Chapter 5
FIVE
June
This is another level of embarrassment.
Beyond any kind of humiliation that I’ve ever experienced in my life.
And I was a weird kid, so I have a lot of embarrassing moments that run through my mind in the middle of the night, refusing to fade. Deke finding my scrapbook will forever be the worst of them. God, the complete and total astonishment on his face.
I will never forget it.
I can feel Deke’s gaze land on me the second he walks into the ritzy hotel lobby, but I resolutely focus on my task and avoid looking at him, as much as possible.
He sits in the waiting area with some of the roadies and musicians, his hat pulled down low.
Trying and failing to blend in. Thankfully, it’s the middle of the night and there aren’t many people in the lobby to harass him for photos or an autograph.
Forcing a smile at the clerk, I check Deke into his penthouse suite—under a code name, of course—and ask them to send room service with a bucket of cold beer and a selection of sandwiches to his room asap.
I arrange to have his luggage taken to the top floor, as well.
And he’s not going to like the next part, but I ask them to include some multivitamins with his room service tray, because I doubt he’s getting the essential nutrients from a steady diet of Jack Daniels.
After I’ve taken care of Deke’s needs, I check into my own room, one floor down from the penthouse. No frills. Just a place to cry in the shower and have a recurring nightmare about tonight until the sun comes up.
“Hey,” says the male hotel clerk, before I can walk away. “Aren’t you the girl who sang on stage with Deke Decker tonight? June Bug, right?”
“Oh, um…yes,” I sputter, fidgeting with my wallet. “I was just filling in.”
“You were amazing.” He hesitates, before leaning toward me with his forearm on the counter. “Hey, you wouldn’t be interesting in grabbing a drink in a while, would you? My shift ends in an hour—”
“We all set, June Bug?” Deke says, coming up behind me. Without giving me a chance to respond, he settles a big hand on my hip and squeezes, his lips grazing my temple. “I’m dying to hit the sheets.”
“Deke Decker,” sputters the clerk, rocking back on his heels. “Holy shit. I should have realized it was you that reserved the penthouse—”
“Is my girl done here?” Deke interrupts.
The young man’s mouth snaps shut, his shoulders slumping with disappointment. “Yes, sir.”
“Great.” The singer’s smile is icy. “Have that drink with someone else.”
“Yes, sir.”
Deke steers me away from the counter before I’ve fully registered what happened, his hand firm on the small of my back.
Did Deke just mark me as his territory to that hotel clerk?
Why would he do that? We might have kissed on the bus—and it might have been the most transcendent moment of my entire twenty years on earth—but it meant nothing to him.
To Deke, I’m just another girl in a sea of girls.
You’ll need to be brave when I fold you in half and use you like just another easy cum dump tonight.
“Why did you do that?” I hiss at Deke.
“Do what?” he drawls. “Save you from that boring punk?”
“I didn’t ask for your help.” We stop in the middle of the lobby, our conversation drowned out by the boisterous crew.
One of the roadies has been bringing in the luggage from the undercarriage of the tour bus.
I grab the handle of mine now, prepared to make a quick exit.
“Whatever.” I hand him a tiny booklet. “Here is the key to the penthouse. They’ll be bringing up your luggage and dinner shortly. Good night.”
I’m surprised when Deke matches my stride to the elevator. “You’re telling me you wanted to have a drink with that kid?”
“I hadn’t decided yet.”
Deke scoffs. “You’re a million fucking miles out of his league.”
“At least he didn’t call me a cum dump.” I breeze into an open elevator and send Deke a tight smile. “He had that going for him, didn’t he?”
The elevator begins to close, but he slams his hand into the metal door, halting its progress.
He hangs his head a moment, the brim of his cowboy hay obscuring his face.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” When he looks up again, those blue eyes are guarded, but…
sincere. “I was an asshole, June Bug. I’m always an asshole. ”
“I noticed. Can you let the elevator close now?” With a grunt, he steps into the car beside me, allowing the ride to begin. “I didn’t mean with you in it.”
He hits the button for the penthouse. “Come to my room. We’re going to talk.”
“About what?”
“The scrapbook.”
My face heats so rapidly, I know my cheeks are probably crimson. “What scrapbook? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, that’s the way you’re going to play this? Denial?”
I keep my eyes on the floor numbers. Almost to my floor. “Yup.”
The elevator dings, signaling my stop.
When the doors open, I’m only allowed to take a single step before Deke is blocking my exit, his mountainous frame backing me into the car.
My back presses against the cool steel of the wall, Deke’s body stopping just short of touching mine.
But he’s close enough to feel his heat on my breasts and thighs.
Close enough that his breath stirs the hair on the crown of my head.
“We’re having a talk, you and me,” Deke says in a low voice. “The end.”
“Fine,” I say through my teeth.
The door opens again behind Deke. His attention dips to my mouth, his tongue touching the corner of his lips, blue eyes considering. I’m appalled by the sudden racing of my heart. Is he going to kiss me again? Now? In the elevator?
Would I let him, even after what he said?
I’ll never know, I guess, because he takes the handle of my suitcase and wheels it off the elevator.
I follow cautiously, watching him unlock the grand double doors that lead to the penthouse suite.
He doffs his hat and gestures with it for me to precede him through the door.
Into the lamplight I go, unable to marvel over the impressive interior.
Unable to do anything but try and control my pounding pulse.
The door snicks shut.
Silence descends.
I set my purse down just inside the entrance.
“There’s no need to talk abo—” Deke’s grasps me around the waist and swings me up onto a round marble table that sits in the center of the entryway.
My denim clad butt lands with a whap, and I stare up at the country music legend in disbelief.
In reproof. “How dare you manhandle me like that.”
“You want to slap me again? Go ahead. Get it out of your system.”
“God, you are such a jerk.”
“That is long established.” He plants his hands on either side of my hips, leaning in and examining my face, the way someone looks at an ice cream cone, deciding where to lick first. “When did you start that scrapbook?”
I squeeze my eyes closed. “Please don’t make me talk about this.”
“When, June Bug?”
I’m starting to think I’m so humiliated that it can’t get any worse. If so, then I don’t really have anything to lose, do I? I blow out a breath. “I was maybe…ten?”
“Jesus.”
“You asked!” I wet my lips, distracted briefly when he makes a rough sound, his gaze tracking the movement of my tongue. “I, um…finished it around my nineteenth birthday.”
His exhale is rocky. “You’ve been a fan all that time?”
“‘Fan’ might not be the right word,” I say, against my better judgment.
I am not going down this road, am I? This very revealing road. A road I wouldn’t even go down with a therapist, let alone the subject of my long-held and very unique infatuation.
“What do you mean?” Deke prompts me.
There’s something about the darkness of the penthouse, the lights glittering in the distance.
His size and presence, those soulful eyes holding mine.
Something insulated and dreamy. I find myself wanting to relinquish my secrets.
“It’s kind of complicated, but…” I swallow, allowing my mind to drift back to the past. “My father left when I was little. I didn’t have a dad growing up and…
when I saw you on television, so big and charismatic and male, you sort of became… a father figure to me.”
Deke raises a single eyebrow. Oh, he wasn’t expecting that.
Might as well keep going. You’ve already come this far.
Plus, he’s seen the scrapbook. He knows my shame.
“But when I got older and my body started to change around the beginning of high school…” I drop my voice to a whisper.
“I started to find you attractive, too. You were my father figure, but I dreamed about you…touching me, too. It was confusing. That fact that your nickname is Daddy really didn’t help. ”
“Sure didn’t.” He laughs without humor, his attention straying to my breasts, lines of strain appearing around the edges of his mouth. “Now, here you are. Twenty. And I’ve ruined any positive notion you ever had of me.”
“Afraid so,” I lie.
Because I might think he’s a terrible ogre now, but my body still thrills to his nearness.
His powerful hips are wedged between my knees right now and his body has been slowly curving over mine during my confession, forcing me to lean back.
It’s a struggle not to open my thighs wider, so I can feel the unholy press of his arousal against the seam of my jeans.
“I don’t usually give a fuck what anyone thinks about me, June Bug,” Deke rasps, dropping his mouth close to mine, his breath moistening my lips.
“For some reason, that ain’t the case with you. ”
My lowest tummy muscles curl into knots. “You care what I think about you?”
His brows draw together. “Believe me, I’m not thrilled about that.”
I subdue a smile in the wake of his growl. “What’s your plan to change my perception of you?”
His right hand lifts from the table and delves into my hair, fisting the strands and tilting my head back with just enough force to make me gasp. “Oh, I’ve got a plan, all right,” he mutters, dragging his open mouth up the slope of my throat. “A terrible one.”
The friction of Deke’s lips on my skin causes my nipples to pebble painfully, my hips to shift anxiously on the smooth marble table. “W-what is it?”
He draws back with an intense expression, like he wants to stop himself from going any further but can’t, his barrel chest puffing up and down, fingers flexing in my hair.
“I’m going to give you the first time you dreamed about with me.
” He lifts me off the table and carries me through the glitzy penthouse, my thighs cinched around his waist. “I’m giving it to you the way you deserve it. ”