Beat (Life on Stage 2)

“So you said yes.”

“No.”

“Looked like it on the news.”

“I actually just pulled him to standing and he hugged me. I never actually responded—but I didn’t clarify I was declining either. At least until two hours later when we got somewhere more private.”

“So you were really never engaged?” he asks again, like he can’t believe it.

I shake my head.

“Why didn’t you contact me?”

“Because Dylan told me he’d have you kicked off the tour. I didn’t want to hurt your career.”

“That was my decision to make.”

I chortle. “You sound like Avery.”

“Knew I liked that woman.”

“And I guess you didn’t contact me because you thought I was engaged.”

He stares at me and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have let a ring stop me. Dylan told me he’d make sure you lost your job if I contacted you.”

I nod. Guess we’ve both been manipulated.

Dylan’s parting words finally register with me. I was so frazzled, I didn’t stop to think what it meant when he said to “enjoy your unemployed boyfriend.” “I’m sorry. I guess you lost the Easy Ryder tour?”

“Honestly, it’s for the best. Even before we met, the guy had it in for me.”

I take the frozen vegetables from his face and touch his cheek as I look deep into his beautiful blue eyes. “I’m so sorry. What a mess I’ve caused.”

“I’m not sorry. I don’t give a damn about the tour or the punch. All I care about is you.” He brushes his knuckles along my check. The simple contact feels so good, I shut my eyes and breathe in a sigh of relief. If I were a cat, I’d purr. “Where does this leave us?” he asks.

My heart fills with hope. “Is there still an us? You left the bar with someone the other night. I thought maybe you’d moved on.”

“Nothing happened with her.” He weaves his fingers with mine and looks down. We’re both quiet for a long moment. “How could anything happen with anyone else when I’m in love with you?”

My eyes jump to his. “You are?”

“I am.”

Time stands still all around us. “I love you, too.”

That slow, lazy, dimpled smile breaks through the last barrier of my heart. “You gave me my first screaming orgasm, I’m going to give you your last.”

“Is that so?” I grin.

He stands and scoops me up off the couch. “We’re never hiding again. And this time, there’ll be no hand covering your mouth—I want to hear you moan my name while I lick every inch of you.” He kicks open the door to my bedroom with his foot.

Setting me down on the center of the bed, he stares with a look that I can only describe as ardor. His voice is so soft, so heartfelt, so pure when he speaks again, I almost liquefy.

One step at a time, back behind the line

We can’t stop it, no, doesn’t matter we try

Walk to the blur, yes, you’re gonna be mine

Say we’re still friends, we all know that’s a lie

You doubt it’s true, but it’s too late to turn

The minute I touch you, our bodies align

You’re like fire, yet I run toward the burn

We’ve crossed the line, now you’re forever mine.

“You finished the last verse.”

He smiles. “Now do you believe me? There’s no going back once you’ve crossed into the blur.”

“I don’t want to go back. I want to go forward.”

“Me too, baby. Me too. But right now, I’m going to go up and down.”

Epilogue

Lucky

“I remember when my coffee used to be ready for me when I woke up,” I tease as Flynn saunters into the galley area from the bedroom. He’s shirtless, sweats hanging low on his waist. Seriously, the sight never gets old. Not for a minute.

He pours himself a steaming mug and refills mine before sliding in across from me. “What are you working on?”

I close the notebook I’ve been scribbling in all morning. “Nothing.”

His eyebrows arch. “Nothing, huh? Then let me see.”

“No.”

He reaches and I swat his hand away.

“Why can’t I see?”

“You’ll see. Just not now.”

He pouts.

“The pout isn’t going to work either.”

“No?”

“No.”

He grins and leans forward, as if he’s going to tell me a secret, then I feel his hand under the table slip inside the leg of my shorts. “How about this?” Truly, the man has magical fingers. And not just on the guitar and keyboard. His thumb presses into my clit and for a few seconds I succumb to my weakness—his touch. But then I realize his other hand is slowly slipping the notebook from my loosened grip.

“Not gonna work.”

“Oh, it’s gonna work. Give me a minute.”

Dear lord, I’m in trouble when he pulls out the big guns—the cocky half grin and full dimples. His dexterous fingers dip below my panties and he runs two fingers up and down my center.

“Feels like it’s already working.”

I shake my head but don’t try to push his stroking fingers away. When he lifts the fingers that he just coated with my moisture to his mouth and obscenely sucks them, I’m near opening the damn notebook and reading him what I was working on. Luckily, he’s quickly forgotten the notebook, too.

“Spread your legs wider.” He leans across the table so our mouths are lined up, but he doesn’t kiss me.

Fortunately, I hesitate, because otherwise Nolan would have caught Flynn’s fingers back inside of me. When will we learn to control ourselves?

“Mornin’,” Nolan grunts.

“How many times do I have to tell you, put some fucking pants on before you come out here?”

He looks down, confused. “I do have pants on.”

“No. That’s underwear. And you’re sporting morning wood.”

Nolan scratches his head and looks down again. I turn my head, but only after getting an eyeful. “Oh. Sorry, man. I’m just grabbing some juice.”

I take the opportunity to pack away my notebook and laptop, hoping out of sight is out of mind.

“We’ll be there in about an hour,” Flynn says. “Don’t forget I’m crashing at your place tonight.”

“Fine. But I’m not putting pants on in my place. You get to make the rules on the tour bus, I get to make ‘em in Chez Nolan.”

Flynn grumbles and Nolan goes back to his bunk. “You know this is ridiculous. Kicking me out of our place.”

“It’s tradition. The groom isn’t supposed to see the bride before the wedding.”

“Since when are we following tradition? I proposed in front of fifteen thousand people, and that little peanut growing in your belly isn’t because you’re a virgin.”

I crinkle the napkin on the table and throw it at his nose. Flynn’s not wrong. We haven’t exactly taken the traditional route to get to where we are today. The day after the incident at Lucky’s, our lives turned into a media circus. Pictures of the fight between Dylan and Flynn were sold to tabloids and our faces were flashing on TV for days. While it gave us an excuse to stay holed up in my apartment, I was nervous about what it might do to Flynn’s long-term career. He, of course, was not. Unlike me, the man could seriously shrug off almost anything. He stayed true to his “everything happens for a reason” mantra and kept doing what he always did—writing songs, playing music and enjoying life day by day.