He was incredible.
Jason had a voice like honey and coffee grounds, sweet and textured. It was so much better in person than on the album. It didn’t even seem possible that it was this good. He was so talented. I wanted to slap myself for not wanting to let him sing to me sooner—and at the same time, I knew that if he had, I’d have confused my feelings for him with my feelings about him.
He was going to be famous. Really, truly famous. He had it all. The looks, the talent, the presence. I could see it as clearly as anything I’d ever known.
And this was my boyfriend. I said it over and over again in my mind. This man wanted me.
I felt flattered and lucky. Then I felt nervous and unworthy. I ran through a symphony of emotions as he played, and the whole time he sang, he smiled at me, like he was just happy I could see this side of him.
And I was happy too. Because Jason and Jaxon were definitely the same man.
* * *
When I jumped up to wrap my legs around his waist, the motion sensor activated and the floodlights poured over my porch. They used to be broken.
Damn Jason for fixing things around here like he’d said he would.
It was after midnight. My neighborhood was quiet, but I wasn’t a fan of the full-fledged stage lights. He pressed himself against me, pinning my back to the front door as he kissed me. His hands gripped me under my thighs and his hips pushed between my legs, grinding into me.
God, what would this feel like horizontal?
The tension had been building between us the entire evening. Even Kristen’s shenanigans and the awful duet Jason had forced me to sing with him hadn’t lessened it. He’d been touching me and kissing me all night, right in front of Kristen and Josh. They didn’t care. They probably handed him a condom on the way out.
As soon as he got me alone on the porch, we’d pounced on each other.
The light shut off and I smiled against his mouth. Then it came on again, dousing us in the brightness of ten thousand suns, and I grimaced.
“We could go inside…” he whispered, and his eyes came up to mine, his breathing hard.
Oh, hell.
I nodded and wrapped an arm around his neck. I felt around behind me for the knob, and when I turned it, the door gave way and we almost fell into the living room.
He staggered a few feet before regaining his balance. We laughed a little, but we didn’t stop kissing. He kicked the door closed behind us and whirled me onto the sofa, sliding over me in the dimness, pressing himself against me.
All of him pressed against me.
I gathered the bottom of his T-shirt and tugged it up. “Take this off,” I said breathlessly. I needed to run my hands along his chest, feel the outline of his six-pack under my fingers, trace the trail of hair that descended down into his pants.
He yanked his shirt over his head and was back on me in under two seconds. I was thoroughly impressed. “I have never seen a man take his shirt off that fast,” I breathed as his lips fell on my neck.
“You should see how fast I can get yours off.”
I snorted and his hand wandered up the bottom of my shirt. I didn’t stop him. He hiked my leg up around him and I ran my palms over the curve of his broad, bare shoulders.
I wanted to feel the sear of my skin pressed to his. I scooted to sit up and peeled off my shirt and his fingers were around my back, unhooking my bra, before my top hit the floor. He poured over me, pushing me back down.
My body was alive, blood in my cheeks, my ears, my heart drumming in my chest.
His hands were everywhere. I actually looked down to make sure he only had two.
I wanted him. Sweet baby Jesus, I wanted this man. He knew what to do with me. I could tell. He would tune me and play me like his damn guitar. God, every inch of him was toned and solid. He was so strong and he smelled so good.
“I’m on the pill, okay?” I breathed. “For my periods.”
“I got tested last month. I’m clean. And Kristen gave me a condom. So did Josh.”
I laughed and it was drowned by his lips back on mine.
This was real. This was happening.
My breathing was ragged when I reached for the top of his pants and his breath hitched as I tugged at his belt. Then something in the familiar metallic clink of the buckle whipped me instantly back into the room.
Brandon. The last time I did this was with Brandon.
I sobered in a heartbeat. All the passion bled right out of me. I fell back onto the cushions, limp. “Jason, I can’t.”
His hands stilled immediately. All twelve of them.
“I’m not ready. I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He hovered over me and put his forehead to mine and closed his eyes, catching his breath. His chest pressed into my bare breasts and I could feel exactly how much he wanted me, digging into my leg.
God, I felt awful. I should never have let him inside. The porch was safe. Bright as hell, but safe. The porch didn’t come with expectations.
With possibilities.
He breathed against me for a minute, and I felt him cooling down.
“I just need more time. It’s too soon.” I bit my lip. “Don’t be mad at me.”
He opened one eye and looked at me gently. “I’m not mad. I could never be mad at you for that. Look at me.” He held my eyes. “I get it. And I want you to be ready. You’re not doing either of us a favor if you rush things. Okay?”
It was so earnest it made my heart melt. “Okay.”
He smiled softly at me and kissed my forehead. Then he reached up and grabbed a throw blanket and pulled it over me, tucking it under my arms, and got up and put on his shirt.
I sat up on the sofa and clutched the blanket to my chest and I watched him as he went to let Tucker out of the laundry room. The dog bounded over to me and jumped into my lap, licking me.
Jason leaned down with a hand on the top of the sofa and kissed me. “I’ll pick you up for the airport at five thirty. Get some sleep.” He smiled at me.
“Thank you for understanding.”
He shook his head. “You’re worth the wait. You’re worth everything.” He winked and let himself out, and Tucker followed him, close on his heels.
Chapter 19
Jason
♪ Misery Business | Paramore
Time to move. Lola Simone was sitting on the step of my trailer.
I slammed the door to my truck. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Tucker let out a low growl next to me.
She sat on the metal stair, lit by the lights of the pool, with her back against my door, smoking a joint. She wore a tiny silver dress and she spread her legs in answer to my question, balancing on the heels of her stilettos. She wasn’t wearing panties.
“Oh, Jesus, come on,” I said, looking away from her. “Enough of this shit, Lola. Get up.” I looked back at her.
She didn’t budge.
“Lola, now. Leave.”
“Already? I just got here.” She grinned up at me, her eyelids heavy. “Talk about a quickie,” she muttered.
“Who the fuck gave you this address? I don’t want you here. I’m done. Move or I’ll move you myself.”
Her eyes glinted and she shook her head.
Hot anger built inside me. I was so fucking sick of this. Sick of it.