“Okay.” She pulls me tighter against her and remains silent, leaving me to wonder what’s going on in her head. I’m about to be daring and ask her, but then she says, “Man, I’m so going to date a drummer one day.”
Okay, maybe I don’t want to know what’s going on in her head.
“You say that now, but next week it’ll be the guy from Danny’s Stop and Go,” I tease. “Then it’ll be the quarterback.”
She peers over her shoulder at me, the florescent lighting reflecting in her green eyes. “Are you saying I’m flaky?” Her brow arches, challenging me.
“You do change your mind a lot.”
“That’s because there’s too many opportunities roaming around in the world. It’s hard to focus on just one.” She rotates back around toward the stage and raises her voice as the drummer starts bashing on the symbols. “You know what we should do!” she shouts as the crowd goes wild. “We should join a band! There’s these two guys from school, Nolan and Sage, who are looking!”
“I’m not that great at the guitar yet!” I holler as I get bumped from every angle. Breathe. Just breathe. “And what about your issue with stage fright?”
“I’m going to conquer that fear one day!” She lifts her arms in the air and screams as the singer belts sultry lyrics through the microphone. “And you rock at the guitar! It’s mad crazy how fast you caught on in just a month’s time!”
“Ethan’s a good teacher!” I shout, but my voice gets swallowed up by the screams, the singing, the bass, the entire scene of being a rock star.
Lyric gets lost in the rhythm, rocking and bobbing her head. Our bodies are perfectly aligned so every time she sways her hips, her ass rubs against my cock. The sensation is so intense that by the third song, I almost consider bailing.
But the way she moves.
Is breathtaking.
Consuming.
She owns me.
Makes me feel
so alive.
So petrified.
I can’t breathe.
Dizzy.
Spinning out of control.
Reckless and wild.
I want.
Want. Want.
Something so
terrifying.
In the middle of my stream of thoughts, Lyric twirls around. Her eyes are large and glazed over, high on the music. I open my mouth to ask her what’s up, but she glides her palms up my chest then wraps her arms around my neck. My muscles wind tight as she presses her breasts against me. Then, she stands on her tiptoes and places her lips against my ear.
“Strip me bare, peel me apart, layer by layer, steal my heart,” she sings the lyrics of the song playing. Her voice is soft, not to her full potential, yet it’s the most incredible sound that’s ever graced my ears. I can only imagine what it would sound like if she really sang—striking enough to stop my heart probably. “Let me stand naked in front of you, and pour my secrets out. Unravel me slowly, savoring each part.” She rolls her body against mine and her fingers trace the nape of my neck. “Then let me do the same thing to you. Strip you apart.”
I start to move with her, even though I have no clue what I’m doing. No fucking idea. All I know is I’m left wanting, wanting, wanting.
Wanting her.
Wanting more.
But I’m too afraid to take it.
Chapter 7
Lyric
I’m a sporadic person. That’s been a given since I first learned how to talk. So when I declare my love for someone, it shouldn’t be that big of a surprise. Yet, it always seems to be with everyone. My parents especially. Whenever I proclaim my love for someone new, they seem shocked, like they half expected me to say someone else.
Ayden should know better by now, though, since he understands my little quirks better than anyone.
“I think I’m in love,” I announce to him as I stroll into his bedroom.
He’s situated on the bed, fiddling with the guitar Ethan bought him for his birthday a few months ago. After a little bit of practice, he’s gotten pretty good at it, enough that he joined a band per my suggestion, and now he’s living out my lifelong dream. But it’s my own damn fault for letting my fear control me.
He glances up from his guitar as I shut the door, his fingers continuing to pluck the strings. “Who is it this time? The drummer from that concert?” He seems more annoyed than usual.
Rolling up the paper I brought over with me, I narrow my eyes at him as I flop down onto the mattress on my stomach. “No, not him. And what do you mean ‘this time’?” I prop up on my elbows as the sunlight hits my face through the window. “Are you mocking me, Ayden Gregory, about my frequency in love declarations?”
He rolls his eyes, lays the guitar aside on the mattress, and brushes strands of his black hair out of his eyes as he relaxes back on the bed. “This is the third time in the last four months you’ve barged into my room and said the exact same thing to me.” I pout out my lip, and he sighs, gathering a guitar pick from the pillow. “Fine, who are you in love with?” He fiddles around with the pick, sketching the tip up and down the scars on the back of his hand.
I still don’t know where the scars came from. I want to ask him, but any time I even mention Ayden’s life before the Gregorys, he gets squeamish, which makes me question how he’s going to handle the papers I brought over with me. I have to tell him, though. After spending the last few months searching for his brother, I finally stumbled across something, not about his brother, but about his past.
I kneel up on the bed in front of him. “It’s William Stephington.”
His face squishes in disgust. “Ew, that jock, steroid freak?”
“Hey.” I swat his arm. “He’s not a steroid freak.”
“That’s not what I heard.” He frowns, staring at me undecidedly. “Lyric, I know you might not want to hear this, but I think you should stay away from that guy. And I really think you should talk to him for more than ten minutes before you decide you’re in love with him.”
“I’ve talked to him quite a few times at school. And besides, I agreed to go out with him tonight.”
His frown deepens. “Lyric, the guy’s got a reputation for being a …” He deliberates his word choice while staring at a Pink Floyd poster on the ceiling that I gave him for his birthday. “A manwhore douche.”