"Come on, Marni. It's just a t-shirt. A clean t-shirt."
"It's yours," she muttered.
"Tell you what. You can use my shower, and when you're done, put my t-shirt on. I'll have the hotel wash the clothes you've got on."
I followed her gaze down the right leg of her jeans and knew I had her.
"Did Simon have an accident?"
"Yeah," she grumbled. "Oh, alright," she huffed, snatching the t-shirt from my hands and stomping into the bathroom.
Five minutes later, the door re-opened and all her clothes, right down to her unmentionables, came sailing out.
Sweet Jesus, I was a lucky man.
Two
Marni
I came awake slowly.Too slowly. For as long as I'd been sleeping in the cab of my truck, I'd been conditioned to go from sleeping like the dead to alert, oriented, and ready to move in zero point two seconds. It was the nature of the world anymore. The price of being a woman alone in a man's world, never being able to let your guard down. Never quite feeling secure in your surroundings no matter how safe the world tried to convince you they were.
So, the fact that my eyes were still closed while I idly stretched my entire being from scalp to toes should have set off warning bells. Danger, Will Robinson.
It was the smell that hit my nose that finally did it. Warm spice and ...chocolate? My eyes snapped open at the same time my mouth watered, and a perfectly defined six pack of abdominal muscles greeted me. I closed my eyes with a soft groan as memories of the night before assaulted me.
After my shower, I'd slipped into Brick's t-shirt under duress. His band's name, Wasted Breath, was emblazoned across the chest, complete with the logo recognized around the world - the silhouette of a face, its mouth open in a silent scream. I padded out into the suite to find that Brick made good on his promise and had sent my clothes out to be washed. I was still convinced that he'd stolen my bag, but I also knew he wasn't going to hand it over until he'd gotten whatever it was he wanted from me. My guess was he wanted me to flip out. He got some perverted pleasure out of getting a rise out of me; I could tell by the way he looked at me.
Hooded eyes.
Teeth sunk deep into his bottom lip.
Like he wanted to taste my anger with his tongue.
It was both frustrating and annoyingly arousing.
I needed my bag, but I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. So, I'd play his little game with every intention of winning. I crossed the room wearing nothing but his t-shirt and hid my smile behind my hair the moment he realized his little plan was about to backfire.
He stared at me as I climbed, awkwardly in deference to my commando status, onto the bed and made myself comfortable.
"Um." He cleared his throat. "What are you doing?"
I tried to pretend that I didn't notice the way he shifted himself in his jeans and shrugged. "Watching TV." I picked up the remote and started mindlessly flipping through the channels. "Not much else I can do without pants."
His eyes traveled the length of my legs, darkening with every inch closer to the hem of the t-shirt.
"Don't suppose you have any I can borrow?"
"Pants?"
"No, garden gnomes." I side-eyed him. "Yes, pants."
"Erm, nope. All out." He flung his arms wide as if to say, See? No pants here. Move along.
"You're all out of pants?"
"Yep."
"What are you planning on wearing to the show tomorrow night? A skirt?"
"Oh, I'll just wear these again. Jeans aren't really dirty unless they start to smell."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Is that a thing?"
"Yep. They have to smell first. Or get squirrel pee on them."
"Speaking of which, since you're the only one here actually wearing pants, I'm going to need you to go down and check on Simon."
He smirked. "You're the only person I know who'd keep a squirrel as a pet."
I popped an eyebrow in his direction. "You're the only person I know who'd smuggle a squirrel into the cab of a girl's truck as a practical joke. I can't help it he fell in love with me and decided to stick around."
My annoyance at that particular prank was just for show, unlike my annoyance at the rest of the shenanigans Brick had perpetrated against me.
Brick eventually did go downstairs and check on Simon. I wished he'd brought him up to the room though. I was used to sleeping with the little furball curled up next to me. I hoped he was okay in the truck by himself.
After Brick's return, we watched TV for a while, Brick trying to start an argument with me whenever I stopped channel surfing and landed on something. It didn't matter what it was, I knew he was just trying to push my buttons. I simply handed him the remote and told him to watch whatever he wanted. I got up, gathered all the throw pillows from the sofa, and lined them up down the middle of the bed.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm drawing a line, Brick. A line which you," I'd pointed a warning finger at him, "do not cross."
Now that I was awake and remembering the pillow barrier I'd built, I was even more horrified to find myself plastered to Brick's bare chest in what I assumed was the early morning. I lifted my head carefully, trying with a desperation of unfathomable depth not to disturb him. My gaze darted to his face when he mumbled, but his eyes were still closed and his breathing even. Pushing up on my arms, I paused to untangle my legs from his.
I didn't get far.
With a gasp, I found myself on my back and Brick half covering me with his body.
And still asleep.
He, at least, had underwear on, but I was still bare under his t-shirt. His leg wedged between mine, bending at the knee and pressing flush against me in the place that was instantly aching and weeping for him. It was something I'd never admit to. Not out loud. Not to him. Not ever.
He was Joshua Brickman. Bassist for Wasted Breath, currently the most popular rock band in the world. Wickedly handsome, wickedly funny, and wickedly smart.
And just plain wicked.
I was Marni Morrison. Truck driver and mom to Simon the squirrel. I hauled the band's equipment from city to city. Essentially, a roadie. And everybody knew that rock stars and roadies were on two different playing fields. One field was lush and green, tended to with the tender loving care of professional landscapers. The other was mud. I didn't mind mud, but I'd never get to walk on the grass.
I struggled to control my breathing, but it wasn't easy with the cotton creating friction between my nipples and Brick's bare chest. I tried palming his shoulder and giving him a gentle shove. I didn't want to wake him, but I'd chance it if it meant he'd roll off and allow my lungs to re-inflate.
Instead of rolling away, he snuggled in deeper, his face in my neck and his lips dangerously close to the spot behind my ear that would be my undoing if he discovered it. He mumbled something as he settled, his breath tickling my throat.
"Brick?" I whispered.
No answer. Not even a twitch.
"Damn it." I sighed, rolling my eyes to the ceiling. How the hell was I going to get out from under him without waking him?
Short answer: I wasn't. And didn't that just grind my gears. Because what was worse than being trapped under the infuriating man-child whose body I wanted to do unspeakable things to but never would, was the fact that he'd never let me live it down.