Page 94 of Down Beat
“What?” He graces me with a cheeky smile before leaning in to sweep his lips over mine.
I love it, I really do. But we literally moved from twenty-first century pen pals—keeping in touch via Messenger—to… well, whatever this is in the last twenty-four hours.
“Can we just.…” I slide out from beneath him and roll to my side so that we’re face-to-face. “Let’s get settled, get you to rehearsal, and then we can.…” I wave my hand between us for lack of anything better to say.
His face falls, lines pinching his brow. “Sorry. I guess I got carried away.” He slides off the bed and heads toward the bathroom. “I should get changed before we head out.”
My mouth waters when he reaches over his head with one hand and then tugs his T-shirt off. The material hits the floor in a heap, while my resolve to let this develop at a more sensible pace is seriously tested. Who the fuck am I kidding? If I don’t get to jump his bones by the end of this stint, I’m going to be seriously disappointed in myself and disillusioned in his prowess as a rock star.
Still, there’s a time and a place, and the thirty minutes we have to get ready before heading out hardly seems like enough time to start that kind of relationship off in the right way. I don’t want forever from him, but I sure as shit want more than a fleeting tap and go.
The water switches on in the bathroom while I stare at the ceiling and groan. I catch the clink of his belt before his arm appears in the doorway, jeans in hand, and he flicks them in the general direction of his T-shirt. The boxers come next.
Fucking save me.
“You’re being a tease,” I whine as I catch a glimpse of his naked butt in the mirror when he steps in the shower.
“I’m being an open book, kitty,” he calls back. “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
An open book. The goddamn thing isn’t written in English, I can tell you that much. Does his non-aversion to being naked around me mean he isn’t ashamed of his body? Or does he want me to join him?
I don’t need a shower. Nope. But I do need something. Relief. And not the sort I can get here when I didn’t pack that.
Shit.
“Come on in,” he sings out in a Southern accent. “The water’s just fine.”
I slide off the bed with a moan, my body alive at the anticipation of what I’ll find beyond that open door.
Pity I’ll never know.