Chapter 20
WAYLON
I’m not too proud to admit that I can be a pretty jealous guy sometimes. I’m not saying I hate that about myself, but I sure don’t like it. Like now. I’m jealous as hell. Who the fuck is Steve, and where the fuck did he come from?
I watch from a distance as Lyric sways her hips to the music. Steve’s hand is drifting over her waist, but I gotta tell ya, if it dips any fucking lower, I might accidentally break his fucking hand.
We all have faults, okay? We all have imperfections and things we wish we could change.
But jealousy is not high on that list for me.
I think a little jealousy is good for a relationship.
I know I want a jealous woman. That’s a fact.
When I settle down, I want a wife who wants to mark her territory.
If it was socially appropriate, we’d pee on each other’s legs in public just so everyone knew we belonged to each other.
Except there’s one fatal flaw in all this. Lyric isn’t my girl. We aren’t in a relationship. So my right to be envious is a gray area. I don’t have a right, not really. But I seem to recall being tongue deep in her pussy a couple nights ago, and that should count for something. Right?
The song ends and I watch Steve lean in to hug Lyric.
Her movements seem stiff from my point of view.
She’s not relaxed with him. I’ve seen her body relaxed.
I’ve seen it twisting and writhing in pleasure.
I’ve seen her let go, knowing she could trust me to hold on to her. But that’s not what I see with Steve.
“You okay, man?” Killian asks from behind me.
“What? Yeah, why?” I turn toward him and take a sip of my drink. Damn, I wish that was spiked.
“Because you’ve been staring at her for four full minutes. The entire length of the song. And you’re fighting the urge to look right now.”
“Shut up,” I scoff, fully aware that my eyes keep wondering to the edge of my periphery as I wait to see if she returns to the table. But thirty more seconds go by and nothing. Which means she’s wandered off somewhere with Steve. And I don’t like that.
“What am I even supposed to do about it?” I blurt out the question at Killian and flick the brim of my hat.
“Uh, what exactly are we talking about?”
“Lyric says she doesn’t want to sleep together anymore. And that shouldn’t bother me, but it does.” I take another sip of my soda and flop back against my chair, finally allowing myself to search the crowds for her familiar face. But I don’t see her anywhere.
“Did she say why?”
I shake my head but say nothing, still searching here and there in the drones of people passing by.
“So she breaks things off with you… but she’s out tonight dancing with someone else. Maybe she’s looking for a connection?” Killian says, shrugging.
“What the hell do you mean?” The features on my face twist in annoyance. “We had a connection. We’re great friends. The sex is amazing. What else is there?”
“Well. There’s romantic connection. You know, like love? Something… more.”
“Ah, fuck me.” I let out the longest sigh. “I don’t think so. Not Lyric. And even if it was, why? Why can’t what we had be enough?” I remove my hat and set it on the table in front of me, raking one hand through my hair as I huff my frustration.
Killian doesn’t say anything right away, but he looks like he’s formulating something, so I let the pause run its course.
After a long minute, he leans forward over the table toward me, rubbing his hands together.
“Let me ask you a couple of serious questions, okay? Can you just tolerate talking about your feelings for like, three minutes?”
I roll my eyes all the same but gesture for him to continue, sweeping my hand through the air like I’m in a hurry. And I am. I’m in a hurry to get this three minutes over.
“You’re a good time, man. Life of the party sometimes. Always with a smile, always enjoying life.”
“I don’t hear a question.”
“What happens when the good time is over?”
“Who says it has to be over?”
“I’m saying at the end of the night, after the last call, after we all go home, who is there? Who is there for you in the dark?” he asks, then takes a sip of his beer.
I shake my head. “No one, I guess. It’s just me and Tater.”
“But is that enough? I know Tater is your boy and he’s great. But life is long and someone should bear witness to yours. Both the extraordinary and the ordinary.”
Killian pauses, taking another swig from his bottle.
I don’t say anything. Instead, I turn his words over in my mind as I watch the condensation slide down the glass of the water I brought back to the table for Lyric. Which she didn’t drink. And the ice is starting to melt.
“The point is, even if you’re not ready for it, I think Lyric is.
I think she’s just seen her best friend, who’s a little younger than her, get engaged, and I think she’s realizing she’s ready to let someone in for the long haul,” he says, shrugging.
“That’s just my two cents. But what do I know?
I’m just some dumb guy who has a thing for his forbidden neighbor. ”
Maybe he’s right. Maybe she just changed. It’s entirely possible she’s starting to want things I’m not offering. If I know anything at all, it’s that Lyric deserves to have whatever she wants. Who am I to stand in the way?
That all sounds really great until I remember that I’m sitting here stewing in a cauldron of jealousy wholly unlike anything I’ve experienced before.
I wasn’t even this bent out of shape when my ex from several years ago told me she was leaving me for her best guy friend.
I hated him the entire time we dated. Both of them swore to me nothing was going on.
And yet, they just suddenly realized they were in love.
The memory alone makes me want to roll my eyes so hard I fall right out of my chair.
The emotions back then stung of jealousy but were overshadowed by validation.
“I know it’s not going to be right now, but I also hope it’s not too late when you realize you want those things, too,” Killian says. “And I really hope it’s not too late when you realize Lyric means more to you than you’re willing to admit to even yourself right now.”
He grabs his empty beer bottle and tilts it toward me before standing. His knuckles hit the tabletop and he’s off for a refill. Killian weaves through the crowd until I can’t see him anymore.
What does he know? He’s been pining through his peephole for a year. A classic case of boy sees girl, says nothing, and then it’s too late. Perhaps he should take his own advice when it comes to not waiting. Or maybe that’s why he’s giving it to me now in the first place.
I care for Lyric, obviously. She’s my friend now.
We’ve gotten close since she moved in. We talk all the time, hang out, laugh a lot.
I think that’s what makes the sex so fucking good.
Ah, fuck. Okay, so maybe I like her a little.
But she’s a likable girl. I mean, hell, last year I knew I liked her.
That’s why I backed off. I didn’t want to lead her on.
It was the right thing to do. Wasn’t it?
Before I can think about it, I’m standing so I can better scan the crowd and find her. I start to move toward the bar, scanning every face for hers. I look back at the dance floor to see if Steve convinced her to go for round two, but they’re not there either.
My heart starts to race a bit, because predators are real and if something were to happen to her or Darcy or any of my friends while I’m literally here with them, I would not be okay with myself.
I have the privilege to walk through life less afraid, simply because I’m a man.
And in all areas of life, if you’re not using the privileges you’re given to help protect others in these everyday situations, how do you live with yourself?
Some distance away toward the corner opposite of our table, I catch sight of Steve’s face.
He’s laughing at something the guy standing next to him said, and even from this far away, I can tell his laugh is obnoxious.
But I don’t have time to care, because the one person I’m looking for is not standing around him.
The pace of my heart quickens as I become a little more frantic. On the one hand, it’s a relief not to see her enjoying Steve’s company. On the other hand, I have no fucking idea where she is.
I head back to the hallway that leads to the bathrooms. When I round the corner, my shoulders fall with relief. There she is. Standing outside the women’s bathroom, arms folded across herself, not looking like she’s having a good time.
“Hey, darlin’.” I say it just like I’ve said it a thousand times before.
Her head snaps toward me, eyes narrowing.
“Don’t give me that syrupy southern charm, butthead,” she says.
Her head falls back against the wall as she looks away. Phew, we are icy tonight.
“What’s wrong?” I slowly step toward her, careful not to make her feel like I’m crowding her.
“Nothing,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “Just needed somewhere to think.”
Someone walks out of the men’s room, passing between us. I can hear several women laughing through the walls from inside the women’s restroom. This doesn’t exactly come across as the best place for a think session.
I clock a door across from the bathrooms labeled storage. “Come on,” I say, testing the knob to see if it’s unlocked. I push the door open and nod my head for her to step inside.
There’s reluctance written all over her expression and even in her body language. “Or not. I just thought it would be a little better for the thinking you need to do compared to out here.”
Lyric’s arms drop as she huffs and steps into the small storage room.
On one wall, there’s a shelf of toilet paper, towels, bags of straws, and napkins.
In the corner, there are cleaning supplies and a mop bucket.
The other wall is stacks of unmarked boxes.
The only light is coming from a single yellow bulb hanging in the middle of the ceiling.
I close the door behind us and turn to find her pacing in a small circle. Amused, I just watch her for a minute. She looks lost in whatever she’s thinking about. Her brows are furrowed into a deep V, her expression dark and serious. And there’s a hint of frustration.
“How can I help?”
“Stop talking for like three seconds,” she says.
“I literally haven’t said anything for a full minute.” I’m careful not to laugh, but I don’t think I can wipe the grin from my face if I tried.
“Yes, but your presence is loud,” she says. “Even when you’re not talking, even when you’re all the way across the room. It’s loud as fuck in here.” She presses her fingertips to her temple.
I don’t say anything right away because I don’t know what to say. “Do you want me to go?”
“No… yes. I mean, no.”
“Then what do you want?”
She’s still pacing the small space, switching directions every couple of steps. Her hands are fisted at her sides, flexing with each turn.
“Steve invited me back to his place.” Her shoulders fall, like she’s relieved to have said it out loud. Like it was the thing weighing on her.
“Do you want to go?” I ask the question I’m not sure I want the answer to.
Lyric stops pacing and turns to face me.
My eyes travel down the front of her. The leather top thing she’s wearing is so sexy.
The deep V shows off the tattoo she has on her sternum.
All her leg tattoos are on display through the wide fishnet pattern of her stockings. The skirt is perfection on her hips.
“I want to be wanted, Waylon,” she says, voice small and distant.
There’s a rumbling inside my chest, a growling urge to declare that I want her and it scares me. If I say it out loud, there’s no going back.
I take two measured steps and slowly position myself in front of her. Toe to toe, she’s not making eye contact with me. She’s biting her bottom lip and staring at my chest.
“Lyric,” I whisper. “You are wanted. You could have any man in this bar.” I swallow hard and reach out, wrapping my hand around her waist. The pad of my thumb presses against the bare sliver of skin above her skirt. “But I’m asking you to come home with me instead.”
She doesn’t say anything, just softly shakes her head and pinches her eyes closed.
I lower my mouth to the hollow of her ear. “Do you want me to beg, Lyric?”
“Yes,” she says, pushing against my chest. Our eyes lock as she creates a little space between us.
There’s a challenge in her expression—one I can’t ignore. It’s one I can’t back down from.
I kneel—one knee, then the other—slowly.
My left hand grips around her leg, just above her knee.
My right hand grazes the fabric of her skirt.
I lean forward and press my face against her lap, inhaling her scent.
My hands trail to her ass, caressing her skin along the path.
I grip her tightly, digging my fingertips into her flesh.
I bury my face against her pussy through the layers of fabric in my way and listen to her breath hitch as she lurches forward.
Lyric spreads her legs to better balance herself against my weight. She runs her fingers through my hair and my shoulders relax.
I pull my face back and lift the front of her skirt. “Mmm.” I groan at the sight of her dark red lace panties caged behind these stockings. I hook my fingers into the delicate fabric and pull them over, like a stage curtain on opening night.
My tongue darts from my mouth, wetting my lips as I stare at her perfect pink flesh.
I look up into her eyes. “Lyric.” I whisper as I trail my fingertips against her clit.
“Let me make you feel good.” I slide my fingers into her, caressing and cupping her pussy.
“Please, darlin’. I can make you feel so fucking good.
” I push deeper inside her with my middle and ring finger. “Lyric,” I whisper again.
She caresses my cheek, then runs her fingertips over my parted lips before pressing two inside.
“Suck,” she commands.
I swirl my tongue around her fingers, then suck them into my mouth hard. I push my fingers further into her slick pussy. She’s so wet and I’m so thirsty.
“Waylon,” she says, gasping. “Take me home.”