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She glanced up at him through her lashes. “Maybe.”
“Simple as that.” He leaned in and touched her mouth with his. Not the growling kiss from the night before. This was friendly and light.
The knots she hadn’t realized were forming instantly eased. She leaned up and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thanks for being so cool about this.”
“Not so cool, trust me.” He groaned in her ear. “I’m only a man. And fuck, your tits are amazing.”
She laughed and pushed him off the bed. “Go on.”
He lowered his shoulders in mock rejection and gave her a pouty glance over his shoulder.
“Not falling for it.” Though she did spare a glance at his spectacular ass as she pulled up the sheet to cover her chest.
He stepped into his jeans. “Had to try.” Then he slid them up over his hips, tucking himself away.
Again, the whole commando thing, still hot.
“You can take a shower if you want.”
“Nah. I think I’d like to smell like you a little bit longer.” He grinned and grabbed his costume. Before he went out the door, he backtracked to the small desk in the corner of her room. He scribbled something on the pad.
“Love note?”
“Phone number. I can write love texts, but I’m better at the dirty ones.”
She laughed. “Get out.”
He saluted her and ducked out the door. She f
ell back onto the pillows and stared at the ceiling.
Holy fuck, she was toast.
She didn’t remember falling back asleep, but she woke to pounding on the door.
She winced at the sunlight that meant it was definitely way past noon. She was supposed to be out of there already. A few of her bandmates from Warning Sign had been at the party, but most hadn’t opted for a bedroom. So who the hell was knocking?
Her heart skipped. Sparks?
No.
She shook her head and stumbled out of bed to grab a T-shirt from her bag. She dragged on a pair of yoga pants as the door vibrated under a fist. “What the hell?”
“Up and at ‘em.”
“West?” She swung the door open. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“You didn’t answer your phone. I came a lookin’.” West Reynolds—their keyboard player, and her all around pain in the ass best friend—strode in. He tucked an ever present lock of sun and ocean-bleached hair behind his ear. The rest was in a messy tail down the middle of his back.
“Come on in.” She slammed the door shut.
He threw her a grin. “Nothing I haven’t seen before. Though it’s not like you to have the just-fucked look.” He swung around and squinted at her, letting out a long whistle. “Whoa, called that right. Jules, you got turbo fucked last night, didn’t you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
She hadn’t quite gotten to turbo, thank you very much.
He climbed onto one of the padded wing chairs by the window, perching on the top as he propped his elbows on his knees. “Dude, I know that look. I gave a lucky lady that look last night.”
