Jean Haus - With the Band

He glances down at me. “I remember seeing you the first time on campus. Somehow, with everything that Seth was dealing with, I’d forgotten you were going there too.”

“You hated me,” I say sadly.

He shakes his head. “It was never hate, just hurt that felt so deep it made me crazy. Sometimes I think I unconsciously followed you to our college.”

When I looked back at that night, I had guessed he might have had feelings for me, but we didn’t see each other until almost a year later. Surely, he would have been over me by then. But following me? That blows my mind. “Why?”

Looking over the water, Sam says, “I was crazy about you before, you know.”

“Before?” I ask, confused. I’m still riding the high of acknowledgment between us, and the kiss in front of the bar.

He leads me to the rail near the water. “I wanted to ask you out the first time Jill brought you to see the Bottle Rockets at that old falling-down barn. Seth beat me to it. So I tried to be content with being friends.”

My free hand grasps the rail. “We were good friends.”

“Until that night,” he says, looking out over the water. “When you ran back to Seth.”

Letting go of the rail, I turn to him. “Sam, I was a young, insecure girl who thought that dating Seth was like winning the lottery. My longing to be wanted, to be loved, had me imagining there was more to that relationship than there was, but I truly thought you and I were just friends. Even after that night, I blamed what happened on alcohol and my fight with Seth.”

He shakes his head. “Think about it, Peyton. Except for the few dates you went on, you and Seth weren’t together much. He was too busy being the life of the party. While he entertained the crowd, you and I hung out, talked music, and joked around. I never understood why Seth took you for granted. I thought you were perfect, pretty, intelligent, and funny. That you were into music was only a bonus. I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t spend every second possible with you, because as we spent more time together, I wanted to spend every moment with you.”

I stare out over the water in confusion. Although I believe his words, I’m having a hard time remembering if he’s right about how much time we spent together. Once again, my memory fails me. Or is it my denial kicking in? I do recall talking with Sam but not that much. I was usually thinking about Seth or watching Seth or waiting for Seth. I was in the grip of a girlish obsession. I shake my head slightly. “I don’t know why I was so obsessed with Seth, but my feelings died long ago.”

“I’ve slowly realized that. It’s not easy for me to let it go. Your rejection, Seth’s anger at me, then his disease . . . It’s all wrapped up together in a ball of hurt that I couldn’t get rid of. When you showed up at my apartment to tell me you were coming on tour with us, it ripped open those old wounds.” He brushes at a strand of hair that the breeze blew across my face. “Then I started to get to know you again, and in many ways, you’re the same Peyton, the same amazing girl who drew me in years ago.”

I look at him incredulously. If anything, I’ve gone from naive and bitchy to just bitchy. “After the way I treated you? You thought I was amazing ?”

He smiles faintly. “You’ve gained an edge of toughness, but inside you still have that soft heart. You have basically taken care of the band this whole tour without once complaining. And you were absolutely livid at the idea that I’d abandoned Seth. And you’re still unbelievably lovely.” He pushes a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. “A week into the tour, although I tried to avoid it, I found myself becoming obsessed with you all over again.”

I reach up and catch his hand, press it to my cheek as I shake my head. “I was in crazy denial back then,” I say, pushing up on my tiptoes so my lips are inches from his. “I’m not that blind self-absorbed girl anymore. This time around, all my attention is on you.”

His fingers cup my face and he kisses me again. Long and slow until we’re pressed against each other. Gently pulling away, Sam grasps my hand. “Come on, Gabe won’t be back for hours.”

We step out onto the street, and I’m startled to see the hotel across the way. My sense of direction isn’t usually so bad, but then again, paying attention to my surroundings is my last concern at the moment. I’m preoccupied with Sam.

On the sidewalk in front of the hotel, I teasingly say, “Why does it matter if Gabe won’t be back for hours?”

In a whirl of movement, I quickly find myself pressed against the building. “Because ever since I’ve been with you, you’re the only woman I truly want,” he growls into my ear.

“It was just last week,” I gasp as he rubs against me and drags his lips across the skin of my jaw.

He steps back, his gaze burning into me. “It’s been years.”

I nearly gasp again, shocked that he’s wanted me for so long. I’m suddenly warm all over; my knees have the consistency of pudding, as wobbly as the zabaglione I make at the restaurant.

He grabs my hand again and we rush through the lobby to the elevator. Sam glances with evident irritation at the other couple going up as we’re forced to wait as they slowly exit at their floor with suitcases. When the doors slide open again, we make it down the hall in seconds. He quickly slips the card into the lock, pulls me inside, hooks the chain, and pushes me against the back of the door.

His hands hold mine, pressing them to the door above my head. His mouth on mine is slow, his tongue languid as he seductively explores my mouth. His hold on my hands keeps me up, keeps me from sliding down the door and collapsing onto the carpet.

He breaks away, continuing to grasp one of my hands. “We’re going to do this right for once.”

I blink innocently and let him gently pull me along. He backs up, leading me farther into the room, which is lit only by the lamp on the desk. As we move, I step out of my flip-flops. “We’ve been doing it wrong?” I run my fingers along the low-riding waistband of his shorts. “Because it felt pretty damn right. Both times,” I add with a naughty grin.

After placing a condom on the bed, he grins back at me and reaches for the bottom of my shirt. “It’s going to feel more right naked .” He pulls the shirt off over my head. With the tank top hanging from his fingertips, he stares at my lacy bra. “Very pretty.”

He drops the shirt, then starts to slowly run his fingertips from my belly button to the clasp in between my breasts. His touch on my skin drives me wild but I try to stay still. He unhooks the bra with slightly shaking fingers. While he watches, his hands millimeters from my skin, I tug the straps from my shoulders and the bra drops to the floor.

“Even prettier,” he says from a throat that sounds dry.

Between his stare and his tone, I’m already flushed. It’s so easy being with him, so natural, we may not make it to fully naked for the third time. But I’m really, really liking this naked thing. I tug on his T-shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine. I’m utterly, totally, unconscious about being naked in front of him. I trust him. I feel safe, accepted, and desired. Every time his hot blue gaze lingers on me, I feel like the sexiest woman on earth.

He bends down and catches a breast in his mouth, and without thinking, I jump toward him. He holds me by one hip as his mouth moves to my other breast. His free hand lightly caresses my ribs, spreading more fire. As his tongue and teeth wreak havoc on my breasts, my hands wind through his curls and grip his head.

When he releases a nipple, I reach for the bottom of his shirt again.