Chapter 4
Andi
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I can’t remember the last time I kissed a Galway man. But with the taste of him still on my mouth, the feel of his big hands still on my waist, I can’t make myself feel entirely sorry. I can’t find the resolve to not do it again.
Because, dammit, the man fits all my requirements. Every last one. I’d become very aware of that when we were pressed together in the hallway, consuming each other’s souls. Every. Damn. One.
But I’m not a complete idiot so I shout down my internal clamorings as I do a lightning fix of my makeup, even as I ache in all the appropriate places. Shout them down again as I retake the stage, carefully not looking at the teachers’ table.
Even if I wanted to follow up on that kiss with more heart-pounding nonsense with him, how would I go about it? I’m not taking a stranger home with me. The cottage is my safe spot. My refuge from the rest of the world.
But lord I need and want a man tonight. This particular man. Big, strong, passionate, and oh-so-gentle… That’s my unicorn—an irresistible combination I wasn’t sure really existed in a living man. Jesus. I’d wanted to wrap my legs around him and go at it against the wall in that alcove, risk be damned.
For him to be here on this night of all nights, as if I’d placed an order for him… Passing up this opportunity would be like stamping “return to sender” on a gift-wrapped package from God.
But if I were going to break my no-Galway-guys rule, where would we even go? Even if I were willing to take him to the cottage, Gram would haunt my ass for doing something so stupid.
He’s not from around here, that much I know, so he probably doesn’t have a place of his own nearby. I couldn’t go with him to the house of whoever he’s visiting, especially if it’s Steve Jackson. And no way could I get through a hotel lobby without someone seeing me. Dressing up every now and then is pushing it. Galway doesn’t need to be speculating about my sex life too.
I don’t even know if he drove himself, so even car sex is out. And dammit, I’m not in high school anymore, anyway, even if he did have a vehicle big enough for the two of us to get up to something interesting.
There are so many reasons why this urge to spend the night with him is foolish. But still I think about it, all the way through “Chain of Fools” and “Damn Your Eyes” and Lenny’s rendition of a Stevie Ray Vaughan song and James channeling Muddy Waters.
I wait for Snack to tell Steve Jackson about our kiss—because of course he will; he’s a guy and it was obvious earlier that Steve was teasing him about watching me—but I don’t see them talking much, at least not long enough for that story. And Steve isn’t leering, isn’t looking at me any different than usual, and Snack isn’t doing anything gross or obvious. He’s just watching and listening to us play, and damn, suddenly I’m wondering why I’d assumed he wasn’t real bright, because now that light in his eyes looks an awful lot like curiosity. Like he’s sitting there sipping his beer and listening and…thinking.
Goddammit, this is why I can’t have nice things. I can’t have a thinking man looking at me when I’m trying to talk myself out of sleeping with him.
And then, halfway through the second set, the teachers’ table settles up with their server. They get up to leave, saluting Lenny and the guys on the way out. All except Snack, who waves them off, tugs one of their little tables closer to the wall and stays behind, his chair tilted back on two legs, his eyes still on me, still burning with interest.
And low in my belly I feel that tug again.
Common sense abandons me, replaced by thoughts of how I might actually be able to do this safely.
He was respectful of my wishes in that alcove. Steve Jackson knows him, so he’s probably not a serial killer. Even if he has violent tendencies, he’d have to know he wouldn’t get away with it. Lenny and the band know Steve. I could point Snack out to Lenny and make sure he knows Lenny sees him. That should make things safer physically.
I sing and think and watch him watching me, and every part of my body reacts to him.
Foolish or not, I’m going to see if it’s doable.
***
Kevin
Never done anything remotely like this before, but when the rest of my group leaves halfway through the second set, I decide to stick around.
Steve laughs at me. “Man, you got it bad. I’m telling ya, you’re wasting your time. And you’re gonna be hurtin’ in a few hours when the fall teams show up to meet Trainer Farm Boy.”
He’s probably right. And he’s probably not the only one who will laugh at me tonight. But I wave him off anyway. “Guess that’ll teach me, won’t it?”
Then I sit by myself, tipped back to the wall, and I memorize everything about Andrea, from the curve of her cheek to the shape of her dark eyes to the length of her bare curvy legs, and I listen to the music and feel her voice like a cat’s purr up my spine and down to my balls.
I don’t know what I’m hoping for. Never hooked up with a stranger before, so I don’t know how those start. Not sure what she’s thinking after our kiss. But I want more of her, whatever shape “more” takes. Coffee? Another kiss? Sex up against a wall somewhere? I’m a yes, whatever.
After the second set, she pauses by my table and says, her voice husky, “Your friends abandoned you. You gonna stick around?” and I’m so overcome by the sight and scent and warmth of her so close to me and the possible implications of her question that all I can say is, “Yeah.” And then I really do feel like somebody who should answer to the name Farm Boy.
But then she says, with a tiny frown, “They didn’t leave you without a place to stay, did they?”
I don’t know why she’s asking and I’m afraid to hope. “No, I’ve got my own place.” My words come out careful. Let her make what she will of them.
“That’s good,” she says, and moves on to talk to somebody at another table, leaving me wondering if I’m losing my mind.
But no way am I leaving without seeing what happens, so I settle in for another set, which Andrea closes with the most amazing, gutsy rendition of a song I have ever heard. A faithless woman singing to the lover she knows she’s not good enough for, breaking her own heart even as she’s cheating. And damn, there’s not a whisper of sound or a dry eye in the place as her voice fills the room, rising with the force of four people, tearing our hearts out, nothing moving anywhere but ghosts of past heartbreaks and the tremor of red fringe.
The song ends and there’s a silence just long enough for us all to start breathing again, and then the bar explodes with sound: whistles and whoops and cheers. The bass player James shakes his head at Andrea and wipes imaginary sweat from his brow. The guitarist takes hold of her hand and raises it in a “the winner!” gesture. Lenny the keyboardist says into the mic, “First time we’ve done that one for a crowd. I guess it’s a keeper…” and the drummer just sits back and grins. Andrea’s smile lights up the room and it’s a while before the noise dies down.
I’m leaning forward at the edge of my chair—when did that happen?—when Andrea goes up on tiptoe to whisper something in Lenny’s ear. He turns and gives me a long, hard look I recognize as a warning, and my heart pauses in its rhythm. Before I can figure out what that’s about, the band takes a bow. Then Andrea’s down off the stage asking me to meet her in a few minutes at Lenny’s van in the alley behind the bar.
And I may be a vanilla farm boy from Nebraska, but I throw down money for my drinks and tip so fast you’d think I do this kind of thing every night. No way am I missing a chance to spend a little more time with this woman.
And when I meet her back there and she asks if I drove and if I’d like to go somewhere more private, I say yes. Oh, hell yes. Yes, please. Thank you, God, yes.
***
The first thing she says after I start my car is, “You’re single, right? There’s nobody who would be hurt by you being with me, right?”
When I assure her I’m single, the next thing out of her pretty mouth is, “Do you have condoms?” She’s angled herself toward me slightly, her back partly against her door, one smooth knee near where my hand rests on the gearshift.
Well, okay then. That clears up my uncertainty about her intentions. We are not going for coffee. “I–I’ll stop for some.” I don’t know whether to be excited or disappointed that she doesn’t want to get to know me better first. Well, okay, part of me is definitely, hugely excited.
We can get to know each other later.
I find a place that’s open twenty-four hours. “Do you want to come in and choose what kind?”
She smiles faintly, her eyes glowing. “Surprise me.”
I buy two different types in case she really does have a preference.
Back in the car, as I put on my signal to pull out of the lot, I glance over at her. “I was surprised you asked me to… I heard you don’t ever do this.”
Her face is beautiful even in uneven light. Even expressionless. “Do this?”
“Go home with anybody.”
“Hmm.” A tiny furrow appears between her dark brows. “Guess I was just never tempted before.” She doesn’t offer any further explanation.
So many things that could mean.
My apartment complex isn’t fancy but it’s decent. Well kept, and near the high school. She’s out of the car before I can get to her door to open it.
My hand hovers at the small of her back as we head up to the second floor. I can feel the heat of her without even touching her.
The apartment’s small but I keep it pretty tidy, thank god, except for a few partly unpacked boxes along one wall in the dining area. Andrea gazes down at all the University of Nebraska memorabilia and then grins at me.
“Yeah.” I scratch the back of my head. “My family gave me every Nebraska product known to humankind as a going-away gift. Guess they were afraid I’d forget where I came from.”
“Haven’t had time to unpack?” Her eyes crinkle wonderfully at the corners when she smiles.
“Nah, that’s not the problem… Turns out I hate the color red. I’ve never said that out loud before. Lightning would strike me if I said it in Nebraska.” I toss my wallet and keys and the condom bag onto the counter that separates the kitchen from the dining area. “Are you thirsty? Hungry?”
“I’d love water.” Her voice has gone from husky to raspy over the evening.
She follows me into the kitchen and I pour her a glass of cool water from the fridge. Her throat, when she drinks, is so smooth and lovely my own mouth goes dry. When she goes to put the glass in the sink, I take it from her and drink a few swallows myself.
Then I’m not sure what to do. Talk? Reach for her? Head for another room? Which other room?
She watches me, her dark eyes warm, as I shove my not-quite-shaking hands in my jeans pockets and lean back against the counter.
“So,” I say, like an inexperienced idiot. I’ve had experience, just not… this experience. Nothing that would prepare me for an over-the-top sexy, gorgeous, talented stranger-woman asking to come home with me. And if I’ve got condoms.
“So.” She’s not smiling now. I can’t read her expression.
Is she having second thoughts? Shit. But okay. “There’s no pressure, you know? We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” I keep my voice soft, reassuring.
“Oh god.” She drops her head back, giving me a whiff of her sweet shampoo and another view of her gorgeous throat. “Did I pressure you into this? I was really wanting…but it’s okay. I can go.”
That surprises a laugh out of me. Suddenly we’re just two people here.
“Andrea.” I reach out and trace a fingertip down her bare arm. Watch goose bumps form there. When she shivers, I feel it deep in my own gut. “I absolutely don’t want you to go. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay with a different decision than your usual.”
Her smile blooms. She takes half a step closer. Rests a hand on my arm. “Tonight I need something different than my usual. So I’m really hoping you’re okay with providing that.” A tiny dimple appears in her right cheek. “I’m hoping you’ll provide it really enthusiastically.”
I cup her bare elbow. “I don’t know if I can put into words just how enthusiastic I am.” The proof is right here, if she’d just look down.
Might as well be honest. “I’ve never brought home anybody I wasn’t already dating. I’m not sure what—how—”
She steps closer. Puts her purse on the counter beside my keys. “What if… maybe if we recreate what we were doing at Lindon’s? That was…nice.”
“Okay.” The scent of her makes me dizzy. “Do you want to crash into me like a wrecking ball again?”
She laughs. “You poor dainty man.” She moves into me, placing one fingertip on my shirt. “Based on this lip gloss, I must have had my mouth right here.” She presses her finger and then her mouth to my pec, leaving a full perfect puckered-lips print over the older smudged one I’d tried to wipe off.
My breathing stutters, just as it had at Lindon’s. “I am never washing this shirt again.” I clear my throat. Raise my hands to her sides. “I remember holding you…like this. And then I’m pretty sure you overpowered my dainty self and made me kiss you like this.”
Her dark eyes shine and her arms come up around my neck as I lower my mouth to hers.