True for You(41)
“How high are we?”
“Fifty stories. It was scaled back from seventy and a bunch of penthouses were built instead.”
She tosses me a grin over her shoulder. “I like the view.”
Taking in her curvy form, or rather what little I can see of it, I smile. “So do I.”
“But you’re not looking at—” Her smile slips a little. “Thank you.”
I join her, brushing a thick fall of hair over her shoulder. She shifts to one side, and her shirt gaps, giving me a tantalizing view of skin and the barest hint of cleavage. But after what Everett revealed, I’m not sure I should touch her.
“Since Everett didn’t apologize, I will for him. I’m sorry he let you down. I’m sorry he abandoned you, instead of protecting you.”
“It’s not your fault. Besides, before the Coreys, it wasn’t that bad. Most people were nice, even if they didn’t really want me.”
“I really want you.” I trace the line of her collarbone, and her breath catches. “I’ve wanted you ever since you introduced yourself to me on the tour.”
“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
My arms go around her, and I dip my head to whisper in her ear. “I had so many fantasies about you riding me while wearing those glasses.” My hands move to cup her breasts. “And these…” I rub my thumbs over the nipples, and they harden at once. “Perfect tits from heaven. They always made me hard when I’d see them bounce.”
“But I wore a bra, even when I went to sleep,” she whispers.
“Still bounced when you ran or walked. I wasn’t the only one who noticed either. Every guy on that tour liked watching you, thinking about you, and wishing they could get their—”
“Stop!” She laughs. “I’m not every man’s fantasy. I didn’t have a bunch of guys hitting on me every second of every day.”
“Damn girl, you’re ruining my seductive spell.”
She leans back, her hands covering mine and dragging them down to her waist, where she wraps my arms around her. “I don’t care about any guy but you.”
“Did you have fantasies about me?”
“Yes.” She gulps the word.
“Really?”
“But they’re nothing compared to yours.”
“I bet they were really naughty.” I nibble on the top of her ear. “Don’t be shy, baby. Tell me.”
“Mostly I thought about kissing you.”
She’s right. Her fantasies are nothing like mine. Sure, mine involved kissing… but I bet my favorite guitar that hers did not involve her mouth around my dick. “Mostly, huh?”
“I can’t,” she says. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”
I turn her to face me. “I won’t ever think you’re stupid. Silly, shy, sweet, sexy, and smart—those are the words that describe you. You’re not allowed to think you’re stupid, or ever say that word again.”
Her eyes light up, behind her glasses, like I’ve given her the most precious gift in the world. “I won’t.”
Please let me be worthy of that gift. “C’mon, tell me about the rest.”
“I imagined you up on stage, singing to me, and not just any song, but a song you wrote just for me, like Violet did for Cole.”
“Why do you want us to be like them?” I can’t help but ask. I’ve never written a song for any girl, not even Violet. While we were on tour I’d considered it, but the words and the melody never came, and now I know why.
It’s all because of the girl standing before me.
“I don’t. I just want someone to love me like that,” she says. “I know that’s probably not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth.”
I stare at her, nonplussed.
She sighs, and then extricates herself out of my arms. “It’s okay, Jackson. I’m not going to hold you to it—that’s why it’s called a fantasy.”
“Where are you going?”
“To bed.”
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“I ate at your parents’ house, before the questions started. Someone handed me a plate of food and took it away when I was done.”
I watch her walk away, to our bedroom, and open the door. She gives me one last, lingering look and still I stand there, like a jackass. Maybe that’s what I should have been named, instead of Jackson, because I sure as hell live up to it often enough.
The door shuts behind her, and I lower my head to the glass, pounding my fist on the window a couple of times in frustration.
My phone buzzes and I take it out of my pocket, glancing at the screen. It’s an email, not a text from Everett. I open it and read the first few paragraphs.