Page 79 of Sweet Ache (Driven 6)
I’m getting wrapped up too fast with him. And yes I think he feels similarly, but I also know there are way too many truths left untold. While I don’t feel that he owes it to me to throw his soul and secrets on the table at this juncture, I know I’ve been completely open, and that scares me. Unfortunately I’ve been on the receiving end before of situations when you fall and there’s no one there to catch you.
I tell myself that I need to tell him I’m super behind on the first draft of my thesis and I need to go home to work on it. Separating myself from his sexy morning voice and addictive smile is necessary for the space I need to get a new per
spective on whatever this is between us from the outside looking in.
Because falling in love is like the rain. You can’t always predict it and when you do it might never appear, but you can always see the signs of it before it falls.
I know that if I take that step back, I’ll see storm clouds bearing down on the horizon. I’m just not sure how I feel about that. Living in Southern California, rain isn’t something I see a lot, and when I do, I love it for the first few hours … until I realize it’s ruined that perfectly composed appearance of mine. Once it makes my hair frizzy and my makeup run, I start to drown under its dark cloud.
And then there’s the thought that if it is raining, Hawke and I haven’t even given an ounce of thought to what comes next. We’re too busy enjoying the now, the intensity of getting to know each other in all senses of the word, and haven’t even thought about the umbrella to prevent us from getting soaked. He has a tour coming up; I have my thesis…. Ugh. I’m beginning to overthink crap I shouldn’t even be thinking about because shit, it might not even rain. Damn forecasters are always wrong.
“What are you thinking about?” Hawke murmurs, his breath heated against my skin, pulling me from my sudden and unexpected analysis.
“The rain.”
Hawke leans back and looks at me with an amused expression and a lazy smirk on his lips. “I hate the rain,” he says, making it hard to form a coherent response. I know he doesn’t know my metaphor, but I can’t stop my breath from hitching nonetheless because now that I know he hates the rain, I kind of want it to pour. “But I can think of a helluva lot better ways to get you wet.”
My laugh comes freely as his fingers press with intent between the apex of my thighs, that tingling ache simmering in my lower belly at the feeling. A soft sigh falls from my lips as Hawke stands, sliding his chest all the way up my body in his ascent, making me forget all about the rain I want to fall until it falls. We stand face-to-face, lips inches apart, and senses on high alert in preparation for the wild frenzy we bring out in each other.
Your thesis, Westin. Step back and get some distance. Put this back on an even playing field.
I hear myself all right, know what I should do, but when Hawkin leans forward and presses those delectable lips to mine, tongue slipping between them to lead the seductive dance I know I can’t resist, my only thought is Later.
Much later.
I’m about to play in the rain.
Chapter 24
HAWKIN
“So things are looking good,” I muse as I tap my pencil on the counter. The lyrics have been coming on and off all day so my pad sits in front of me, scattered prose scrawled randomly across the page. When I glance down at them, I realize they all reflect a man infatuated with a woman.
How the hell did this happen?
“Thank fuck, because for a while, there, man …” Vince says, pulling me from my thoughts and from my lyrics that seem … happy somehow rather than the angst-ridden ones I usually write. What am I supposed to do with happy? Vince blows out a breath and runs his fingers through his hair. “… I was worried it was all going to fall to shit.”
“No way, man. The tour’s shaping up nicely, the new single is dropping in two weeks,” I say, feeling a little relief that the stress on the business side of things is under control. The front door slams from the front of the house; both of us glance at the clock, knowing it must be Gizmo going on his daily run.
“And …” Vince says, knowing there’s more on my mind. And of course there is, there always is, but am I going to jinx it by saying it out loud?
“Hunter followed through with his promise.”
“No shit.”
“Yeah.” I hate that my immediate thought right after I say the word is for now.
“Well, there’s that.” Vince lifts his eyebrows as we both fall silent for a moment. “So what does he want?”
“Vince.” I sigh knowing he’s right on target but Hunter’s my brother, only I can say shit like that about him and it be okay. The sad thing is Vince has been more of a brother than Hunter has and has earned the right to make the comment so I let it go.
“I’m not trying to be a dick man but tiger, stripes,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders. “There’s always a calm before he causes a fucking storm. Every damn time. A few nights ago he was blowing up your phone for money, and now, what? He’s behaving? Something’s off there. Just be careful is all I’m saying.”
“Duly noted,” I say knowing he speaks the truth. I’ve been burned enough by the damn calm. “But I’m trying to focus on the positives here: the band, Rocket stepping up and figuring out how to twist that last riff on ‘Twisted’ and killing it, the—”
“Quin rubbing your dick often enough you’d think it’s a genie’s lamp,” he says cutting me off and shifting the gears of the conversation. “I mean, if we’re talking about positives …”
I hang my head and laugh, surprised him fucking with me hasn’t started sooner. “Well, my dick does grant wishes,” I quip, earning me a snort and a “Bullshit” from his side of the room.
