my lips from hers and sit back. “Shit. The baby.”
Long, dark lashes flutter along her cheeks, then lift to reveal her golden-hued eyes. “Huh?”
“I-I don’t want to hurt the baby.”
“We had sex earlier, and it didn’t hurt the baby.” Her voice holds traces of amusement, and she sinks her teeth into her lip but can’t quite hide the smile.
“I didn’t know about the baby then.”
That makes a whole lot of sense, dumbass.
“So knowing creates a magical power that makes it possible to harm the baby by having sex?” It’s like she has a telepathic connection to my brain.
“Yes.” I scan the room, frowning. “Maybe you should get on top. Maybe?—”
“Ryder.”
I force my gaze back to hers. “Huh?”
“It’s fine. At least for now. Maybe when I’m bigger…”
I shift my gaze to her stomach, to the barely noticeable swelling.
Shimmying down, I bring my lips to the warm skin there.
In this moment, the situation becomes real. I’m going to be a dad. My chest constricts so tightly at the thought that I can hardly breathe.
“I want to know everything,” I tell Brittany, looking up at her face.
Her eyes widen and her mouth parts in shock. “Right now?”
The movement draws my attention to her swollen lips, and my dick pulses, reminding my brain of what was happening when I stopped.
Shifting again, I pepper kisses along her breasts and nip at one nipple before continuing on to her mouth.
“After,” I tell her. “For now, I think you asked me to do something else.”
??????
“I’m sorry, sir, this is a private sound check for the band.”
“Well, look who decided to join us.”
“Weren’t you the one who said sound check started at five?”
I’m bombarded by comments from Wyatt, Reid, and Hudson the instant I walk out on stage where our setup is ready for us.
“Ha ha,” I deadpan.
Usually I’m the one giving Reid and Hudson shit for being late. It’s rarely an issue for Wyatt, since more often than not, he’s early. He says his dad drilled it into him. It’s a holdover from the man’s military days. In his mind, if a person isn’t early, they’re late.
“Did you forget how to tell time?” Reid asks, adding a drumroll to his question.
Fucker.
“No, I did not forget how to tell time. I’ve been with Britt all day.”
It’s been fantastic. Waking up with her in my bed, taking in all the details about her pregnancy so far—including the not-only-in-the-morning sickness. We had lunch with Krista and my parents before wandering through the casino shops hand in hand. No hiding. No covert need to kiss the fuck out of her. No more secrets.
My plan when I dropped her at our room was to give her a quick kiss goodbye with plans to meet up for dinner after sound check. I should have known better. The kiss didn’t end until I’d gotten her off twice and was balls deep in her, finding my own release.
“I’m a whole fifteen minutes late, asshole. Let’s get this sound check done and head to dinner.”
“With Britt?” Reid singsongs.
Wyatt and Hudson, who’ve both had their chins tucked while they tuned their instruments, stop what they’re doing and watch me, waiting for my response.
“So?” I ask.
“Is she going to be around all the time?” Hudson levels a stare in my direction.
What the fuck? First Reid, and now Hudson? Wyatt’s the only one who hasn’t made it obvious he’s pissed off about the change in my relationship status, and that’s only because he hides his thoughts more than the other two.
“Maybe? I don’t fucking know. I haven’t really thought about it.”
But if we do this for real, won’t that be the case? And not just her. I want our baby here too. All the time.
“Look, man, I get it. She’s hot. You like hooking up with her. But the more I think about it, the more I can’t help but ask why?”
Leave it to Reid to use a tone so shitty that it makes me want to punch him in the balls.
Teeth gritted, I breathe in through my nose and let it out again. “Why?”
“Why her? Why now?” Hudson asks. Fucking fantastic. Now they’re ganging up on me. “She’s the kind of girl who wants serious. Not a regular hookup. That isn’t you.”
“What if I’m ready for a serious relationship? What if I want more than hooking up with random groupies?” I ask as annoyance builds inside me. “We’re all getting older—maybe it’s time to settle down. You guys didn’t give me shit last night.”
“Who could give you shit? You shocked the hell out of us walking into the dining room holding hands with her. I don’t know about these two, but I was trying to figure out if you were actually serious or fucking with us.”
“I’m actually fucking serious, for once, Reid. I know the concept is lost on you, but I actually do have some maturity.”
By the way they respond, I might as well have told them I was joining a symphony as a first chair violinist.
Reid almost falls off his stool, and Hudson is doubled over in laughter. Even Wyatt’s wearing a small smile.
“Fuck all of you.” I flip them off with both hands.
“Why her?” Hudson asks, wiping tears of laughter out of his eyes. “The two of you used to argue so much I thought she was going to murder you.”
“Why would she murder me and not the other way around? You never worried I’d do the same?” I ask.
“You argued with her to get a rise out of her,” Wyatt answers.
It’s true. From the time she was sixteen, there’s been an attraction there. At least on my part. And pushing her buttons? That’s always been one of the highlights of seeing her. Until the night the arguing shifted. The night that I couldn’t hold back and finally kissed her.
“So?”
“You’re avoiding the question,” Reid says from behind his kit.
The annoyance running through me is pretty quickly turning into real anger. Why the fuck do they have such an issue? “No, I’m not.”
“Then why her? Why now? This isn’t the time to lose focus on our music.” Hudson holds out an arm and pans the empty auditorium.
Arms crossed over my chest, I frown at him. “Why does it have to be one or the other?”
“Because she’s a distraction,” Reid says.
“Is that how you all feel?” I ask, turning from Reid to Hudson, then to Wyatt. “Wy?” I put more stock into what Wyatt says than the other two. When he speaks, it’s because he has something important to say, so I listen.
He shrugs, his expression unreadable. “I’m not going to tell you who to be with.”
“But you’re not going to give me your blessing either.”
He stays silent.
My heart sinks. Fuck.
Hudson takes a step closer. “Why are you fighting what we’re?—”
“She’s pregnant.”
Shit. As soon as the words are out, I wish I could breathe them back in. Not because I don’t want the guys to know, but because I just word vomited the news Brittany isn’t ready to share.
“You knocked her up?” Wyatt’s jaw goes slack with shock.
“Not on purpose,” I mumble.
“What was that?” Reid asks and lifts a hand to his ear.
“I said turn up your hearing aid, Grandpa. Not on purpose.” The words echo through the venue, and I wince. Fantastic. The sound guys couldn’t have picked a worse time to flip on the mics.
“So what, you’re ‘doing the right thing by her’? This isn’t the 1950s, Ryder.” Hudson bows his head and gets back to tuning his guitar.
“I know it’s not the 1950s,” I snap and step up to the mic stand. “Let’s just get this fucking sound check done.”
“Why are you so pissed off?” Reid shouts over the beat he’s tapping out with his foot on the bass drum.
“Because,” I shout over the racket, “I’m getting the third degree over some chick I got pregnant.”
I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. Britt is so much more than that. But how do I explain it to these boneheads?
Swallowing thickly, I consider whether to even bother. They won’t fucking get it. Turns out, though, it doesn’t matter, because as I’m mulling it over in my head, glancing at Wyatt, movement at the ruby-red curtain at stage left catches my eye.
Britt’s there, with Krista at her side. Fuck. I regretted the words before. Now? I want nothing more than to knock myself over the head for being such an idiot, then go back in time a couple of minutes.
The murderous glint in both their eyes is potent enough to reduce me to nothing more than a pile of ash in front of the mic stand.
“Britt.” It’s a whisper, but my mic is still live, so it carries through the venue.
All three guys stop and turn in the direction I’m staring.
Brittany strides forward with purpose, hands fisted at her sides and my sister hot on her heels. When she’s an arm’s length from me, she stops. The pain is visible behind the seething anger rolling off her. For a long moment, she surveys me silently, her eyes swimming with all kinds of emotion. Hurt. Disappointment. Disgust.
Fuck.
She reaches out, and her palm connects with my cheek faster than I can register it, but the slap reverberates through the room.
“Fuck you.” The words are quiet. But again, live mic.
I lift a hand to cover my cheek—fuck, that stung—and reach the other toward her, but she steps back, just out of reach.
“Britt.”
“I should have known better,” she says, her words clipped. “You’re an asshole, Ryder. You’re exactly who I fucking thought you were, despite all your assurances that you weren’t really ‘that guy.’ You are. You’re a cocky, arrogant rock star.”
Maybe it’s because I’ve spent half my life pushing her buttons. Maybe I really am an asshole. Regardless, I open my mouth and speak before I can filter my words.
“I am who I am. Being a rock star isn’t an insult, love.”
There’s a point in cartoons where a character gets so angry that their eyeballs go red and steam pours from their ears. If that’s the reaction I was shooting for with Britt, then mission fucking accomplished.
I brace myself for another slap—I fucking deserve it—but it doesn’t come. No, the anger fades from her expression, leaving only the hurt and disappointment behind. Without another word, she rotates on her heel and exits the stage from the direction she came.
“You’re an asshole,” Krista says, poking me in the chest. “And you.” She turns to Reid, then Hudson. “And you, and”—she frowns at Wyatt—“you’re not an asshole, but you need to stop hanging around these three before they turn you into one.”
With that, she storms off after Britt.
A tidal wave of regret swamps me as I watch her retreating form. I look from one guy to another. Reid and Hudson are wearing shocked expressions, but Wyatt’s expression is one of pure disappointment, and it’s set firmly on me.
Fuck. What did I just do?