"Shut up, Sam. Brick is the last guy I'd date."
"Ouch," Brick pouted, a hand over his heart. "Hey, Sam, let me help."
Sam raised her eyebrows, her eyes on me and my blank stare.
"Okay, Brick, let's see what you got." Sam led him into the truck, instructing him on how to load up an amp and secure it before letting him roll the dolly down the ramp. Then she turned her attention to me. "You gonna help or are you gonna ogle Brick's biceps all day?"
Murder. Savage, bloody murder. Forget Dexter and his cold, precise methods. I was going full on axe swinging. Maybe even a wood chipper.
I tore my eyes away from Brick's well-developed arms and his knowing smile and glared at my former best friend. "I hate you."
She laughed, swiping a long lock of glossy black hair out of her face. "If I didn't know for a fact that you love me, I might take offense to that."
I jumped up into the trailer and swatted her on the arm before reaching for one of the numerous black cases emblazoned with 'WB' in white block letters and pulled it toward me.
"I got it." Brick's voice was like honey in my ear, sending a warm waterfall of sweetness over my skin.
"That's okay," I argued. I turned to ward him off, but he was standing so close I had no room to maneuver.
His arms were reaching around me. "Let me help you," he insisted.
"I don't need help," I snapped.
The trailer went quiet. The shit-talking and general jovial atmosphere the other roadies typically cultivated came to a screeching halt. Time froze for several heartbeats before it started again. Feet shuffled and voices murmured as the crew quickly exited the trailer. Except for Sam, who stared, her eyes flicking back and forth between Brick and me with undisguised interest.
"Sammy?" Brick said quietly, not taking his eyes off me. "Can you give us a minute?"
Sam shifted uncomfortably.
"It's okay, Sam," I said, giving her the go-ahead she was waiting for while holding Brick's stare.
Sam scurried out of the back of the trailer, and I could hear her advising the rest of the crew to take a break and ensuring our privacy.
"I could kiss you right now."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I'm so hot for you," he groaned.
I blinked again. Double-time. "What the hell, Brick?"
"God, baby, you don't know what you do to me."
"You're insane!"
"Yeah, sweet lips, keep yellin' at me." His voice was gravelly, the heat in his eyes a veritable inferno.
"Holy shit, you're actually turned on right now," I said with wonder. He actually liked it when I yelled at him. My eyes widened with understanding. This whole time, every time I told him off, I was actually encouraging him. I mean, I'd known he got some perverse pleasure out of pushing my buttons, but I hadn't realized just how much he actually enjoyed it. How much he wanted it. How much he wanted me.
His teeth sank deep into his bottom lip. He swayed toward me and I bent backward to avoid him.
"There is something seriously wrong with you." I planted my hands on his chest and shoved. I only managed to knock him off balance for a beat, and he was right back in my space, eyeing me up like he was starving and just stumbled into an all-you-can-eat buffet at a five-star restaurant.
I was trying really hard to ignore the way that made me feel.
"Gimme just a taste, Marni," he begged, his voice husky with arousal. "Just a taste."
"The problem, Brick, is that I'm afraid you won't stop at just a taste."
It was his turn to blink. He stopped leaning in and stood straight. "You're afraid? Of me?"
His confusion was understandable, I supposed, since my outward reaction to his irritating charm was always anger. "No," I denied.
I swore I saw a flash of hurt cross his face, but it was gone so fast I thought I must have imagined it. His flirty grin came out full force in a blink.
"It's fair, I suppose, that you're scared."
"I'm not scared."
He went on like I hadn't just spewed a blatant lie. "I am the big, bad wolf, after all." He stalked me as he spoke, closing the inches between us. "And I cannot wait to eat you up."
I swallowed thickly, cursing my body's response to his threat. Heat. Goosebumps. Hardened nipples. "You're no wolf, Brick. You're a mangy mutt. With fleas!"
My snappy comeback might have hit its mark if it hadn't come out so breathy. Damn the man and his sex appeal. Damn my body and its weakness.
"Even Lady fell in love with the tramp," he whispered against my lips before sealing them together and taking what he wanted.
Eventually, Sam and the rest of the road crew arrived to bust up our impromptu makeout session, much to my mortification. Brick, on the other hand, had looked mighty pleased with himself.
"You okay?" Sam asked me, hours later.
All the equipment was where it needed to be and apparently functioning properly. The band was in the midst of their sound check, tweaking their instruments and amplifiers where needed. Tristan, the band's lead guitarist, was skillfully strumming and plucking his solo from Wasted Breath's biggest selling number one hit while Shepard, the band's lead singer--and rock royalty--sipped his prerequisite pre-performance herbal tea from a styrofoam cup. Donal began hammering out a beat on his kit before Tristan had finished, and it ended up sounding more like a jam session as the two shot grins at each other across the stage. The crash of the cymbals died down and Shepard raised his microphone to his mouth.
"Jesus, have you ever heard anything so divine?" Sam asked, seemingly ignoring the fact that I had yet to answer her previous question, to which the answer was a resounding hell no, in case that wasn't clear.
"Shepard Kingston does, in fact, have the voice of an angel," I agreed.
"A fallen angel," Sam muttered with a smirk.
I laughed. "True." Shep's voice was like dark chocolate. Smooth and bitter. Deep and rich. Comforting and complex. Plus, he definitely wasn't hard to look at. Still, despite his good looks, his vocal talents, and his rock and roll legacy, Shep wasn't what captured my attention.
While the rest of the band riffed on their respective instruments, following each other's nonverbal cues, Brick stood out. It wasn't that he wasn't engaged in what was happening on stage, but it was like his focus was split. His fingers plucked the strings of his bass, and his smile was aimed at his band mates, but his eyes were on me.
"I'm gonna circle back to my original question now," Sam warned. "Are you okay?"
With my hands shoved in my back pockets, I shrugged, sending my elbows forward like a chicken flapping its featherless wings. "I don't know."
"For what it's worth, I think you two look good together."
"Coming from you, that means a lot." I just wasn't sure that it was enough. My traitorous body wanted to jump in feet first. My foolish heart wanted to believe it had finally found its match. My brain, smarter than the other two, insisted it was a bad, bad idea. A no good, horrible idea. Feeling agitated, I checked the time on my phone and said, "I have to go check on Simon," before leaving the venue behind and walking back to the hotel.