Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“We didn’t get a chance to finish our conversation earlier.”
“I don’t think now is the time,” I say, glancing over my shoulder to make sure we don’t have an audience, my heart kicking up in speed at the tone of his voice.
“Why not?” He bends down to squeeze my ass in his palms.
“Someone could walk in.”
“That’s half the fun,” he says, one of his hands dipping into the gap in my waistband before curling around the curve of my butt cheek.
I sag into him, my pulse quickening. He takes the opportunity to kiss me, and I open for him, allowing his tongue to brush against mine. Suddenly, his hands are gripping my waist as he sits in one of the chairs, pulling me to straddle him, never breaking the connection.
My hands find his face, allowing myself to get lost in the kiss, unable to resist the pull. Something about Jesse makes all of my common sense fly out the window. He smooths his hands up my back as I grind on his lap, his need evident beneath me.
Mustering every ounce of self-control, I pull back, breathless. “We have to stop.” I clumsily climb off his lap before wiping the corners of my lips and straightening my clothes.
Jesse gives me a lazy smirk, his eyes promising that this isn’t over. I hurry back, avoiding eye contact with everyone I pass, afraid my flustered expression will give me away. When I reach my section, I find Dylan and the guys sitting there.
“Hi,” I say, smiling.
Hunter stands to hug me, then pulls back, gripping me by the shoulders. “Why are you all flushed and shit? Are you sick?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I’m just excited.” Dylan’s gaze fixes on something behind me, and I look back to find Jesse standing near the bar, watching us with an unreadable expression.
“I bet you are,” Dylan remarks, eyeing Jesse with contempt. Ignoring him, I walk over to hug Caleb.
“I only have a minute,” I start, “but I heard from Victor. He asked me to plan a show for next Friday, so naturally…”
“Naturally, you thought of the most talented fuckers you know,” Hunter supplies.
“Yes. That.” I laugh. “You in?”
“Just name the time and place, baby,” Hunter quips.
“I’m in,” Caleb agrees.
My smile slips when I see Dylan’s expression. He’s not the most expressive person I’ve ever met, but I expected some degree of… I don’t know, happiness? Instead, he’s absently spinning a butter knife on the tabletop, seemingly lost in thought. “Dylan?” I prompt when he doesn’t say anything.
His gaze snaps to mine. “Sounds good, Al. Thanks.”
“If you don’t want to, I could get someone else,” I offer, unable to keep the disappointment out of my tone. I guess I could ask Garrett. “I thought you’d be excited.”
“No.” Dylan shakes his head. “No, this is great.” He stands, his palm flattening on the side of my head before he leans down to press a kiss to my cheek. “I’ve gotta go. Call me tomorrow. We can talk about the setlist.”
I catch his hand when he tries to leave. He pauses, troubled brown eyes meeting mine as he chews on his lip ring. I move in closer, lowering my voice. “Is everything okay?”
He gives me a forced half-smile that’s meant to be comforting but feels anything but, and with a clipped nod, he’s gone.
“He’s been in a weird mood all day,” Caleb says, giving my shoulder a squeeze.
“Yeah,” Hunter agrees, looping an arm around my shoulders. “It’s not about you. You’re the fucking best for this.”
“Make sure he’s okay,” I say.
Hunter nods before they leave to catch up with Dylan. I make a mental note to be a better friend to Dylan. I’ve been so wrapped up in school, work, and Jesse, that I haven’t noticed that he’s clearly going through something. I try to piece together everything I know about him. I know he’s originally from the Eastern Shore. I’ve gathered from some of the things that he’s said in the past that he’s had some family drama, but he’s so tight-lipped. Getting Dylan to open up is like pulling teeth. Not that I’m much more forthcoming. It’s probably part of why we get along so well, if I’m being honest. I don’t like talking about my shit, and neither does he.
He knows my story, though, and that’s the difference. I know Dylan. I know all his favorite songs, and that he hates the smell of ketchup with the passion of a thousand burning suns, and that he secretly prefers acoustic to electric. But I don’t know his past, or what made him the way he is.
“Allison,” Jake shouts, snapping me out of my thoughts. I whip around to find him pointing at a couple who just sat down in my section.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, then paste a smile on my face before heading over to take their order.