Chapter 3 #2
At least, I’m relieved at first.
When Deke tries to sit down beside me, his size barely allows me to occupy six inches’ worth of the seat. As the bus rumbles to life and pulls away from the arena, I find myself turned sideways and crammed up against the window.
Deke curses. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”
I squirm to get comfortable. “It’s not my fault one of the buses broke down.”
“It’s never happened before. You must be bad luck,” Deke says, holding out the bottle of Jack Daniels, offering it to me. “To ward off the evil spirits.”
I push the bottle away. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“Not a drinker?” Deke drawls. “Or not old enough to drink.”
“Plenty of people my age drink, even if they’re not supposed to.”
“Christ, what are you? Twenty?”
I hum in my throat, shifting to find a more comfortable position. I only end up more tightly crammed to the window. “Yes. I’m twenty. Meaning, if I consume alcohol, it’s cheap beer or coconut-flavored rum. I’m drinking for fun, not for ‘survival’ as you put it earlier.”
The liquor sloshes behind me. “Lucky you.”
“Oh, I’m lucky now?”
“You’re sitting next to me, aren’t you?”
“This isn’t sitting. This is entrapment.”
There’s a brief chugging sound behind me that might pass for a laugh.
I’m not looking at Deke, however, so I can’t be sure.
Several seconds tick by in relative silence, apart from the whizz of traffic and conversations taking place among the crew in the rows ahead of us.
Finally, Deke sighs heavily—and without warning, I’m lifted onto his lap.
“What are you doing?” I gasp.
“Get comfortable, June Bug,” he says in a low voice. “We’re going to be here a while.”
My pulse clamors in my ears, my backside resting on the highest part of his thighs, and they’re so thick.
My God, they’re like the marble columns that support the Parthenon.
His breath is on the part of my hair, his hand curled around the neck of the bottle where it rests on the seat beside my left hip.
My spine is straight, otherwise I’d be resting against his robust chest. I resist, though.
Of course I do. I can’t just use Deke Decker as a lounge chair.
“This…I-I don’t think this is appropriate, Mr. Decker,” I stammer, even as my body begs me to nestle back into his heat. His denim thighs and soft, worn-in shirt that smells of pine is so much more inviting than being wedged against the window.
“It might be inappropriate if I had any interest in some girl who's young enough to be my daughter. But I don’t.” He grunts into a long pull from the bottle of Jack, the liquid splashing against the glass beside my left ear. “Sure as hell don’t need that kind of trouble in my life.”
I turn my head slightly, letting him see my mien of disgust. “No one was offering.”
“You’ve got a smart mouth, don’t you?”
“The smartest.”
“Uh-huh.” He shifts beneath me and the sinew in his thighs pops beneath mine, causing an unwanted tingle between my legs. “Like I said. Trouble.”
How many times throughout my life have I fantasized about a scenario like this?
I’m sitting on Deke Decker’s lap on his tour bus.
I have his steely-eyed attention on me. If this was one of my many fantasies, he wouldn’t be taunting me, however, he’d be kissing me long and slow, telling me I taste like sugar.
He’d be tickling me and I’d be giggling, stealing his breath with my unique beauty.
The reality is a lot different than I pictured it.
For one, he reeks of whiskey. Two, he’s an asshole who wants nothing to do with me.
“What’s your story, June Bug?”
When the rumble of his voice permeates my whole body, I realize I’ve leaned back against him, his chest now fused with my spine. “What do you mean?”
He makes an impatient sound. “Where do you live? What’s your plan for the future?” A pause draws itself out, his whiskey breath warming my ear. “Any boyfriends?”
I wet my suddenly dry lips and resist the urge to smile.
Stop. He’s not interested in getting to know me.
He’s just making conversation.
Speak. “I’m living in Nashville right now, attending Vanderbilt. I’m on an academic scholarship, but I teach yoga to pay the rent. I live with two roommates to keep costs down. But also, because I love them. They’re my best friends.”
Another rumble from that barrel chest that I can feel all the way down in the core of my body, my toes curling in my sneakers. “Yoga, huh?”
Why did he choose to focus on that one part of my story? “Uh-huh. How do you think I contorted myself between you and the window,” I say, turning my head and tilting it back, giving him a saucy look. “Flexibility.”
I was only intending to tease him, but the amusement is wiped clean off my face when he settles the whiskey bottle between my legs, the glass widening the gap between my inner thighs.
And when he drags it a couple of inches toward my sex, my most intimate muscles clench in surprised anticipation.
“How about we don’t talk about how flexible you are while you’re sitting on my lap? ”
The shift in discourse has made my thoughts muddled and I struggle to catch up, my breath shallowing. What is happening here? “You said you weren’t interested. Why does it matter?”
An almost inaudible rumble in his chest. “Must be the whiskey asking.”
“Hmm.”
His mouth presses into the back of my hair and my eyes close automatically, heat uncurling like a ribbon of smoke in my tummy. “Well? You got a boyfriend who benefits from that flexibility, or not?”
“No. But I’m reviewing applications.”
“Bet the stack is a mile high,” he mutters, dragging that Jack Daniels bottle all the way to the juncture of my thighs and twisting it in a circle and oh.
Oh my God. When the glass corner of the bottle rubs sideways over the seam of my jeans, shifting the coarse material on top of my clit, I hitch a whimper.
At the same time, the bus lurches while going over a pothole, sending me rocking back in Deke’s lap, my butt pressing right up against his belt buckle.
There is no pretending I don’t feel his colossal erection.