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The thought floats through my mind and then drifts away with the guitar chords blended with the unmistakable sound of a harmonica. I hear the soft touch of a drumstick against the high hats. The vocals follow the instrumental introduction.
“I love this song.” She withdraws her arm and steps away from me.
I turn to follow her movements, silently cursing the country boy on stage. But then she begins to dance through the open space in front of the fridge. I’ve spent more nights than I wish to count in this suite, standing beside the long counter currently holding the cheesecake buffet. I’ve always thought of the stadium as a corporate place.
Now, watching Kayla move her hips in time to the kick drum’s beat, I’m seeing the dimly lit room in a new light. There are people in the suites on either side of ours, and thousands more down below. But this tiny corner of the stadium belongs to us.
“It sounds like poetry,” she adds in a breathy voice.
“I can’t follow the lyrics over the honky-tonk twang in the background,” I tease.
“He’s singing about a misfit.”
He’s singing about me.
Or maybe Adam Mc-Whatever-His-Name is part of the club of kids who barely survived childhood, but reached for the stars when he hit eighteen.
I listen a moment longer without taking my eyes off Kayla. He’s singing about music and the girl who falls for the rock star. That’s not my story.
“A guy kind of like you,” she continues. “A guy no one understands because he’s driven by something different. In his case music.”
“It’s not the same.” I reach for her, stopping her mid-spin. With my hands on her hips, I draw her closer. Down on the stage, the country star delivers a monologue about his next song. I block out his deep baritone and focus on Kayla. I hold her tight, unwilling to let her dance out of my arms.
“You’re not just another Mr. Misunderstood?” She steps closer and places her hands on my biceps. “A man who refuses to let anyone in? Who won’t let anyone see the past that shaped his future?”
“Another Mr. Misunderstood? I’m not that guy, Kayla.” I release her hip and raise my hand to her cheek. Gently, I tuck a strand of long, midnight black hair behind her ear. I stare down into her beautiful eyes. “Because I have you. From day one, I’ve let you in. I’m not that guy in the song—the loner, the misfit—because of us.”
Her lips part, and her mouth shifts closer. I can feel her body press up against mine, from her full breasts to her thighs. Her legs threaten to intertwine with mine. She’s so damn close I can smell the hint of lavender from her favorite shampoo. I can practically taste the sugar on her breath.
“Gavin.” She rises up her tiptoes, her weight transferring to my arms. “May I kiss you?”
“Do you need to ask?” I wrap my arms around her, holding her close with one hand on her lower back and the other touching her shoulder blades.
“I won’t take anything from you. This goes both ways, remember?”
“Yes,” I growl, no longer sure which question I’m answering. Our friendship goes both ways—I take care of her and s
he has my back. We don’t keep score. There’s equality in our thirty-year friendship. We’re in this together. Although I suspect this is about to change.
Her lips brush mine. Damn, from the first touch I want more. She tastes impossibly sweet. But I let her lead the way. She chooses to linger over the preamble, teasing me with the lightest touch of her tongue. Her hands roam over my chest, moving lower and lower until she brushes my belt buckle. “Kayla.” I murmur, pulling back from the kiss. I’m ready to tear off her clothes, gather her in my arms, and press her up against the wall. But first I need to ask. “Are you sure about this? You’ve been drinking—”
She raises an eyebrow. “One glass of wine and you stole half of it. Are you sure?”
I run my hands up under her T-shirt. My fingers toy with her bra, slipping beneath and lifting it away. I manage to release the clasp. My palms glide over the skin previously hidden by her bra, skimming her sides until the heel of my hand touches the swell of her breasts.
“Kayla?”
“Hmm?”
She looks up at me. I can see the pure want in her brown eyes. And I grin down at her. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
CHAPTER 15
KAYLA
“Prove it,” I say.
I’m playing with fire. Down below, on the stage, in front of the thousands of adoring fans, Adam Bates belts out the lyrics to one of my favorite songs. He’s signing about the best days of his year. And I think I’ve found mine. I feel as if I’ve been waiting for years for Gavin to look at me with an excitement that borders on feral.
