huge fan of yours.”
That didn’t sound so bad. He assumed as much based on the Hot Piano Girl videos. “So…?”
“Huge. Forums, posters, T-shirts…”
“Thank you for buying the merch.”
That threw her off, and her sigh sounded frustrated. “It doesn’t bother you? You’re supposed to avoid people like me, right? Your manager would want extra bouncers around if he found out about my…history. I was like a Trey Girl. But the mailing list was called the ‘Olivettes.’ I would have camped outside for you if you were in this very hotel, and I was…thirteen years old.”
A few years ago it would have been a legitimate concern, but right now it was laughable. Especially considering the state Oliver’s career was in.
“‘Olivettes.’ That’s funny.”
She wasn’t done yet. “Oh, and I didn’t buy your last album. Yet. I mean, I haven’t bought it yet.”
“Don’t worry about it. A lot of people haven’t.”
Haley smiled ruefully. “You’re joking about this. I’m trying to say something sincere. I really…I’ve been a fan for a long time. I’m really rooting for you to get through whatever this is that you’re going through.”
“That’s why you came to my room? To tell me this?”
No, he realized—she came into the room because she wanted exactly what he did but was talking herself out of it the same way he had. Did she need this? Did he? Seemed like a bad idea, for the reasons she laid out in the beginning, like a disclaimer. She was right, and he knew that he had to agree.
Instead he placed his fingers underneath her chin and drew her in, slowly, touching her lips with his mouth, waiting for her to allow him to taste her. A whimper slipped out of her mouth as he pressed on, sliding his tongue inside. She was nice, warm, sweet, soft.
***
I can die now. God. But not before this is over.
You would think that Haley, after everything, would slip into “Oliver Fantasy Mode” and choose a previously recorded fantasy to step into and live out. Maybe her brain had short-circuited already from the overload of emotional uncertainty.
“Oh my god,” was all she said when she could talk. She never was much of a songwriter.
He laughed at that and dipped again to capture her mouth, and he was kissing her. Still kissing her. It was absolutely fine; she didn’t want him to stop. Her arms went around his neck for practical reasons, because she needed to hang on to something. His hands were on her face now, cradling her, gently turning her slightly so as his tongue found hers and teased it into responding.
He slowed down to catch his breath and she took that opening. Bracing herself against his broad shoulders, she kissed him back, going for it deep when he groaned into her mouth. She liked that sound. She felt it on her tongue and everywhere else as it passed through her.
Their bodies shifted as she pushed toward him, and he pulled back, opening up, and she felt his hands leave her face, reconnecting around her waist. She gasped a little when he nudged her up, closer, her insides all stirred up by his heat.
Right, hands. She remembered where hers were, and where else they could be, and she ran them down to his shoulders. One of his hands traveled up her back, once, and then a second time, taking the same path up her spine but getting past the material of her shirt.
They could do this all night.
They could do more than this all night.
“Hey,” she said, and it was so soft the first time that he didn’t even hear it. She found one of his hands near her hip and covered it with hers. “Hey.”
The heat of him left her mouth and pressed gently somewhere over her forehead. “Yeah. Too intense?”
In every way that felt good, and she wanted to feel good. He probably wouldn’t even realize what this could mean to her. But it didn’t seem right…
“I get it,” he said before she could put it into words. “There’s too much going on.”
“Yeah,” she said, almost
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