10—Dallas （Side Lot）
I spot him immediately. It’s not hard when your heart and mind are wired to find someone… or when there’s only one person in a parking lot.
Val is slumped against the side of the building, his head resting on his knees. I’m not sure how long he’s been there, but his SOS messages had been on my phone for over an hour before I saw them. After telling a few white lies to escape Steve, I rushed here as soon as I could.
Thankfully, it’s early enough in the day that there aren’t many people around. Any fans would be lining up at the main entrance, and most concert personnel have been confined to the back lot. This small side entrance must not be used for much other than ejecting badge-less trespassers.
“Val?”
He glances up, his eyes flooding with relief and exhaustion.
“Larinda? Hey. Sorry to bother you with this, but I didn’t want to involve anyone else in the drama.”
He pushes up from the gravel as I approach.
“I totally get it. Good call. Besides…”
After scanning the area to make sure we’re alone, I take his hand and thread our fingers. When I bring them to my lips, he closes his eyes with a long exhale.
“What happened?” I ask.
His gaze flickers to me before lowering. “Long story. Short version is I lost my all-access pass and they kicked me out of the venue. Do you think we can get another one?”
There’s a waver in his voice I’ve never heard before. He’s always so composed, so strong.
“Hey, what is it? You okay?”
I brush his cheek to force him to look at me. His green eyes are particularly captivating in the sunlight. I hate that they’re filled with pain right now.
“Yeah, of course. Just a stupid misunderstanding.”
“Val.”
He shrugs. “It’s nothing. Not worth getting into.”
“It’s not? Because you look awful.”
“Great. Thanks.”
I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean. I’m worried about you.”
“I know. I’m fine. Really.”
He pulls me against him, and I sigh as I slip my arms around him. Everything feels better once I absorb the solid warmth of his body and breathe in his familiar scent. Woody and fresh, with a touch of citrus—it’s like a drug for me now. I absently run my fingers along the hem of his sweatpants at his lower back.
“We shouldn’t be standing here like this. Someone might see us,” he says quietly. But he doesn’t seem any more eager to let go than I am.
“We’ll just tell them we’re role-playing a song for lyric inspiration.”
His chuckle sends a soft breeze through me. My world is always lighter when he laughs.
“I think the lyrics for ‘Third Last Kiss’ could use some work,” he says with a glint in his eyes.
“Is that so?” I brush my lips over his. “How much work?”
“So much.” He cups my face and drags me in for a real kiss.
The fire is immediate and all-consuming.
I grip his hair as he flips us around and crowds me against the side of the building. His hard body presses into me, rubbing in all the best places. My hips are already writhing for more, and he deepens the kiss to arouse more hot, needy anticipation. I can’t get enough as he rocks against me again and again, each thrust swelling into a deep ache of longing. It feels amazing, and I love how easily the sweet boy I love becomes a sexy hunter when I want him to be.
Like now.
In the parking lot.
Where anyone could see us.
He must have the same thought when he breaks the kiss with a frustrated sigh and rests his forehead on mine. Eyes closed, bodies still locked in excruciating alignment, we breathe through the tension for several long seconds.
“What am I going to do with you?” I whisper, my insides still sparking and sizzling. How am I supposed to let him go?
“I’m a big fan of this,” he replies with an adorable smile. I’d give up everything for that smile, and it fades way too fast.
“I’m going to find a way,” I say softly, running my fingers along his jaw.
He searches my eyes for a moment and I don’t like the doubt I see there. In me or himself?
My phone buzzes in my pocket like some kind of alarm clock for fantasies.
Wake up! Your sucky situation is waiting! Also, parking lots are bad places for secret rendezvouses!
“Remaining,” I say as I reluctantly straighten from the wall.
“Remaining?”
“The second line of the first verse in ‘Third Last Kiss.’ It should be remaining instead of waiting.”
A slow grin leaks onto his face as he shakes his head in amusement.
“Nice edit,” he says.
“Thanks for helping with the research.”
His laugh earns one more kiss before I check the message on my phone.