I want…I want so much, but I don’t know how to put any of it into words. I want him to keep kissing me. Touching me. I want to stay in his arms for hours.
He slides his hand up over my ribs, settling under my breast. For the briefest second, his thumb brushes over my nipple. An exploratory grazing, but it jolts me away from his touch.
Minutes or hours could have gone by. I’m not sure how long we explored each other. I want more, but fear glues my mouth shut.
“Are you sure I can’t walk you to your door?” His voice is deeper this time. Rougher.
He says walk me to my door, but there’s too much electricity crackling between us for the night to end there. And no matter how my body’s screaming otherwise, I’m not ready to take that step with a man I met a few hours ago.
“I should really go upstairs now.” My words come out robotic because I don’t mean them. The last place I want to be is somewhere he isn’t. Which is exactly why I need to get upstairs. Before I do something stupid.
Chaser
The memory of Mallory fucks with me all the way to the shithole apartment the band locked down for the month. If we can keep up the steady-paying gigs, I’m hoping we’ll stay here long term. Not because it’s cheap or even a decent place to live but because I’m sick and tired of moving around like a damn hobo.
I can’t believe I’d asked twice to take Mallory upstairs, and she turned me down. Even more surprising—that her saying no wasn’t an immediate turn off. There haven’t been many women in my life who have that word in their vocabulary.
The thump of our stereo greets my ears before I’m near our front door. Just once, I’d like a night where the party was at someone else’s apartment, so I could actually get some sleep.
The usual variety of hangers-on, groupies, and aspiring musicians take up every inch of available space in our living room. Only difference between here and back home is no one in this group is carrying a weapon.
Well, except me. I never go anywhere without the hunting knife my father gave me on my sixteenth birthday. It’s come in handy once or twice when someone assumed we were a bunch of glam band pretty boys who wouldn’t fight back if someone tried to jack our equipment.
“Hi, Chaser,” one of our regular groupies, Darla, purrs as she rubs herself against me like a cat in heat.
I’m already plenty worked up. From Mallory. A few simple kisses from her excited me way more than the idea of spending a night with Darla—which is definitely what she’s after. Darla’s offer doesn’t interest me the way it might have yesterday. Or the day before.
“Not tonight. Go give Jacob some attention.”
She pouts and pushes her way through the crowd, tripping and landing in Jacob’s lap with perfect timing.
“What up, bro?” Garrett holds out his hand. I slap my palm against his and tug him out of his chair just to be a dick.
“Neighbors complain yet?” I shout. We’ve already been evicted from three, or is it four, apartments in the last year.
“No complaints, Chase-man.” He holds his arms out wide. “All our neighbors are here tonight.”
“Fucking great,” I mutter.
Jacob joins us and slaps my back a few times. “What’s with the puss on that handsome face?” He grabs my chin, squeezing my mouth into a fish pout.
“Get off me.” I shake out of his grasp and shove him sideways.
He stumbles and bursts out laughing. “You take Miss Priss home?”
“You fuck her?” Garrett asks.
“Fuck both of you.”
“The great Chaser Adams couldn’t close the deal?” Jacob stands up and waves his arms around. “Don’t take it personal. Never met a chick that hot who was such a prude.” He sticks his tongue out. “Was like kissing a goldfish.”
Not my memory of kissing Mallory at all. No, she was all warm, soft sweetness.
“Seriously.” Jacob mimes a poor imitation of kissing an unwilling partner to the delight of our drunken guests. Tongue wagging and slobbering all over the place, he humps the air and moans.
Irritation that he’s had his filthy mouth anywhere near Mallory boils inside me. Even if it was for my band’s video and before I ever touched her. That he’s talking about her with so much disrespect nearly sends me over the edge. My hand strays to the knife at my side. Maybe I’ll cut out Jacob’s tongue and nail it to my wall as a warning.
“Knock it off.” Alvin slaps Jacob with enough force to tip him forward. “She was a nice girl. Felt like shit that we hosed her down. You see her face? I’m pretty sure we made her cry.”
“I wanted her to cry…” Jacob shouts, “…my name out in ecstasy.” He turns himself in a circle seeking a high-five for that lame joke and finally shrugs. “Fuck all ya.”
Must not murder lead singer. “I’m headed to bed—”
“Need to rub one out?” Jacob asks.
Ignoring him, I push through the rest of the crowd and shove my way into the bedroom. At some point, Garrett and Jacob thought it was funny to put two mattresses together on the floor to make one big fuck pad. It’s currently occupied by a bunch of people I don’t recognize.
None of these fuckers pay rent here, so after I kick their asses into the living room, I crawl into bed. My body can be forced to sleep through anything. Parties, sirens, loud music. Anything.
Not tonight.
The feel of Mallory wrapped around me on the back of my bike. The taste of her mouth. The sound of her voice.
The memories of those sensations keep me up for hours.
Why? She’s no different than dozens of other women I’ve known.
I really like her. I wanted to get to know her better. Kissing her was beyond hot, but I also couldn’t get enough of listening to her sweet voice and raw honesty.
My thoughts stray to the chatter and noise outside the bedroom door. Not that I’m an asshole, but, normally, I can only tolerate so much conversation from the girls who hang around the band before I’m ready to jam my cock down their throat or send them on their way.
It’s probably the same with Mallory. She’s a novelty. Once I get to know her better, maybe fuck her out of my system, things will go back to normal.
Even as I try to convince myself nothing has changed, I feel deep down in my soul—a place I rarely acknowledge—that I’m lying.
Chapter Five
Mallory
Since the day I moved into our building, my neighbor Audrey has made it her mission to show me around Hollywood. She’s taken me shopping for everything from groceries to furniture. Once or twice, she’s even offered to set me up on dates. She’s certainly not lacking in that department. Every weekend, she’s off to do something exciting with a new man in her life.
For once, I’m the one with the party invite.
Unlike me, she’s actually familiar with Kickstart’s music, so she’s enthusiastic about my invitation.
Enthusiastic or not, she shows up late to leave for the show.
It doesn’t seem to matter. When we arrive at the club, the man guarding the door practically trips over himself to let us inside.