Her laughter, loud and tickled with joy interrupts, “Oh, my God. Tell me you’re fucking with me.”
I twist my mouth in mock indignation. “It’s got potential. I think maybe if you take all the letters and rearrange them into new words.” My chuckles join with her amusement and I step forward, finding a seat at the edge of her bed.
“Dude, Trent. I wanna lie to you, but that was really bad. Horrible, really.”
“I know!” I shake my head. “But it was my first try!”
“What, at collaborating?”
“No. Writing lyrics.”
“What?” Her mouth falls open with shock. “Wait, who writes all your songs?”
“Mostly, our old drummer, Derek. It’s what he does for a living now. Sometimes other stuff the label finds us.”
“That surprises me.”
“What? That I can’t write for shit?”
“No. It’s just ... when you’re onstage ... you make the words your own. They seem so personal. It surprises me you didn’t write them.”
“Wait. I never see you backstage. When did you see me play?”
Her gaze darts away and I can’t help but let loose another chuckle.
“Sneaky little thing. And hell must be freezing over, because if I’m not mistaken, I just heard Lexi Marx give a compliment. To me?” I raise my brow.
“Chalk it up next to being prettier than a bug.”
“Don’t forget the lack of Lyme disease!”
“Never.” She grins, crossing her heart with one pointed finger, and it’s all I can do to stay still right now. To not crawl over her body until she lays back against the mattress. To dip my chin and feel those lips I’ve been dreaming of for so long. To taste her.
The motor of the bus is a slight rumble over an otherwise smooth ride but our breaths are shallow. Bated. Charging the air with a current that’s full of everything I’ve ever felt for her. Lust. Attraction. Admiration. Desire. Want. All the reasons—good ones, too—why this is a bad idea fade to the furthest corners of my conscience as I lean forward at a deliberate pace so I don’t scare her. Just to touch her. To kiss her. Once.
My cheek makes the first contact, brushing against hers, and I dip my chin as her face lifts and our mouths connect in a rush. A coming home as if they knew where to meet. Our lips are unhurried, languid, and the kiss is everything I thought it’d be. When Lexi tries to pull away I can’t help but stop her, my hand cradling the back of her neck. I press closer, my lips moving against hers and she opens for me. I lick inside her mouth and moan.
The ringing of her phone interrupts the magic of our moment, and Lexi’s hands press against my chest. “Stop. Trent, stop.” She pulls away and this time I let her.
She doesn’t want this. She doesn’t want me. It’s what I already knew, but it’s hurtful all the same.
“Sorry. I ... Um ...” I climb off the bed, open her door, and turn back just enough to catch her greet her mom with a disappointed hello. I don’t try to meet her gaze. I don’t even know if she watches me slink from her room. Like a big fucking coward, because that kiss ... Her lips ... Fuck, I sound like a pussy, but that’s all it took to seal what I already knew. I’ve got the hots for Lexi Marx. I’ve got it bad. I’m so screwed it’s not fucking funny.
