37. Dee
Chapter thirty-seven
Dee
We haven’t talked about it. What any of this means between us. The hottest sex of my life. The easy banter between us. The ease with which we share our small apartment.
Our apartment.
I’m not even sure when we started calling it that, but we do. When Dylan gave me my work schedule for the month, I was annoyed we had to work a New Year’s Eve concert, but it ended up being a great time.
The quickie in the dressing room? Yeah, I don’t mind working the holiday if that’s my reward.
The band’s energy was electric tonight. The crowd was all in.
Champagne toasts, confetti drop, kissing couples everywhere you turned.
But I barely noticed any of it, because when midnight struck, strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulled me close, and before I could manage to turn myself around, Dylan leaned over my shoulder, dropping his lips against mine and taking the most perfect midnight kiss from me.
His palms flexed over my stomach and neck, his tongue dancing with mine, before he pulled away abruptly, leaving me stumbling and grasping the edge of the bar to steady myself while I watched him walk back into the crowd and toward the side stage entrance.
I touch my lips, faintly tasting us from earlier tonight on his tongue.
I want him again.
“That was hot,” Sandy, my favorite regular, yells from the other end of the counter, and her friends all nod in agreement, sipping from the straws of their drinks.
I stumble over to their end of the bar and pour myself a drink, cheersing her. “What should I do about him?” I ask. Dylan didn’t lie; Sandy and her friends may be retired, but they have more energy than I do.
Sandy leans forward, giving a conspiratorial glance at her friends, then yells, “Give him a night he’ll never forget.
One you won’t either.” She winks, then howls with laughter as her girlfriends all clink their glasses together.
“Trust me, I’ve never had a kiss like that and regretted anything that came afterward. ”
“Oh yeah?” I laugh. “Who gave you that kiss?”
Her smile turns wistful. “Ben.” The woman next to her wraps her arm around her and leans against her shoulder, a comforting gesture. “My late husband.”
Oh fuck.
“Sandy. Shit. Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m the worst.” I grip the hem of my shirt, playing with the fabric. “I didn’t mean to—”
She holds up her hand, then reaches for me. I place one palm in hers before she places her other one on top of it. “Please don’t apologize. I loved Ben, and I love talking about him. Thinking about him. Still gives me the butterflies remembering him.”
I smile, partly relieved, partly in awe. What a fucking woman.
“You loved him very much.”
“I loved him with everything I had. It’s the only way to do it.” She shrugs as if it really is that simple. “When you find your match, you go all in. I’m at peace knowing we gave it everything we had. It was a dream while we had each other.”
She squeezes my hand one more time before letting go.
I grab shot glasses for all of us, line them up, and fill each one just shy of the brim. I place them in front of Sandy and her friends, grabbing the last myself.
“To Ben,” I shout over the music, lifting the glass.
Sandy beams at me. A man who can make a woman smile like that…that’s a man I can get behind.
The rest of the night passes in a blur. Dylan checks in at the bar more than he ever has, small touches, reassurances throughout the night that he’s still there.
I’m finishing the last of the dishes when Vicki stuffs my portion of tonight’s tips into my back pocket.
“Nice work, lady.”
“So, I’m getting better?” I ask.
“You’ve surprised even yourself,” she says, with a laugh and a wink.
I pack up my belongings and wave to Vicki as she heads toward the staff parking lot. Our bouncers always wait for her, making sure she gets to her car. I nod to him before he follows her down the hall. I make my way to the offices backstage, knowing I’ll have to drag Dylan away from work.
It’s three thirty in the morning, my feet hurt, and my shoes are sticky. I’m ready for a hot shower and my bed. I put new sheets on my bed today, and there’s nothing like slipping in between clean sheets. I need to get the fuck home.
I climb the few stairs from the pit, then stand center stage. “Dylan,” I yell. “It’s time to go.”
“On my way,” he yells from his office. I blush thinking of the dressing room we violated just a few hours ago.
I’ve had fun partners before, but never like this.
Never someone who surprises me and makes me feel desirable for all that I am.
I don’t have to force confidence, because he hasn’t only seen that side of me.
He’s seen more than my strong moments, and it’s freeing to know that I don’t have to hold it all together in front of him.
I wander around the stage, running my hand over the various pieces of equipment and instruments before reaching the drum set at the back of the stage. I trace the edge of the cymbal Dylan told me is called a hi-hat. I lightly tap my fingernail against the brass finish.
“Did you catch the bug from Emi?” Dylan asks, meeting me on stage, stopping on the other side of the drum set.
“Nah, I think I’ll watch from the audience when you two decide to go on tour and wow the masses.”
He sits and pats his thigh. “Come on. I’ve never known you to shy away from a challenge.”
I raise an eyebrow. “A challenge? I thought you were smarter than that. You know better than to challenge me on anything.”
“I’m feeling braver since I got between your thighs. Like I put myself in the eye of the storm and came out stronger.”
My jaw drops and he laughs, loudly, the sound reverberating off the walls.
Damn, those acoustics. I wish I could say his overconfident teasing was annoying, but my body and I apparently find it sexy because I sit in his lap without a fight.
Warmth spreads over my skin as he slides his palms down my thighs, resting them just above my knees.
“Grab the sticks,” he murmurs in my ear.
“It’s you and me, which means there’s only one stick here. Who’s joining us?” I make a show of looking around, and he pinches my ass and bites my shoulder, sending sensations buzzing along my skin. I gasp. “Careful. Your possessive side is showing.”
He shrugs like he couldn’t care less that he’s showing his hand. “I don’t share.”
“Greedy.”
“You fuckin’ bet. Now grab the sticks. The drumsticks.”
“Bossy too,” I tease as I reach down to grab the drumsticks. “Kinda fits since you’re my boss and all. Which, by the way, should we care about that? You weren’t exactly subtle tonight. Everyone knows we’re…”
“That we’re what?” His brows raise.
I poke his cheek with the drumstick. “You know exactly what I’m saying. You’re my boss.”
“And you’re my landlord.”
“Aren’t there rules?”
“Vicki is technically the bar manager. And I told Ed about us.”
“You did? What’d he say?”
“That I won’t be responsible for your annual performance review.”
“Phew. I can only imagine what would be on there.” His hands trail up and down my thighs.
“Performs well under pressure. Especially when the pressure is here.” He palms me between my thighs, and I lean my head back against his shoulder.
“Takes whatever is given to her with minimal complaint.”
“Now I know you’re lying. I complain a lot.”
“You do. I said minimal. Not none. I figured you were taking it easy on me, considering how much shit I know you can give me on a good day.” His lips tingle against my neck before he kisses me there, trailing more kisses along my collarbone.
His foot stomps on the pedal below and the bass drum reverberates so strongly I feel it in my chest.
“Holy fuck, that scared me.” I laugh.
He leans down, chuckling darkly before whispering, “Hold on then.”
He adjusts our positioning, my legs resting on top of his.
His hands wrap over mine while I hold the drumsticks.
Moving me with him, he slowly starts to play and I can’t help the giggle that tumbles out of me as we play together.
I’m along for the ride as he drives my movements over the different drums and cymbals, realizing for the first time how truly physical this is.
His stomach flexes and contracts at my back, his biceps rubbing along my arms as we reach together and hit in time, a syncopated rhythm.
“That one.” I laugh as he stomps again, the foot pedal at our feet setting off the bass drum again. “That one’s my favorite. I can feel it in my chest.”
“Like thunder, right?” I turn to find Dylan smiling at me, a carefree smile that I know I’m wearing as well.
“Exactly,” I say, caught swimming in his warm brown eyes.
“Any requests?” he asks as he continues to play through me.
“There is literally only one answer to that question.”
“Which is?”
“Shudupe, shudupe, shudupe, shudupe, dupe, dupe,” I shout, flailing my arms around wildly, banging on the drum set with absolutely zero skill. Dylan keeps his hands on mine but lets me lead. “If you don’t play ‘In the Air Tonight’ by Phil Collins, then don’t bother coming home.”
With a smile on his face and his eyes locked on mine, he does exactly what I asked. Playing the exact part of the song I love. And I shriek with excitement and beg him to do it again.
He moves on to my next request and then another, before he interjects one of his own.
“Why does this one feel different from the others?” I ask.
“It’s the backbeat,” he says into my ear, not slowing his movements.
“We hit it on the second and fourth beat like this.” He shows me.
“The focus is on the offbeats. It adds more to the music. It drives it forward. Gives the song depth. Gives it life. Sets the tempo. Makes you want to tap your foot. It makes you want to dance.”
His voice sends shivers down my spine. I’m suddenly aware of every inch of me relaxing into his sturdy hold. The power of his hands on mine, his arms around me. His words strike something deep within me, and I can’t place why it feels so personal. But it does.
He humors me, playing every one of my requests. We mess around for another twenty minutes. Even though it’s late. Even though my feet hurt. Even though my shoes are sticky. We leave together, and I feel lighter than I have in years.
And that night, as I lie in bed, I realize I’m falling. Falling for the man only a few doors away. He’s set the tempo in a steady rhythm. One I never imagined I’d play. And he was right. It makes me want to dance…with him.