“Lunch is on us!” someone from the patio called.
That’s how we ended up in line for burgers and coleslaw, paper plates sagging under the weight. Aiden stood between me and Henry, who had claimed him again and was now explaining defensive zone coverage over a mound of potato salad.
I stabbed at a slice of watermelon and tried to focus on the sticky sweetness instead of the way Aiden’s arm occasionally bumped mine when someone jostled the line.
Ramona intercepted us before I could overthink it further. She had her bass strapped across her back and a fork clenched between her teeth.
“You two,” she said around the fork, pointing at us. “Gear. Van. The rest of us are getting seconds.”
“Excuse me?”
“Just because you’re VIP doesn’t mean you don’t carry things,” she echoed my words from earlier, and left us with a wink.
Aiden took my plate from my hands and set it on the edge of the drinks table without comment. “After you.”
We walked back across the lawn while the others settled into chairs and conversation with the seniors. The stage looked smaller now that it was quiet, and we worked in a rhythm that didn’t require instructions. He collapsed mic stands while I coiled cables. He lifted the cab he’d saved that morning, and I held the gate open with my hip so he could pass through.
At the van, he slid the cab into place against the back wall and adjusted it until it sat flush. I handed him the drum throne and he wedged it between two amp cases.
“Not your usual crowd,” he said, reaching for a crate of pedals.
“You prefer drunk college kids?”
“Not sure. They’re definitely worse tippers.”
I snorted and passed him a bundle of cords. Our fingers grazed as he took them, and the contact lasted just long enough to register before he turned back to stack them.
He kept talking about Henry’s take on the power play, about how he might have to start charging for autograph signings at cookouts. His voice filled the narrow space between the van doors. Sunlight bounced off the metal interior and warmed the back of my neck.
Well, the sun and something else rising up inside of me.
I watched him instead of the gear. The way he fit himself into whatever was needed. Fixing umbrellas. Carrying amps. Escorting strangers to the buffet. He hadn’t complained once. Not about the venue. Not about being dragged here against his better judgment.
He reached for the last mic stand at the same time I did, and our hands collided around the pole. He paused, eyes lifting to mine.
“What?” he asked, a hint of amusement there. “You’re staring.”
I stepped closer before I could dissect it. Before I could remind myself of contracts and headlines and promises I kept tucked in the dark corners of my heart.
My hand slid from the mic stand to the front of his shirt, fisting the cotton to anchor him in place. Then I rose onto my toes and kissed him.
15
Aiden
Her mouth hit mine without warning, and the surprise had nowhere to go except straight through me. Landing, obviously, right in my crotch.
I’d been mid-breath, mid-thought, still tracking the distant sounds of plates and seniors talking as it drifted across the front lawn when her hands caught the front of my shirt and pulled me in.
There was nothing hesitant about the way her mouth met mine. Sage had clearly made up her mind about something, and she’d acted before she had the chance to change it.
Meanwhile, we were out here in the open—van doors gaping in a public parking lot—her body pressed right up against mine. The realization sent a jolt of electricity to my half-hard cock and made it twitch with anticipation.
My fingers tightened at her waist before I had time to consider any of the outside noise. The retirees a hundred yards away, the band eating their lunch somewhere in the mix of it. All totally oblivious to what was going on out here.
“Sage.”
She tasted like lemonade and sunlight.
