by K. Bromberg
My pulse pounds in my ears, my body feels like it’s been lit on fire from the flush of adrenaline that burns through me, and even Hawke’s touch on my skin does nothing to abate my nerves. I liked the idea of this but now that the opportunity is a reality, my fear and anxiety and excitement all crash together. I’m going to have to act, not think, feel not worry, relax until the apprehension fades to pleasure. My every emotion is amplified in the silence of the room, and the muted beat of music down below throbs like a second heartbeat.
“Quinlan.” The way Hawkin says my name as he reaches out to brush my hair off my face pulls on every emotion that the moment hasn’t already churned up, because I hear the strain in it, the sadness I want to be gone. “I don’t—”
And before I can chicken out, before I can tell him that I’m so nervous I can’t speak in return, I yank him toward me and cut his words off by putting my lips on his. Hawke is hesitant at first, trying to pull back to make sure that I’m okay, but I don’t relent. I keep my hands and my lips in constant movement so that I can lose myself in the moment.
And then he starts to finally respond. He’s just as eager, just as hungry as I am. My hands are trying to unbutton his jeans but his hands slide between my thighs before I can get them undone. I don’t even realize that the incoherent moan that fills the room is from me until Hawke groans in response when he finds me slick with desire for him. I arch my back as I’m swamped with the sensation he gives me when he slips two fingers inside me at the same time his mouth finds the tight bud of my nipple.
The haze of arousal owns all of my senses and is amplified by Rocket’s drinks and the heady sensations of Hawke’s hands on me. Our chemistry is so intoxicating that it feels like forever since he’s touched me intimately even though it’s been only days.
I get lost in his thoroughness as he works me into a frenzy: his warm mouth on my chilled skin, his fingers sliding in and out of me before pulling back up and adding friction to my clit. He murmurs to me, how sexy I am, how hard he wants to fuck me, how he can’t wait to feel his dick in my mouth.
My muscles begin to tense as everything begins to overwhelm me, that warm, sweet ache in my core spreading from my center outward like some inexplicable paralysis due to an overdose of sensation. “Hawke, God,” I moan. “Don’t stop.”
My body soars as I fall off the edge when my orgasm hits me full force. My breath, my heart, my emotions, all three work in overtime so that I can ride out the orgasm Hawke has given me. My body trembles as I resurface from my climactic haze, and then Hawkin brands his mouth to mine, stealing my soft mewls before I can even begin to recover.
Then I feel the bed shift, and I’m shocked back to the reality that Vince really is here, on the bed. I’m immediately pulled from our intimacy that was like a protective shield making the moment solely ours. And now it’s not. Hawke’s lips fall from mine instantly and I can physically feel the hesitation in his actions, fingers flexing into the sides of my hips and mouth denying me its taste.
I’m not sure if it’s my overall hesitancy or nerves mistaken as a lack of enthusiasm toward Vince, but something about the moment shifts.
Even with Hawke in front of me, I suddenly have doubts about my decision to be okay with this. It’s not Hawke and it’s not Vince, it’s me.
Am I trying to be something I’m not by doing this?
“Stop.” My voice cuts through the lust clouding the room. Hawkin shoves back off me, and the lack of physical connection with him immediately leaves me cold and insecure. So many things flicker through my mind in a flash and the only one I can hold on to is shame.
I know it’s not warranted—I have a right to change my mind—but even with the strength of my feelings for Hawkin I feel like an inadequate little virgin who can’t hang with the big boys.
And then I stop myself and wonder if I just have cold feet. That maybe my buzz has worn off and now I’m letting nerves control my thoughts when I shouldn’t.
“Just go!” Hawke’s voice is low and even and full of an emotion I can’t quite peg, and I hate that I can’t see his face to read his expression. At first I think he’s talking to Vince, but he’s facing me and when he doesn’t move or speak and the only sound in the room is the remnants of the party downstairs, I realize Hawkin is talking to me.
I feel like he’s slapped me although we’re nowhere near touching. The shame I felt but told myself was my own ridiculous insecurity comes back with a vengeance. “Hawke …”
“We’ll deal with—just go!” He bites the words out, and I can hear his feet heavy against the floor as he paces before something slams against the dresser.
What the hell? He’s kicking me out because I changed my mind? Talk about whiplash. “I’m sorry …” I say and am immediately pissed at myself because I shouldn’t be. Besides, what am I apologizing for? For being nervous? For changing my mind? Yes, but I sure as hell am not going to apologize for not being like one of the floozies downstairs who would have dived in headfirst.
“This is … I can’t with you…. You’re not …” I can hear the remorse in his voice as he tries to explain but my embarrassment has now turned into anger. I’m off the bed in an instant, hands reaching in the dark for my clothes because right now all I want is out of here and away from this mess. Hawke takes a step toward me. “Q, don’t you … Vince … FUCK!”
“I knew that she—”
“Shut the fuck up, Vin!” Hawke shouts but my mind is still focused on what Vince said, the amusement in his voice even more confusing than the irritation in Hawkin’s.
If my head wasn’t so hell-bent on leaving I’d laugh at the thought of the two of them, half dressed and yelling at each other, but my focus is on getting dressed. I hurriedly throw on my jeans and shirt, bra left somewhere in the darkness, and open the bedroom door to leave.
“Quin. Wait!” Hawke’s voice calls to me but Vince cuts him off.
“Dude, what’s your fucking problem?” he asks, a mocking tone in his voice I never expected, and I’m so confused how I could have been so wrong about him. I’m instantly pissed at myself and my misjudgment but I can process that later because right now I’m hurt. And angry.
“You. Her. This!” Hawke shouts, but I’m so busy being upset I don’t stop to consider just what he’s referring to.
And I mean so much to Hawke that he chooses to go toe-to-toe with Vince rather than chase after me. The question is after everything that just happened, do I really want him to?
The notion hangs in the back of my mind as I hurry down the stairs, fighting the tears that now come with my head down, the walk of shame written all over my face, and I’m so hurt I don’t care who sees it. A few people ask me if I’m okay but I just keep moving forward because if I’m moving then I’m focused on that and not the shit running around in my head: shame, anger, disbelief at my poor judgment, hurt.
I’m pulled from my internal struggle when I swear I hear my name being called but after I stop for a moment, I don’t hear anything. The hope I had that I was wrong crashes back down around me because if I mattered, if whatever we are mattered, he would be chasing after me, right?
Pushing open the door I hurry into the darkness of the backyard and welcome the cool night air, needing some time to wrap my head around everything. I head as far as possible away from the house, into the shadows of the garden to lose myself for a bit.
People are milling around the grounds but no one gives me a second glance, so lost in their own conversations or so drunk I don’t register. I find a bench and sit down, elbows on my knees and head in my hands. The eddy of chaos still remains and I just need to slow my mind down, feel my way through the fog of everything that happened, deal in concretes, not emotions.
Something is niggling at the back of my mind that I can’t put my finger on and I need to calm down so that I can figure it all out.
Lying back on the bench, I straddle my legs on either side of it and close my eyes as I start to go through everything from the m
oment that Hawkin came into the room. At first it all seems pretty clear-cut, that there is no room for misinterpretation, but the longer I sit here with the fresh air clearing my mind and my buzz abating, my perspective starts to shift and change.
In my mind, I hear the tone of Hawke’s voice again, the hesitancy, and of course I curse myself for being so nervous that I grabbed him and kissed him and never let him finish whatever he was going to say to me. Because now that I think about it without the anxiety and lust and alcohol interfering with my thoughts, I almost feel like he was going to tell me something.
My mind starts to spin now, to look at everything from another angle, and I realize that Hawkin’s anger wasn’t directed at me, I think it was at Vince. I replay everything over and over again, my heart starting to pound again but for a very different reason as my supposition becomes more and more concrete.
Oh my God. How stupid could I have been? I’m so used to being the one treated like crap in a relationship that I inherently assumed the worst rather than giving him the benefit of the doubt. I sit up and wipe the tears from my cheeks that I didn’t even realize were there and try to steady myself. I have to figure out how to explain my overreaction when there really is nothing I can even say but I’m sorry.
“You’re so stupid, Westin,” I mutter to myself as the tiny bubbles of hope start to rise to the surface. Hawkin didn’t care that I changed my mind, in fact he was probably glad that I did because now with a clear head, I realize he wasn’t mad at me at all. No. He wanted me all to himself, thought enough of me that he didn’t want to share. The revelation buoys me as I start back across the grounds to find him and explain myself as best as possible.
I laugh softly in exasperation as one of my mom’s go-to comments she used to tell me as a teenager flickers through my mind, “If you’re not willing to sound stupid, then you don’t deserve to be in love.”
And then it hits me. My laugh and feet falter, my breath hitches, and my heart stumbles and falls completely off the cliff. I’m in love with Hawkin. The thought staggers me momentarily because my mom was right, with anybody else that I’ve been with, I wouldn’t have even thought twice about feeling stupid. I would have laughed this all off as a misunderstanding and if it worked, it worked, and if it didn’t, it didn’t.
Standing here in the darkness as the awareness hits me, I feel stupid once again, but not only for my freak-out upstairs but because I never saw this coming. I’ve been blindsided. Hell, I’ve fallen for men time and again, but never like this to the point where when the awareness hits, my chest constricts and my heart thunders as every part of me wants to see him right now to right my wrong.
And then I hear him call my name. Relief surges through me and then crashes when a figure steps out of the house’s shadows. It’s not Hawkin, it’s Hunter. I bristle immediately, self-conscious of my braless chest and the cold night air, feeling naked around him even though I’m clothed.
“Where’s the fire?” he asks as he steps in my path. “You’re like a woman on a mission running across the grass and I’m not going to say I mind the view.” His eyes flicker down to my breasts and I immediately cross my arms in front of myself.
“None of your business,” I say as I try to skirt around him. His hand flashes out and grabs my upper arm and I’m more annoyed than anything because I don’t want to deal with him or his shit right now. This is only my second or third encounter and the man can take a hike. I can see why Hawkin has warned me about him.
“What’s this?” he asks, pulling me into him as I try to yank my arm from his grip. I notice his lip is swollen, like he’s been hit, but by the time I process the thought, he speaks. “You’ve been crying? What did wonder boy … oh, OH, you must have found out.” The knowing tone in his voice has me tilting my head in question and narrowing my eyes. “I’m sorry. I told him you deserved more respect than to be the endgame of one of their stupid band bets.”
The words hit my ears but don’t really register. My lips open and close but nothing comes out as I try to ask what bet but I think deep down I already know, vague hints of a conversation flickering briefly through my subconscious.
“Bet?” I croak when I’m finally able to speak, and I’m not sure if I want to know more or would rather be left in the dark. I know I should write off what he’s saying after the staunch warnings Hawke’s given me about how his brother will try to hurt him at all costs, but that red flag warning deep down has me standing still rather than walking away.
“Yeah, it’s so fucked up.” He shakes his head and releases my arm now that I have no desire to run. “To bet that Hawkin can get you in bed by the end of the seminar and that Vince had to be in on it for proof to prevent him from getting one of those stupid fucking hearts? That’s just fucking cruel.” He says the comment off the cuff but the way his eyes bore into mine, I know he’s waiting to see my reaction.
And fuck yes I have a reaction. About a million of them all at once as my mind suffers the whiplash from five minutes ago, realizing I loved him, to this. My body starts to tremble as the shock hits, and I keep telling myself that Hunter is just being a dick and trying to hurt me to get to his twin. But those memories that were on the fringe come back with a vengeance now: little comments from the guys here and there, Hawke’s immediate dismissal anytime I’d bring up their band bets, the poker game where Vince told me the last bet they had was trying to get a woman into bed in a certain time frame.
And what the hell, they were mocking me the whole time? And of course I walked right into it when I said it made perfect sense to need a third person to verify that the sex really happened. The laugh they must have been having at my expense. I recall Hawkin’s face and the warning glare he gave when Vince told him we were talking about their stupid, damn bets.
What happens in the band, stays in the band.
I want to scream, want to cry, want to rage, but all I do is stand here in the shadow of night with a man I don’t really like and my feet rooted to the ground, afraid to run and wanting to flee. Humiliation wars with devastation to see which one will take the crown and it doesn’t really matter because if I hadn’t realized I was in love with Hawkin before, I sure as hell do now.
Hunter stands silently in front of me and I can’t bring myself to look at him because it’s like a slap in my face since he’s the mirror image of his brother. But I need to move because his presence is rubbing my nose in my own stupidity, lifting the blinders I wore when I went with Hawkin willingly.
I feel so silly being hurt so deeply by the deception but after he took me to see his mother, after letting me in his inner circle, after protecting me from Hunter, I thought that we were more than this. I sure as fuck didn’t think I was a crass band bet made to occupy their time.
Sniffing back the tears that burn, I just shake my head in disbelief because I will not let myself cry. I prefer the numbing void I feel right now to the pain that I know will hit sooner rather than later because the saddest thing about betrayal is that it rarely comes from the people you’re expecting it from, your enemies. It comes more often than not from the ones that care about you. Or in my case the one I thought cared about me.
Everything is quiet outside as I silently fall apart and question myself in every way possible. My chest constricts as my heart takes in the finality of it all, the misjudgment, the humiliation, and without a single word, I turn on my heel and leave.
Chapter 30
HAWKIN
If I can get the lyric to come it will be a sign that she’ll talk to me today. I laugh out loud into the empty studio, my own voice coming back to me with that tinge of hysteria to it. What the fuck am I thinking? That a perfect lyric means she’ll forgive me for fucking up royally when I should have come clean a long-ass time ago?
Scrubbing my hands over my face, I try to focus on the chords again but when I look down, my hands are on the neck of the guitar, the one I strapped her to before I fucked her. My mind lingers on the memory of that night: the soft, th
e wet, the hard, the fast, the guitar pick, and every goddamn moan in between. I can remember the look on her face, the way she made me feel, and all I want to do is chuck it across the room and hold it closer to me all at the same time. I’m a pathetic fucker but I’ve never been through this shit before, never knew how goddamn bad it hurts.
No wonder there are so many fucking love songs written.
My mind flickers where I don’t want it to go, in those deep dark recesses where the wild things are, to my dad, and for a moment I understand his desperation that day. Shit, I’m just losing a girl when he stood to lose his wife and two sons. I’m going fucking crazy right now since she’s refused to even speak to or see me in the last three days—I can’t imagine how he felt.
I force myself to turn the mirror away, to stop drawing comparisons to my dad because fuck if I’m going to commit suicide and hell if I want to admit I might just understand an iota of the mindfuck he was going through. Sometimes reflections are a hard thing to face and right now I’ve got enough shit on my plate. I don’t need to be scared to look in the goddamn mirror.
But I am.
My mind rifles over the images from that night, trying to make sense of everything. The comedy of errors that led Quin to think I was actually going to share her. No fucking way. I’d just spent fifteen minutes in the kitchen telling Vince that he could fuck off and die if he actually thought I was following through with the bet. Shit, it’s not like she’s some random groupie.
She’s Quinlan.
And fuck—everything after that was a misunderstanding: leaving the room to look for the tuning fork so I could tease her body with the different vibrations by resting it above her clit like a musical vibrator of sorts, then telling Rocket to have Vince come and help me find it since he had it last, Vince going to the bedroom when I wasn’t in the studio because I thought I’d seen it in Rocket’s room. Fucking Vince thinking that when I said meet me “where I make music,” he thought I meant between the sheets. And then of course everything that happened after that. I heard the trepidation in her damn voice, could feel her nerves bouncing off her so that when I knelt on the bed to tell her she didn’t have to go through with this, I was surprised when she yanked me into her and kissed me like a woman starving for her last breath of air.