Jean Haus - With the Band

He shrugs. “No. Not really.” When I pull away from his shoulder to give him an incredulous look, he asks, “Do you know why?”

Truly bewildered, I shake my head.

His hands follow the curve of my hips to my thighs. “You. Me. We’re meant to be together. I’ve felt it from the beginning.”

My expression turns skeptical but he ignores it.

His head tilts in thought. “Being an English major, I’ve read just about every kind of love story there is, from Shakespeare to Fitzgerald. Some end happily, others in heartache, and most in tragedy. But I’ve connected with each one, even the sappiest”—his hands tighten on my thighs—“because you’re my star-crossed lover, Juliet. Because I’ve been cold, proud Mr. Darcy pining in torment for you. Because you’ve been Estella Havisham, blindly refusing your feelings. Because, like Jay Gatsby, I’ve been obsessed with my former lover.” He lowers his head until his gaze is even with mine. “But together we’re Buttercup and Westley riding off into the sunset on white horses. We’re Lucy and George whispering from their room with a view. Jane and Mr. Rochester reuniting amid the burned ruins of his estate.”

Air is caught like a fluttering butterfly in my throat. I’m overwhelmed by the comparisons and can only stare at him opened mouthed until he adds, “Superman and Lois Lane flying in the night sky.”

The butterfly escapes as a laugh bursts from me. “ Great Expectations to comic books?”

He smirks. “Some comics are classic too.”

Feeling semidrunk on his words, I twist around and grasp his jaw. “Do you know how many times over the past weeks I’ve wished I would have fallen for you back then instead of Seth?”

He stares at me for a few silent moments before asking in a hoarse voice, “How many?”

I lean forward, my hands slipping into his curls. “Countless,” I say against his lips before kissing him long and slow. Kissing him is so right, I can’t imagine kissing anyone else ever again.

His hands move down my back to my butt, jerking me toward him. At the touch of his hard heat between my thighs, I’m thinking forget the bed—right now, it’s about this patio chair. We need to try everything at least once.

But a loud clunk and a voice yelling “What the fuck?” interrupts us. Someone beats on the room door and yells, “Sam!”

Realizing Gabe’s trying to get in, I scramble off Sam’s lap, drawing the sheet with me. “What time is it?”

Sam reaches for my waist. “Who cares?”

I step away from him and into the room, searching for my clothes. The clock on the nightstand reads three eleven. Gabe keeps pounding on the door. I’m tugging my shorts on when Sam comes in and kisses my neck.

“He’ll go away eventually,” he says softly, then runs his tongue over my shoulder.

“Get dressed!” I hiss, pushing him away and trying not to laugh. “We’re not leaving Gabe in the hallway.” Gabe has opened the door a sliver and is rattling it back and forth to try and free the chain that Sam—very smartly, I think now—must have fastened before we came outside to the patio.

“Fine.” He reaches for his shorts but pauses with one leg in as I clip my bra on. “You’re staying, right?”

I snatch my shirt from the floor. “And sleep with you while Gabe’s in the next bed? Ah, I don’t think so.”

He finishes pulling his shorts up. “Gabe won’t care.”

I pull my shirt over my head. “I’ll care.”

Before my arms are down, Sam’s wrapped around me. “Come on, Peyton. Please. Stay.”

The feel of his arms around me tempts me to.

“Come on !” Gabe rattles the door harder.

I try to envision sleeping next to Sam all night with Gabe snoring a few feet away or, worse, Sam getting me hot with Gabe snoring right there. Ah, no, it’s not happening. Untangling myself from Sam, I say, “We can meet up in the morning.”

“Morning, shmorning,” he grumbles as I toss his shirt at him.

“Put it on,” I say, moving toward the door after slipping on my flip-flops. I hesitate before removing the chain. Gabe isn’t dumb—he knows why the chain is up, and I’m not in the mood, nor will I ever be, to hear his shit. But this is his room, so after checking that Sam put his shirt on, I reluctantly let the chain loose and open the door.

Gabe’s fist pauses midair. “Well, hello, Peyton. Strange meeting you here,” he says with a sarcastic grin, breezing past me. “Oh look, Sam’s bed is all messy, even missing some sheets,” I hear Gabe say. His laughter follows me as I fly out the door.

Sam catches up with me in the hallway and pins me to the wall. “Don’t I get a good-bye at least?”

“Good-bye,” I say sweetly.

“And a kiss?”

I raise an eyebrow.

He raises one of his.

“Fine,” I say, leaning toward his lips, then give him a quick peck.

“That’s not a kiss,” he says flatly as his fingers tighten around my arms.

“My lips touched yours,” I say wryly. “That would be the definition of a kiss.”

He huffs in annoyance, jerks my body to his, then covers my mouth in a long, searching, hot kiss as his hands roam over my body. He breaks the kiss with a smirk, and has to untangle himself from my arms to step away. “Good night, Peyton,” he says softly.

“Night, Sam,” I say dreamily, watching him saunter back to his room.

Once the door closes, I stumble like a drunk to my room.

Neither Romeo nor Justin wakes up when I enter the room. Still in a daze, I wouldn’t care if they did.

The next night, as soon as I get to the green room, Sam catches my gaze and nods toward the exit. After doing an interview for a local radio station, he and the rest of the band are surrounded by fans. Most of them are female. Pretending not to notice him and his gestures, I fill a plate with mini sandwiches, a heap of fruit, and a few chips, then I go sit in the back, where the roadies are coming and going as usual. Sam keeps moving around the fans, trying to get my attention as I listen to TJ and Chris bitch about their day.

Finishing off my chips, I almost spit them out in laughter when Sam’s text comes in.

Either get me a crowbar to remove these women, or meet me in the bus.

After wiping my hands on a napkin, I text back, One of the roadies should be able to find a crowbar.

Chris and I talk music for a bit after TJ leaves.

PEYTON! pops up on the screen of my phone.

I respond, Crowbar incoming in two seconds .

Chris leaves and I’m packing up my trash when Sam texts. First you leave me with Gabe and now you’re ignoring me for roadies.

I dump my trash in a bin before typing, You shouldn’t have tried to molest me in the laundry room this morning.

Sam’s eyes narrow at me from across the room as a girl wraps her arm around him and her friend takes a picture. I smile wide and wink.

I’m loading my bag with bottled waters—I started snagging waters at each event so we never run out anymore—when another text comes through.

I’m going to molest you in this room. Presently.

Suspecting he’s not kidding, I race out of the green room and head to the bus.

Gary is sleeping on the couch. We’ll be leaving tonight, starting the last run of concerts. I tiptoe past him, deposit the water bottles in the fridge, and go to my little cave in the back.

It doesn’t take too long before Sam comes into the room quietly and tugs the curtain shut. The only light is from the computer screen as I load pictures from my camera. His eyes gleam at me in the near darkness. He dives at me and I slap a hand across my mouth, stopping a laugh from escaping as I scoot across the couch. He lands over me, the leather of the couch squeaking under his spread knees, his hands braced on either side of me. I’m caught sitting up with his body like a gorgeous cage around me.