Page 14 of Love on the Tracks
I nod, and get ready to run.
Zane tries one more time, fruitlessly, to get the throng around us to back off and let us be, but of course it doesn’t work. So he squeezes my hand and adrenaline floods my system, making it easier for me to take off when he says, “Go.”
I run for all I’m worth, turn into the alley and after making sure there’s no one on my tail, jog to the end. No one follows me, and I’m glad as I lean up against the cold brick wall. A few seconds later, Zane rounds into the alley, taking a glance over his shoulder.
“I think I lost them? We shouldn’t hang out here though, no doubt they’ll find us.”
He walks up to me, and stands close, the toes of his boots between mine, and I can smell him. Mostly that expensive cologne he wears, but also a spritz of exertion that makes him smell all the better.
Which is the only excuse I have for grabbing the sides of his jacket between my gloves, and pulling him flush against me, tipping my head up for a kiss, and then pressing my lips to his.
Zane’s mouth is warm, sweet, and soft. Achingly tender until I coax him open with my tongue and then he’s kissing me back wholeheartedly, with an appetite that almost matches my own. Honey. That’s what this is, and I want every last taste.
For a second, I’m frozen with regret. This isn’t part of the deal. If we kiss, it should be in front of the cameras. He doesn’t stop me, though, doesn’t pull away. No, instead, his hand glides up my neck, and he circles his thumb behind my ear. My knees go weak, and when I slump, he still doesn’t stop, but presses me up against the brick with his body. He’s . . . Yeah, even through his jeans and mine, I can still tell. He’s hard for me.
It shouldn’t give me such a sense of satisfaction, because it’s not as though I did anything to earn this, but nevertheless, I love the way he’s breathing hard and how his eyes glint with more than adrenaline as he pulls away. He has to adjust himself in his jeans and I love that he looks sheepish as he does, but not embarrassed. Like it makes all the sense in the world for him to be crazy turned on from kissing me in an alley.
Which is when we hear the shouts. They’ve found us. So he slides his bare fingers through my gloved ones, and hustles us both toward the Land Rover where his driver’s got the back door open and waiting for us to dive through.
Zane
The call screen blinks out, and I have a text. From Rowan? God knows the guys aren’t awake yet. Maybe one of my sisters or my mom. Only one way to find out, so I click it open.
The ceremony last night was so awesome, but it took a lot out of me. Also, this all just got super real, and I’m on edge.
I hesitate. If I were her real boyfriend, I would probably be able to decode what she was trying to say. “I need some space?” Or is it a plea to distract her? I stare at my phone for a good long while, so long that if my bandmates were here they’d be mocking me. They’re not, so I take another few seconds before I thumb out my message.
We can skip today if you want, I don’t want to pile on.
It’s not what I want at all—I want to see her again, I want to kiss her again, maybe enjoy the feeling of her hand in mine. The weird thing about the SIGs is that days seem to go on forever, so it feels as if it’s been a few days, not less than one, since I’ve seen her. I wouldn’t say I missed her, but I’d thought of her. Where she might be, what she might be doing. I’d like to see her today. To show off for the cameras, of course.
But I promised Rowan she could be in charge and I meant it. No doubt I’ll be getting an angry phone call from Stanley if there aren’t any pictures of us onCelebrinewsby the end of the day, but he’ll have to suck it up.
I don’t want to skip today. Unless you do. If you don’t . . . want to skip that is . . . then maybe we could go to a movie? It’s not super public, but it helps take my mind off things, you know? Tonight’s pretty open for me.
A movie, huh? She’s right it’s not an optimal place for a photo op, but if Stanley gives a few of his paparazzi contacts the heads up that we’ll be there, and we get some hand-holding and popcorn-eating in, it could work. Plus, the idea of kicking back with Rowan in a dark theater where no one would recognize us has a certain appeal. One I don’t want to think too much about.
Can do. I can put tickets on hold. What do you like—comedy, drama, documentary, something foreign and high-brow with subtitles?
Rowan’s so not a foreign film kind of girl. I don’t think. Although the truth is I don’t know her well, and maybe I’ll end up spending a few precious hours this evening trying not to fall asleep during some boring-as-fuck thing you’re not even allowed to call a movie. Although, to be honest, we could probably make googly eyes at each other in line for tickets and popcorn and then sneak out the back of the theater without actually having to watch the movie. If I’d been thinking, I totally could’ve suggested that. Too late now.
Uh, no. Action all the way. The more things that blow up the better. I’m kind of an adrenaline junkie, but since I can’t risk getting hurt anywhere but on the track, I get my kicks on the screen.
Sweet.
Rowan
A few hours after we make our arrangements, I meet Zane’s car a block away from the entrance to the village. Gives the photogs a chance to follow me to our meeting place and snap a few pics of when he greets me. Maybe with a kiss again?
It’s stupid of me, but I can’t help but feel like that last one we shared . . . it didn’t seem fake. If nothing else, Zane seems to find me attractive. At least that’s what the hardness in his jeans indicated yesterday. Even if he doesn’t have romantic feelings for me, surely being friends and giving him a hard-on should be good enough to get laid?
Why must everything be so complicated?
When I see the now-familiar black Land Rover idling by the corner, and the rear driver’s side door opens to let Zane out into the chilly evening, it doesn’t feel so complicated. He smiles at me, and rubs his bare hands together—guy should invest in some gloves before he starts going to the outdoor events.
I don’t know where it comes from, but that bold part of me wells up and swamps all my doubts and insecurities. This is supposed to be fun. I’m supposed to be having fun. What would be fun would be to kiss the incredibly good-looking guy who’s smiling at me as though I’m the only person on earth even though I’m well aware of being trailed by half a dozen photographers.
So I walk right up and lay my mittened hands on his chest and go up on tip-toe to kiss him. His scruff brushes against my chin, and his lips move against my mouth, and then his hands are in my hair. Myhair.He’s never done that before, and the way his fingers thread through my hair to sculpt around my head and hold me fast to kiss me . . . I’m accustomed to adrenaline rushes. Half my life is spent trying to go a fraction of a second faster and risking my life to do it. There’s not a whole lot that can beat out hurtling down an icy tunnel and barreling around corners with five Gs pulling at you, but this might be it.
