Play Smart: An Enemies to Lovers Rockstar Romantic Comedy (Work For It Book 5), page 8
“Sure,” he says.
I can’t look at Paige as I grab the back of my shirt to tug it over my head. I’m sure she thinks I’ve lost my mind and is probably back to hating me again, but this isn’t about her. It’s about the piece of myself I see in another lost soul who hasn’t been filed down to a walking callous yet. Maybe it’s not too late for him like it is for me. Maybe he can still heal and thrive and find purpose instead of drifting through an endless blank space like I do.
I turn so he can see my back, gripping my shirt in my fist like it betrayed me by shedding its veil so easily.
“It’s a dragon?” Val asks with a hint of uncertainty. Not because it doesn’t look like a dragon, but because he still doesn’t understand what’s happening right now.
You and me both, dude.
“Yeah. But look closely.”
“It’s filled with words.”
I hear the excitement in his voice, and the corner of my mouth ticks up. “Yep. Every bullshit thing anyone ever said to me. Well, the ones I could remember at least.”
“Damn,” he mumbles. “That’s messed up.”
I clench my fist, having no desire to go there. I’ve already gone way further than I should have. “Yeah, but it’s the fire he’s breathing out that’s the real story.”
I wait as he looks closer.
“Poetry?” he asks. “Wait, no. Song lyrics!”
My full smile breaks as I turn to face him. “The shit on the outside, what people see when they look at you? That’s on them. What’s on the inside, what you breathe in and out? That’s on you. You can give them the power to poison you and spew the ugly back into the universe, or you can transform it into something beautiful. Incinerate their hate with a fire that is uniquely and perfectly yours.”
Fuck.
Where did that come from?
My chest aches with old wounds as my words settle around us. I still don’t understand how we even got here. In a million years I wouldn’t have seen this moment coming. I don’t share shit about myself, and I’m definitely not the type to offer sage advice, mostly because I don’t have any. But maybe I’m glad I cracked open the vault when Val’s façade brightens with the best thing one artist can offer another: inspiration.
I’m feeling pretty damn good about myself. And then…
“Can I talk to you?” Paige clips out.
Val and I glance over, my stomach twisting at the look on her face. Crap. Here we go.
“Sure,” I mutter, following reluctantly as she stomps toward the hallway.
“Don’t,” she commands when I unfurl the shirt to put it back on.
Confused, I say nothing as she grabs my arm and drags me into a room at the end of the hall.
“Two things,” Paige barks, shoving me against the door.
“Ow. What did I do?”
She looks angrier than I’ve ever seen her. I thought… I don’t know. I was just trying to help.
Her palms press into my bare chest, locking me against the door as her eyes scour every inch of my face. Her gaze drops to her hands where they’re fused with my pecs, pale and smooth against the chaos of my tattoos.
“Shut your mouth and listen, Ellis,” she says, blasting me with a warning.
“Okay, geez.” I hold up my hands in surrender, the shirt dangling like a vanquished white flag.
But then… wait.
Her soft hands slide down my stomach, fingers clawing at my skin in hot streaks. She traces the waistband of my jeans before pushing her palms back up to hook behind my neck. Stepping forward, she scrapes her body against mine and settles close. So fucking close. What the…?
I harden against her, hissing in a breath when she rolls her hips for more intense friction. She stays braced against me, pulsing just enough to trigger a sharp, exquisite ache at each collision.
“One,” she says, gazing at my mouth with raw hunger. “The fact that I’m incredibly attracted to you right now in no way sets a precedent for future encounters.”
Oh shit. I fight to keep the amusement from my face because now I can’t tell if she’s angry or not. It would be just like her to be mad at me for turning her on.
“Two. I’m making the assumption based on circumstantial evidence that you are single and at least mildly attracted to me. If that’s not the case, please make the correction now in an explicit way.”
I can’t stop a half-smile at that one, though, and her eyes narrow on me.
“Mmm… How explicit? Ow!” I say through a laugh when she grips my hair and tugs my head back. She doesn’t let go, clutching hard while she searches my eyes in the scorching silence. The solid heat of her body buzzes over my skin as I watch her struggle between wanting to kiss me and smack me.
I’d take a hard dose of both right now.
“Not that kind of explicit,” she snaps. “You know what I mean.”
I manage a grave nod. “Okay, well, I only need to correct one assumption, Ms. Andrews.”
Her brows scrunch. “You have a girlfriend?” she asks, disappointment leeching onto her face. Hell. Yes.
“I’m more than mildly attracted to you,” I correct.
Her relief lasts just a second before turning to suspicion, as if testing my ability to keep a straight face. I’m trying so damn hard.
“Oh. Well. Great,” she says, a flush spreading over her cheeks. “Three—”
“I thought you said two things. Ow!”
Man, I was hoping for that. Her fingers—still knotted in my hair—pull my head down until her mouth hovers over mine. I sense her quick intake of breath before she lifts her eyes to meet my gaze.
“There were two,” she breathes against my lips. “But then you were an ass so now there are three things.”
“How was I an ass?” I murmur, my eyes fixed on hers, my body tense and throbbing for more. I slide my hands around her waist to pull her in. Her right leg tightens behind me as she lifts up on her toes for another firm, torturous graze. Fuck, that felt good.
She licks her lips while staring at mine, and I pull back just enough to torment her. Did she just whimper? She’s making it freaking impossible to show restraint right now. I can already taste her. Mint and something sweet.
“All the snide comments,” she says.
“Except it’s turning you on, isn’t it?” I respond in a low voice, brushing her lips with mine again. “You like the fact that I challenge you.”
“Whatever.” She moves in, and I retract.
“Admit it,” I say, my grin slipping out.
“You’re an ass.”
“Yep. And you like it. Admit it.” I search her scalding stare, daring her to argue. Her body coils tighter around mine, her lust winning out over irritation, and I’m not sure how much longer I can play this game no matter how fun it is to torment her.
“Fine! Yes. There’s something weirdly hot about you being an ass all the time, okay? Now for the third—”
“Don’t I get any things?”
I slip my hands under her shirt, and she shudders when I trail my fingers up her sides. She adjusts to urge me on, and I oblige with a slow stroke below the band of her bra. With a sharp breath, she leans further into my touch.
“Argh! Fine! What things?” Her tone is pained, though, and she looks frustrated when I only move my hand a fraction closer to where she wants it.
“Hmm.” I squint and stare up like I’m thinking.
“Nash!”
“So impatient.”
“I hate you.”
“I know. Oh, hey. I’ve got one.”
Her expression turns suspicious again, even as she twists so my hand grazes her breast in a blatant signal. Her chest swells, her eyes pleading until I finally slide my fingertips beneath the lace.
“Nash…” she whines, pressing into my touch. I tease higher, adding a warning glance just for fun.
“My thing is a question,” I say.
“Okay?” She groans when I brush her nipple, arching into my hand. I twist gently and cup her breast. I’m not even sure she remembers what we’re talking about. Hell, I’m not sure I do either. Damn, she feels good. I start a slow massage and watch her eyelids flutter with each labored breath. She shoves her own hand down my chest in greedy anticipation.
“My question is, why am I the only one naked right now?”
Her eyes flare hot.
“You’re not naked.”
“Basically.”
“You can’t basically be naked. You either are or you’re not. You. Are. Not.” She seems incredibly annoyed by that fact.
“Do you want me to be?” I ask, a wry smile leaking out.
Her gaze locks on my lips again as she jerks the waistband of my jeans, separating it from my hips. I arch back to give her more access, tensing when her fingers sink in to tease the sensitive skin just below the hem. Her other hand grips my belt, her thumb caressing the top of my zipper.
“Will you stop that?” she whispers, studying my lips.
God, she sounds like she’s in pain. I know how she feels.
“Stop what?”
“The sexy smirks.”
“Sexy, huh? I thought you hated me.”
“I...”
“So you don’t want me naked right now?”
“Nash, come on…”
“It’s a yes or no question.”
I reach down and tug open the buckle, enjoying the tormented look on her face at the invitation. Her fingers tighten around the exposed button and zipper, her knuckles sending tiny shivers over my skin where we connect. Belt hanging open, I lock my hands on my head and stretch further to put my body on display. She looks downright pissed at my cocky grin when she can’t help pushing her palms back up my torso to explore every line and groove. I know she can feel what she’s doing to me. This, right here? Pure torture.
“Yes or no, Paige?”
She glares at me, her gaze anchoring on my mouth.
“Yes,” she grumbles. “Yes! I want you naked. I want you stripped and desperate and hard. Right there.” She points to the perfectly made bed a few feet away. “Happy?”
I grin and cup her face to pull her in and finally, finally taste that sweet rage. She moans into our kiss, her tongue seeking mine as she drags me toward the bed with her hands anchored behind my neck. She yanks me down on top of her, releasing me to claw at the button on my jeans with one hand, while the other threads in my hair to keep me close. I help her with the zipper as well and kick them off, then climb back to brace over her.
“Now I’m the only one naked,” I tease against her lips, wet and raw from our kiss.
“Shut up,” she says, whimpering when I press into her. Her legs wrap around my thighs, pulling me in for more agonizing contact.
“I’m just saying—”
“Shut. Up.”
She forces us around until she’s on top, straddling my hips. After pulling off that silky blue scarf, she’s about to toss it on the floor when her eyes flash with a wicked thought.
Wait…
She’s not…
Hell.
Yes.
She grips my wrist and leans in to drag her lips along my neck.
“Why do you have to taste as good as you look and smell?” she groans. “I hate you so much.”
I laugh and coax her back up so I can taste her too. She angles her head to deepen the kiss and accepts the invasion of my tongue. Our fingers entwine and she pushes our laced hands above my head on the mattress.
Her body flattens against me, its heat and firm pressure triggering every nerve and driving another surge of fire through my blood.
“Nash,” she moans, pulsing against my erection to the rhythm of our frantic mouths and tongues. “I need more.”
“Whatever you want, babe,” I murmur.
Oh god. She wasn’t lying. Hate tastes fucking divine. I can’t get enough, and when her fingers clench mine with each desperate push, I’m done. I’m hers. Whatever she wants. Scarf, ties. Freaking handcuffs and a blindfold. I don’t care. We just need to get her naked too and then—
“Paige!”
We freeze and shoot our gazes to the closed door that’s rumbling with a knock.
“I’m busy!” she barks at her brother. At least I’m not the only one who gets yelled at.
“I know, but Mom and Dad are here.”
She stiffens, her hold loosening on my hands. “What?”
“Yeah. They… please come out.”
Oh no. This can’t be happening.
“Shit,” she mumbles. Her apologetic look does nothing to ease the ache of frustration. Or the throb in my entire body.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, brushing her lips against mine. “I have to deal with this.”
Groaning, I press the heels of my palms against my eyes. “Are you for real?”
“I know. Just…” She looks conflicted before leaning in for a rough kiss, and soon her hands are back in my hair, gripping hard like she’s hate-kissing me again. I don’t even know who or what she hates right now, but I love everything about it. For the record, I only condone hate-kissing from this point forward.
She groans into my mouth, writhing against me with tantalizing urgency.
“God, I want you so much,” she says, fighting herself to pull away again. The look in her eyes when she finally does makes me think there’s a possibility she’s about to tell her family to eff off.
“I’m right here,” I say, trapping her face to keep her close.
But I’m fooling around with the president of the Responsible Adult Honors Society, so of course, her disciplined brain wins out. She recoils abruptly, like it’s the only way to sever our connection, and rolls off me. After sliding to the floor, she hovers at the edge of the bed and scans me with a longing I feel in every inch of my groin.
I push up on my elbows, grunting at the fact that apparently I care for the second time tonight. Because this? Sucks.
“Fine,” I sigh out when it becomes clear we’re finished. “Can you give me a minute to recover and get dressed at least?”
Her smile returns as she studies me with slow, heated precision. “I suppose. Although…”
“Although?”
Hazel eyes flare hot as they burn with all the things she wants to do to me. So, so many dirty, wonderful things. That blue scarf.
Damn.
“Gotta say, Ellis. You may be a pain in the ass, but you are a hot pain in the ass.”
My own smile slips out. “Ditto.”
8—FIGHTING
PAIGE
I didn’t really need more reasons to dislike my parents, but interrupting a volcanic encounter with Nash rivals any of the current top four. I’m still on fire from the brief taste of him. The feel of him. Hard and warm and wholly mine for those few wonderful minutes. There was so much I wanted to do to him. (The scarf!) Experience. Explore. Share. Give. I’m in physical pain from not having him and I can’t even tell if the fluttering in my stomach is from what just happened or what’s about to.
If lust was a competitive sport, pretty sure I just made Nationals.
The air is thick with tension when I reach the kitchen—and not the good kind that makes your lady parts burn with hunger for hot musicians. No, this is the kind that makes you sure a branch of the emergency services will be involved in this encounter and you don’t even know which one. Personally, I’m pulling for the fire department.
Val leans against the window, staring quietly at the floor. Mom scowls around the room like she’s the star of a home improvement show and this is the “before” reel. Dad looks bored, even though he’s probably baking plenty of passive-aggressive treats in that cruel head as we speak. Come to think of it, they’d probably co-host that home improvement show and get it cancelled after two episodes.
“We weren’t expecting you,” I say coldly, brushing past them to go for a glass in the cabinet. No point in pretending they’re not demons for their latest attack on Val. Extra demon points for dragging me away from what was about to be a rare win in my pathetic love life.
“That’s an interesting fashion choice,” Mom says, and I glance down at my untucked dress shirt, currently wrinkled in a suggestive region. My belly quivers from the memory of Nash’s beautiful hands skimming up my sides to dislodge it. His scent. His touch. His heat. Gah!
Yep, just seconds ago I was feeling the opposite of this.
“It’s because the… uh…” I don’t actually have an excuse queued up, which turns out to be irrelevant when everyone’s attention shifts to the doorway. My relief fades when I see why.
Uh-oh.
“Hey. I’m Nash,” he says.
Also in typical Nash Ellis style, he’s gone out of his way to make this moment as awkward as possible. My lust competes with dread as I drink in the intoxicating sight of a smoking hot, barely clothed rocker.
I thought he was getting dressed?! Pulling on a pair of jeans and not even bothering to zip them up is not getting dressed. That’s top-shelf fantasy material—and inviting a whole shitload of drama I don’t need.
I’d be furious right now if I could take my eyes off him. Damn, he’s beautiful.
“Who’s Nash?” Dad asks, studying our half-naked guest in horror before turning his glare on me.
“He’s my, uh…”
“Boyfriend,” Val lies.
Nash and I snap a look at him, heat flushing my… everything. What is he doing?!
“Her boyfriend?” Dad echoes.
You know he’s pissed when he can’t form words and just repeats other ones he’s hearing. He once told the air conditioner guy, “there’s a coolant leak somewhere and the leak seal isn’t working so you’ll have to come back and do a three-day shut down to find it so it will just be the four-hundred-twenty-two dollars to refill the refrigerant for now?!”
The air conditioner guy said “yes.”
But I don’t know if “yes” is the right answer for this current dilemma. I don’t want to contradict Val, but there’s no way Nash will accept such a—
“Mr. and Mrs. Andrews, so great to finally meet you.”
My snarky friend strides forward with a hand outstretched and a grin I’ve never seen before. To say that grin is frightening is, well, frightening.
