wondered if I'd said the wrong thing. Backing away down the hall, a part of me that I didn't want to acknowledge knew that I had.
Lying on the hard hotel bed, the only thing I could think about was Dee fucking Cosgrove. And I didn't like to swear. Dee had this thing about him that went with the word 'fucking' and it was exactly how it sounded.
He was just a nice, sweet guy. Total opposite from the whole rock star man-whore stereotype. Still, my thoughts went to that place. You know the one where he had me up against the wall, hands in all the right places, saying incredibly dirty things to me? Yeah, that one.
My cell started ringing and vibrating across the bedside table. I looked over with a groan at the late hour and saw the name on the screen and to my surprise my heart skipped a beat. It was Dee. We'd exchanged numbers last night at the gig and I wondered if it had been a good idea. It had only been an hour since he left and I wondered what his game was. I took a deep breath and picked up the cell, trying to squash down my dirty thoughts.
"You know I'm only two floors down," I said and instantly regretted it. I couldn't see him right now because I'd ask him to do me against the wall.
"I know, but I'm old-fashioned like that."
"Like what?"
"If I showed up on your doorstep in the middle of the night you'd think I was only there for one thing."
"Oh." I squeezed my legs together and was glad he was on the phone and not on the edge of my bed.
"You weren't sleeping were you?"
"No." How could I sleep when I was thinking about him all god damn night?
I heard him chuckle and my face reddened.
"What do you want?" It came out defensive.
"I just wanted to talk," he said slowly. "I like talking to you."
"I'm sorry," I said, rubbing my eyes. "its just guys usually want to talk to me for one reason."
"Sex?" He asked so outright it almost made me choke. "It's okay, Jessie. I don't just want to talk about sex."
What more could he possibly want to know? I mean, I hadn't known him for very long and some things would always remain buried inside me. Who didn't have complicated, scarring relationships these days? I had someone who'd hurt me beyond repair and he probably did, too.
"Then what do you want to talk about?" I asked quietly.
"Anything. I don't care."
He was into me. Of course I knew it, it was in everything he did, every word he spoke was laced with sex. My body wanted it, but my mind was apprehensive. But, after all his wicked and sweet words, he hadn't tried it on once. He said before that he was old-fashioned; I felt like I was living in the nineteen-twenties when he was around. How was he not taken?
"You want to talk about anything?" I asked. "That's a wide range of topics."
"I know, I just want to hear your voice." And then he says things like that.
"How did you start playing guitar?" I asked, ignoring his blatant comment.
"Well," he said slowly. "I went to a public high school. They didn't have any sports teams or anything like that. They were lucky to have a music program and even then students had to pay to take lessons. I conned my parents into letting me learn guitar. One, because chicks dig guys with guitars…" I let out a laugh at his lame joke. "…and two, because I wanted to get out of class."
"Really?" He didn't seem like the kind of guy who'd skip out on anything.
"Honestly?"
"Yes, honestly."
"True story."
"What about now?"
"Now? I'm glad I wanted to get out of class."
I closed my eyes and let his sexy Australian accent wash over me. I didn't want to put my cell on speaker. I wanted to press it right against my ear, like he was whispering to me. Like his lips were against my skin...
"Jessie? Are you still there?"
Shit. "Yeah."
"What were you thinking about?" he asked wickedly, like he knew.
"Tomorrow," I replied quickly.
"What's tomorrow?"
"It's my last day in LA before I have to go home."
"To New York?"
"Yeah."
"What are you doing?"
I knew what he was
Lying on the hard hotel bed, the only thing I could think about was Dee fucking Cosgrove. And I didn't like to swear. Dee had this thing about him that went with the word 'fucking' and it was exactly how it sounded.
He was just a nice, sweet guy. Total opposite from the whole rock star man-whore stereotype. Still, my thoughts went to that place. You know the one where he had me up against the wall, hands in all the right places, saying incredibly dirty things to me? Yeah, that one.
My cell started ringing and vibrating across the bedside table. I looked over with a groan at the late hour and saw the name on the screen and to my surprise my heart skipped a beat. It was Dee. We'd exchanged numbers last night at the gig and I wondered if it had been a good idea. It had only been an hour since he left and I wondered what his game was. I took a deep breath and picked up the cell, trying to squash down my dirty thoughts.
"You know I'm only two floors down," I said and instantly regretted it. I couldn't see him right now because I'd ask him to do me against the wall.
"I know, but I'm old-fashioned like that."
"Like what?"
"If I showed up on your doorstep in the middle of the night you'd think I was only there for one thing."
"Oh." I squeezed my legs together and was glad he was on the phone and not on the edge of my bed.
"You weren't sleeping were you?"
"No." How could I sleep when I was thinking about him all god damn night?
I heard him chuckle and my face reddened.
"What do you want?" It came out defensive.
"I just wanted to talk," he said slowly. "I like talking to you."
"I'm sorry," I said, rubbing my eyes. "its just guys usually want to talk to me for one reason."
"Sex?" He asked so outright it almost made me choke. "It's okay, Jessie. I don't just want to talk about sex."
What more could he possibly want to know? I mean, I hadn't known him for very long and some things would always remain buried inside me. Who didn't have complicated, scarring relationships these days? I had someone who'd hurt me beyond repair and he probably did, too.
"Then what do you want to talk about?" I asked quietly.
"Anything. I don't care."
He was into me. Of course I knew it, it was in everything he did, every word he spoke was laced with sex. My body wanted it, but my mind was apprehensive. But, after all his wicked and sweet words, he hadn't tried it on once. He said before that he was old-fashioned; I felt like I was living in the nineteen-twenties when he was around. How was he not taken?
"You want to talk about anything?" I asked. "That's a wide range of topics."
"I know, I just want to hear your voice." And then he says things like that.
"How did you start playing guitar?" I asked, ignoring his blatant comment.
"Well," he said slowly. "I went to a public high school. They didn't have any sports teams or anything like that. They were lucky to have a music program and even then students had to pay to take lessons. I conned my parents into letting me learn guitar. One, because chicks dig guys with guitars…" I let out a laugh at his lame joke. "…and two, because I wanted to get out of class."
"Really?" He didn't seem like the kind of guy who'd skip out on anything.
"Honestly?"
"Yes, honestly."
"True story."
"What about now?"
"Now? I'm glad I wanted to get out of class."
I closed my eyes and let his sexy Australian accent wash over me. I didn't want to put my cell on speaker. I wanted to press it right against my ear, like he was whispering to me. Like his lips were against my skin...
"Jessie? Are you still there?"
Shit. "Yeah."
"What were you thinking about?" he asked wickedly, like he knew.
"Tomorrow," I replied quickly.
"What's tomorrow?"
"It's my last day in LA before I have to go home."
"To New York?"
"Yeah."
"What are you doing?"
I knew what he was
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