Forget (16 page)

I blush, thinking about our little make-out-grind-session today. Although my best friend has zero boundaries, I think she’s right. His body was between my thighs and I definitely felt
something.
Let’s just say, I’d bet my entire savings account on the fact that Dylan Bissette’s cock isn’t small.

Hard and straining? Yes.

Average-sized? Not fucking likely.

And during my cool-down shower this evening, the fantasy I played out definitely involved riding—he was the horse, and I was the shameless cowgirl riding him towards the orgasm-filled sunset.

“Wait a minute, look at you!” She points at my cheeks. “You’re all flushed. What aren’t you telling me?”

I avert my eyes when another text comes in.

‘You’re right. It’s definitely a cheese mold. What are you up to?’

“
Brooke
. . . don’t ignore me. What happened during your little outing with Dylan today?”

I do what any sane person would do in this situation. I ignore her, typing out a response.

‘Haha! I told you! I’m just sitting here chatting with Linds. I accidentally woke her up with my obnoxious laughter.’

‘The late-night bartender took over for me. Jesse and Alex are here. We’re gonna play a little music. Drink a few pints. Want to join us? It’ll probably end in a drunken night of Jesse doing karaoke.’

“Yes.” Lindsay hops up from the bed. “Tell him yes.”

“You’re a snooping hooker,” I say, annoyed with her uncanny ability to eavesdrop.

“I love you too, Brookie. Now, move your ass,” she demands as she grabs her room key off my nightstand. “You have ten minutes or else I’ll drag you out of this room in what you’re wearing.”

“And here I thought you’d just stay sleeping all night.”

“Well, if someone hadn’t woken me up with her whorish laughter, I probably would have.”

I laugh. “Good point.”

“And don’t think I’ve forgotten about our conversation. We’ll have plenty of time for you to fill me in on all the filthy little details while we’re sitting on the métro,” Lindsay calls over her shoulder, striding out of my room.

I send a quick message to Dylan, and then rummage through my clothes, looking for something more presentable than black leggings and a ratty t-shirt.

We’ll be there by midnight at the latest.
I read Brooke’s last text and slide my phone in my back pocket. I hop on stage, slinging the guitar strap over my shoulder. Jesse is already behind the drums.

It’s a Thursday night at Au Fait, which means it’s not busy. We like to take advantage of this by having impromptu practice sessions. It starts with good intentions, but usually ends with one of us shitfaced, and letting randoms from the crowd try their shot at karaoke.

Who wouldn’t want to sing karaoke with a live band backing them?

Needless to say, it’s a bloody good time.

I want to get Brooke up on stage again. I’ve never seen a woman look more beautiful than she did, sitting beside me, her slender hands playing the guitar, and her voice filling my ears.

She has become my constant distraction. Quite the mystery, that one. Her words say platonic, yet her body is saying something else entirely. Either she’s not calling me and telling me she wants to be
friendly
or she’s grinding herself against my cock, begging for more.

“
Please Dylan,
” she’d said. Her voice breathy, her eyes glazed over, and her hips restless against mine. Fuck, I would have given her anything.

If it wasn’t for Pierre and his horrible timing, I think I might have shagged her on his desk. Christ, who am I kidding? I
would
have shagged her. I was far too wild with need. All she had to do was say the words.

“She coming?” Jesse asks.

“Yeah, and Lindsay is with her.”

“Fantastic.”

“Is who coming?” Alex questions as he hops on stage, his brows rising in curiosity.

“This model you’ll probably recognize and a hot, little bird Dylan is smitten over. I think he’s in love, mate. Didn’t even take the bait when Lucie practically shoved her tits in his face last night,” Jesse adds.

Lucie,
Christ,
she practically ruined it for me.

She’s a sweet girl, really, but a little on the free side if you know what I mean. Pretty face, nice body, but she’s not the kind of girl I’d take home to my mum. We’ve shagged countless times, but it was purely physical with her.

Lucie was a means to an end—a way to blow off steam. I’m like any single, red-blooded male, but I’m not a complete sod. I’ve never been anything but straight with the women I’ve fucked in the past. That’s exactly how it was with Lucie. I never led her on. Never let her think we were anything but occasional sex. I ended the shag fests once I began to get an idea of just how
free
she was.

Before you take that the wrong way, let me add, I
never
call women sluts or whores or any other degrading name choice regarding their sexual promiscuity. I don’t think badly of a woman who happens to like sex and happens to be good at getting it. But one thing I’m not keen on is being with a woman who’s stupid and irresponsible when it comes to
safe
sex.

Over a year ago, I found out Lucie had crossed that boundary, diving right into “you’re being a complete idiot” territory. An old mate from uni came to visit Jesse and me, and to cut a long story short, she ended up fucking him in the bathroom at some dive bar in Montmartre,
sans condom.
After he told me about it the next morning, I made a point to get tested—
don’t worry, mum, I’m clean!—
and never touched her again.

“It’s been forever since I’ve shagged Lucie. And even if Brooke hadn’t been with me last night, there’s no way I would have taken her bait. No. Fucking. Way.” I shudder from the mere idea of it.

Jesse laughs and looks at Alex. “Anyway, I can’t blame him for being so infatuated with this girl. Bloody gorgeous. Fantastic body—all legs with an ass that would make a bloke weep.”

Alex chuckles.

“Piss off, Jessica,” I toss at my brother. He’s such a bastard, but everything Jesse said is true. I’m just not a fan of hearing him talk about Brooke’s ass. I have a feeling my inner caveman would see red hearing
anyone
comment on her gorgeous body.

Jesse smirks, nonplussed. “And she’s tiny, like a little fairy. I bet she’s got my big bro fantasizing about shagging Tinkerbell.”

Now, that has me laughing. Little Wing definitely has pixie-like qualities. She’s tiny enough to put in my pocket, yet has the most mouth-watering curves. The girl could bring me to my knees with one seductive glance. Hell, just picturing her biting her lip has my dick responding.

Jesse tells Alex about Lindsay—
in great detail
—and both are gabbing like hens. The conversation revolves around risqué photos she did for a popular clothing line. I haven’t seen them, but apparently, I’m in the minority. My brother says the entire world has seen them.

There’s no denying Lindsay is beautiful, but I have zero interest in searching for those pictures. Even when Jesse tells me I
need
to see them, I brush it off, bored with the entire conversation.

But if those photos had Brooke in them, I’d be pulling out my phone and utilizing Google’s search skills. Thank Christ that’s not the case. I’m insanely jealous at the thought of an entire world full of randy men seeing her in such an intimate state.

What can I say? Little Wing brings out the possessive side in me.

Knowing their conversation could go on for hours, I interrupt them when they start talking about Lindsay’s tits. “Are we going to play? Or should I head back to the bar while you two prattle on?”

“Christ, let’s play before Dy-lana’s pussy starts to hurt.”

I ignore him, focused on getting down to business. “Let’s start with
Moan,
and see if we can work out the riffs around the chorus. Every time we play it, I feel like something is off.”

Brooke and Lindsay walk in the door while we’re finishing up. Even though Zach isn’t here to give his input, I’m positive he’ll be thrilled with the changes we’ve made.

The girls find a seat and Bruno waits on them from behind the bar, a little too excitedly in my opinion.

“One more time? Then we get pissed?” Alex asks.

“All right,” Jesse agrees, setting his sticks on his lap to finish off his Guinness.

We roll through
Moan
one more time. I manage to stay focused, but don’t miss that Brooke’s eyes are on me the entire time. And like a magnet, once we’re done, all of my attention moves to her.

“Little Wing,” I say into the mic.

Her eyes go wide for a beat, but then her lips morph into a shy smile. Brooke has about a thousand smiles. Shy, carefree, curious, unsure—it’s an endless list, and I dig every single one of them.

“We’ve just finished up, and plan on drinking.
Unless,
you want to get up here and grace us with that voice of yours?” I raise an eyebrow, curious to see her response. Most of the time, she’s reserved, but occasionally, this sassiness comes out. I’m a fan of both, but praying for the sassy—hand on her hip, brow arched, and cherry lips ready to put me in my place.

A Thursday night at Au Fait is by no means hopping. The crowd is scarce. Mostly middle-aged regulars fill the tables, and everyone is well on their way to glazed eyes and hangovers. As I glance around the room, I note the blatant stares Brooke and Lindsay receive. The wankers couldn’t be more obvious if they took their peckers out and started jerking. Can’t say I blame them, Brooke and Lindsay are quite the pair. They’d stand out anywhere, but in this mostly, beer-guts and balding crowd, they might as well be sitting on their bar stools naked.

Brooke stands up, giving me
her full attention. “I wouldn’t want to steal the show,” she says, a brow arched in my direction.

I chuckle. “I highly doubt doing Mariah covers could steal the show, love. Besides, seems you’ve already stolen it by walking through the door.” I nod towards one of my father’s favorite regulars. “You’ve got Jimmy drooling over his pint. That’s a bloody accomplishment considering he’s usually one blink away from passing the fuck out.”

Jimmy mumbles a
piss off,
but his eyes never leave the girls. The rest of the bar bursts into laughter and drunken hollers—most of them encouraging Brooke to get her cute ass on stage.

Damn, she’s gorgeous—long legs on display in cut-off jean shorts, old Chucks covering her tiny feet, and a sliver of her navel peeking out from underneath a shirt that reads, “Beam me up, Scotty, there’s no intelligent life down here.”

And don’t even get me started on the mess of blonde curls hanging past her shoulders. If they did a remake of the film
Almost Famous,
she could be a dead ringer for that American actress who played Penny Lane—minus the promiscuity and whole Band-Aid scenario.

Unless, she wants to be
my
Band-Aid, and then game on.

She’s still standing, and now a sassy hand rests on her hip. I’m taking this as a good sign.

“What do you say, Little Wing? This crowd is dying to hear you sing. Give the people what they want.”

Lindsay nudges her. “Get up there, hooker. Put the British bastard in his place.” She winks in my direction.