That has me giggling so hard, my stomach hurts. Falling over to my side, I watch the little chat bubbles as he types, feeling every bit like a girl with a crush. I’m hanging on every word he types and I am practically begging for more.
Jace Sinclair: No, but really, tell me you wrote that song for me.
Avery Rose: I didn’t write it for you, thank you.
Jace Sinclair: Jeez, you know how to cut a fella down, huh? But fine, about me.
Avery Rose: Still no comment.
Grinning, I wait for his response like I’m waiting for Santa on Christmas morning, with all the anticipation and hope of a five-year-old. He makes me giddy and excited. I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath until the message comes through.
Jace Sinclair: Give me your number.
Avery Rose: Stalker, no.
Jace Sinclair: Yes, give it to me.
Avery Rose: Why?
Jace Sinclair: Cause I need it.
Avery Rose: For?
Jace Sinclair: Because I want the number for the most gorgeous girl on campus, the one who makes my heart race, and also the one who traced her tongue up my ab and wrote a song about it.
Swoon! He is incredible.
Avery Rose: Well then… ask nicely.
Jace Sinclair: Avery, beautiful Rose, can I please have you number?
Avery Rose: Yes
Once I send it, I fully expect him to text me. But instead, my phone starts to ring. Surprised, I read the number I expect is his and consider answering it. I should send it to voice mail just to mess with him. But I go ahead and answer it.
“Hello?”
“Tell me that song isn’t about me.” His voice is low, rough, and every bit dripping with naughty sex. I close my eyes, my whole body tensing up as I grip my blanket, for what, I have no clue. Holy hell, his voice is torture.
“No way. No comment,” I manage to say, and in return, he laughs softly.
“You’re gonna make me work for it?”
“I am.”
“Good,” he says then, sending chills down my spine. “What are you doing after your gig?”
“Probably coming home to go to bed.”
“Or, you could come out with me.”
“To?”
“A special place.”
“Your bed?”
“No, you horny thing, somewhere special.”