Friday Night Alibi

  “Okay.” He yawns again and slowly gets off the bed. I let my eyes wander over his dress shirt because he’ll probably never wear something like that again, so I may as well take advantage now, since he’s walking out the door. Or balcony. Whatever.

  He reaches down and picks up—oh! He brought his violin.

  “Hey!” I say without really thinking, pointing at the case. “You have it with you.”

  “Well, I wasn’t going to leave it in the car.” He somewhat laughs. “And let me tell you, it’s a lot harder climbing up that balcony with this than it is with grocery bags.”

  I push off the bed and run my fingers over the black case in his hands. “You can use the front door, you know. It’s not like my parents are ever home.”

  “Thought your security might be set, and I’d rather you see it was me before the cops came.” His eyes go to the security panel on the wall. “But you still aren’t listening to me, are you?”

  “I’ll set it as soon as you leave.” I promise, and I will this time. Don’t know why he’s so worried about it, but it’s cute so I’ll humor him. “If you do something for me.”

  My evil grin must make him think I want a kiss . . . which I do, but that’s not what I’m thinking. So when his lips inch toward mine, I block them with my hand. “Will you play your three-minute solo?”

  He attempts a smirk, but he’s so tired it doesn’t look like his normal ones. But it’s adorable anyway. Popcorn shoots through my body when he shuffles around me to pull out his violin.

  “Only because it’s you,” he says, taking the instrument in his hand and plucking the strings. It’s stuff like this that makes me all scared and worried about him thinking this is more than what it is, but I shove it aside as he settles the violin under his chin.

  I plop on the edge of my bed, smiling a smile way too big for this late. He returns it, winks, then turns around to face the wall.

  “What are you doing?”

  He ignores me and I watch his back as he pulls the bow across the strings. Because I can’t see his face, I let my eyes drift to his hands. The one on the strings moves so hypnotically. What do they call that thing when they move their wrist back and forth in this fluid motion, kinda like water, and it makes the music sound all wavy? Well, whatever it is . . . he’s really good at it.

  Also because he can’t see me, my gaze goes from his hands, up his arms, down his back and lands smack on his butt. The tucked-in shirt gives me full access to it, and I try really hard not to picture it bare, because I’ve seen it that way. And the first time it was totally yuckville. But now, oh my gosh, why am I not looking away?

  He reaches a beautiful lift in the song and I automatically go from butt to the back of his head. Why will he not look at me?

  Then I catch the flamed ears, and I can’t help the tight grin pulling at the corners of my mouth. Oh sweetness. He’s embarrassed. Is it me? Or does he do all his concerts this way?

  I think it’s the popcorn that lifts me off my seat, then propels me to him. My breathing is coming out all gaspy and embarrassing, but I can’t help it. He’s amazing on the violin, and he’s maybe not as cocky as he puts off.

  I rest my shaking hands on his waist, causing him to jump and elbow me in the arm. I laugh and tiptoe my fingers around his stomach and rest my head on his back. He smells so yummy. It’s orangey, but not like his body spray. A lighter scent to it, like he washes his clothes in orange smoothie.

  He puts his arms down, putting the bow and violin in the same hand while rubbing my fingers with the other.

  “You’re really good,” I say against him.

  His chuckle vibrates through my cheek, and he twists so we’re facing each other. “A compliment. I think I fell asleep during that performance and woke up in an alternate universe.”

  I don’t even care that he’s calling me out. I want to kiss him now and not stop. Dang him for being so sexy.

  Snaking my hand around, I grab the bottom of his tie before gripping and yanking it down to bring his lips to mine. Only problem—besides me never being smooth about anything—he’s wearing a clip-on, so it snaps open and smacks me right in the nose.

  “Agh!” I say through a giggle, rubbing my face. He’s laughing, tucking me into his chest and running his hand through my short hair.

  “Two seconds,” he says, reaching around me to set his violin back in its case, but keeps me in his embrace. Again, popcorn shooting everywhere, even though I’m a complete dork.

  His fingers tickle my neck before he leans in to press his lips to mine. We’re normally so . . . hmm . . . what’s the word? Frisky? Animalistic? I dunno, but we usually attack each other. It’s not messy or sloppy—most of the time—but it is hungry and anxious, like we’re making up for not kissing for a week. But this kiss is a one-eighty, in a completely amazing way.

  I don’t know if it’s because he’s tired, or maybe it was because of his beautiful solo, but it’s slow, soft, teasing, and sweet. Always sweet with his orange breath, but this is . . . ah-maz-ingly sweet. Like he wants nothing more than to protect me, take care of me, hold me. It’s scary all at the same time, because I’m feeling things I shouldn’t be. But I don’t care. I shove them all aside and tease his lips with my tongue and move into him to taste every corner of his mouth.

  The back of my legs press against my mattress and I pull him down with me as I sit. He breaks away, breathing hard in my face and keeping his eyes closed.

  “No bed,” he says against my lips before pecking me once . . . twice . . . and a third time. “We’ve sworn it off, remember?”

  He’s whispering in this deep and guttural voice. I mentally say, “screw the no-bed rule!” and show him by sneaking my hand in between two buttons, grabbing the fabric and pulling him on top of me as I fall back on the bed. He shakes his head and grunts in protest, but I don’t let him move. I trust him, crazy as that is. He won’t touch anywhere unless I let him.

  I slide backwards as he crawls over me, keeping our lips within reach of each other even when they part to catch air. He’s still tired, I can tell by the shadows under his eyes and the way he’s kissing me.

  “Chase?” I ask in between his gentle brushes against my skin. “Are you wearing an undershirt?”

  He stops to look at me, his green eyes dark and heavy. “Yes, why?”

  I finger the button by his collar, shoving it through its hole. Then keep moving down, uncovering the black undershirt he has on. When I get lower, I tug the dress shirt from his pants and finish unbuttoning him.

  We both let out a big rush of air that waves my hair from my face and makes him chuckle. I guess we were both holding our breath through that.

  My hands dive in between his shirts and pull the fabric across his back to force him to my lips again. When he settles most of his weight on me, I think I may burst. I’m beyond the point of popcorn. I’m running a freaking carnival in my body, Ferris wheel and all.

  Just when I think I can’t stand any more, he tucks a leg between mine and that’s what turns soft and sweet into hungry and anxious. At least on my part. I’m smothering him with my mouth, clenching my legs around his, kissing his scruff and his lips so hard I’m sure they’re going to look like I’ve injected them with Botox by the time I’m done with him. And my fingers keep curling around the fabric on his undershirt, tugging and scratching, ready to rip the material right off.

  He feels so good. I think I’m in love with that leg of his right now. Whoa, not love . . . but it’s doing things I never thought I would feel, and it’s just pressing against me. I know I’m sweating, that my breath is coming out in short gasps and I’m pretty sure I say his name once or twice. And unlike our first major make out—or any since—I can’t find it in me to stop. To tell him wait or shove him off. His hands remain in safe territory, but that doesn’t mean they’re not making me all flushy.

  His kisses match my intensity, and that darn leg presses into me again. This really humiliating moan releases from my throat,
and he pulls back, my lips trying to follow him.

  His eyes are dark gray now, and he’s looking down at me and gripping the pillow by my head. He’s covered in a sheen of sweat. It’s way too sexy to just lie here, so I swing my arms around his neck and force him back to my mouth.

  “Kel . . .” he breathes between my attacks, “wait a second.”

  I don’t listen at first, still trying to compute. But he says it again, moving from my death grip as much as he can.

  “Why?” I nearly whine.

  He chuckles against my face, cooling my very hot skin. “Because it’s late, and I should go before we forget why we swore off the bed.”

  I loosen my fingers and relax into my pillows. He’s right, but I won’t say that out loud. We’re make-out partners, nothing else. And if we keep going, I don’t want to get into this thing deeper than I already am.

  But I wonder if he’ll let me keep his leg.

  We both let out disappointed sighs, and he rolls off me to stare at the ceiling while I do the same. That was . . . hot. But no more bed after tonight. Because if he didn’t stop it, I’m not sure if I would have. And that’s about the scariest thought ever.

  He heaves himself upright, his shirt loose off his body, and he rubs his eyes.

  “Are you going to be okay driving?” I ask.

  “What?” He turns his head to look at me, then closes his eyes for a second and nods. “Oh, yeah. I’ll be fine.”

  What a big fat liar.

  “Chase, lay down.”

  “I’m fine, Kel.”

  “Lay down, or I won’t set my alarm when you’re gone.”

  Without another argument he slams his body back next to mine. He keeps his dress shirt on and tucks his arms behind his head.

  I roll off my side and set the security, then shut off all the lights.

  “Your parents are gone, right?” he asks in a sleepy voice through the dark.

  “Yes. They’ll be back Sunday.” I throw the blankets back on my side, and I see Chase’s body shift enough for me to get his side down too. He kicks off his shoes, leans up to shrug out of his dress shirt, and then slumps back on the bed, all within two seconds.

  My heart sort of thumps funny when I climb in. He’s facing me, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, and I settle on my side feeling fifty miles away from him. Even though we were just pressed together, sleeping in each others’ arms seems too . . . relationshippy.

  I’m too wired and too shaky to fall right asleep, so I just stare at him instead. I think he’s already out, which makes me happy he stayed even though it’s not exactly the smartest thing in the world. But I’m going to stick to the no-bed rule after this.

  I will!

  And I think I need Joey, because there’s no way I’m getting to sleep like this.

  A small smile twitches at the corner of Chase’s mouth and he pops open one eye. “Come here, Stinky.” He reaches over to my waist and with very minimal effort, pulls me over to the warmth of his body. I don’t need to cuddle with Joey afterall. Chase’s heavy arms and orange scent relaxes me enough to drift off to sleep after a few deep breaths.

  Chapter 27

  Alex calls me on the twenty-fourth, just to go over all the deets for the night.

  “Okay, so the theater packet is all set. We’re celebrating our three-month anniversary. Did I get that right?”

  “Yup. Are you still okay for dinner tomorrow?”

  “Least I can do, since you put up with my family.”

  He laughs, but I’m pretty sure he has no idea what’s in for him tomorrow. Unless my parents turn into people who care.

  “You won’t need to kiss me,” I joke. “I’m pretty sure my dad will kill you if you do.”

  “Good to know.” He pauses, and I hear him typing on the computer or something. “All right, I’ve got the show’s reviews and summary printed out. I’ll study up for tomorrow.”

  Wow. That’s a good idea. I should probably do the same.

  “Okay, see you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Kel. You know Brianne and I appreciate it.”

  “Yup.” I hang up, wondering if I’m really the alibi tonight, or if he is.

  I still get all popcorny whenever I’m about to see Chase. Pulling up to his apartment, I shake my hands out to see if I can get rid of the nerves.

  Don’t know why, but this is different. Or it feels different. Being at his house . . . or place, whatever, it’s so adult. And no, I have no idea how old he is. I’m still too nervous for that question.

  Stepping out of my Mercedes, I adjust my jeans, making sure my cute lace undies aren’t showing. I had to change in the car from formal to casual. After Chase making an effort to wear more than just black, I should give him more than my jammies and my Sunny Sundale appearance.

  I take a few calming breaths before taking a step toward the apartment stairway. And just when I think I’ve gotten rid of all the jumbled up crap going on in my stomach, a hand wraps around my wrist and whips me around.

  “Agh!” I yank up my knee, catching the creep right in the nuts. It takes about half a second for me to realize who the creep is. “Oh, Chase! I’m sorry!”

  He nods, bent over and keeping his head down. “My fault,” he squeaks.

  Rubbing his back, I crouch down so I’m eye level with him. “Dang straight it’s your fault. Never grab a girl in the middle of a dark, scary, apartment lot!”

  His eyes meet mine and they’re gray tonight. Warm and smoky, totally hot gray. “Good advice. That really didn’t go the way I planned.”

  I stand up straight. “And how was that?”

  He takes a big breath and stands upright so he towers over me. “I was just going to sweep you off your feet, carry you across the threshold . . .”

  I roll my eyes. “Be lucky I didn’t pull out my pepper spray.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t worry so much about that security system being set.”

  “You really shouldn’t,” I say, ducking under his arm and climbing the steps. “No crime ever happens in Sundale.”

  “Hey . . .” He grabs my wrist again, and I almost give him another knee to the nuts for not learning his lesson, but a concerned look is on his face, so I don’t. He’s a step lower than me, his eyes the same level as mine. “I don’t want to even think about anything happening to you. I hate that you’re alone in that huge house by yourself. Least you could do is humor me. I can’t lose . . . I just want you to be safe.”

  I throw him a grin. “You’re cute when you’re worried.”

  “I’m serious, Kel.”

  “I know.” I turn back around and wiggle my butt in his face as I climb the rest of the stairs. He’s laughing and I’m glad I didn’t cause too much damage to his under area.

  “I like those jeans,” he says as he unlocks his door, that darn smirk on his lips. I threaten to smack it off as he swings the door open, letting me go in first.

  His apartment is such a guy place. There’s a couch with a bunch of tears in it, and one of those LoveSac’s in the corner. The TV takes up most of the space, along with all the video consoles, controllers, and games. They’re scattered across the floor, cords hanging out everywhere.

  There’s no kitchen table. It’s a foosball table with pizza boxes on it. The kitchen is clean . . . but I suspect that’s because Chase cleaned before I came over, since it smells like disinfectant.

  The hallway is small, and I can see the bathroom and the other two rooms from here.

  And I love it! Maybe I’ll move out instead of living with the ’rents. It’s not like I can’t afford to live on my own.

  Chase slides past me, tossing his keys on the counter and patting a pitch-black cat on the head as he passes it.

  “Hey, Fluffnut.”

  You’re going to think I’ve gone insane. But that one little gesture—petting a cat and saying hi when he walks in—is about the sexiest thing in the world. I’m lucky if I get any acknowledgment when I walk in my house, or when my parents walk
in. I may as well be invisible. Heck, I could be running around stark naked, flailing my arms with a big sign that says, “Notice Me!” and I probably wouldn’t get squat. But this cat, by the way it meows, hops off the couch, and follows Chase down the hall, I can tell it gets attention every time he’s here.

  Chase peers into each of the rooms, then turns around, the cat still rubbing against his legs. “I guess Raj isn’t ho—umph!”

  I tackle him with my mouth and my body so fast, he trips backward and we plummet to the floor. But I don’t take my lips off his.

  This isn’t some kind of horny thing. Okay, okay, maybe a little bit. But there’s something else behind these kisses, at least on my part, that isn’t all about how fluttery he makes me feel. There’s a part of me that just wants to let him know how awesome he is. How sweet and sexy and all around fantabulous he is just by being him. I can’t believe the pervert, manwhore, Moron . . . was this guy all along. Sades saw it right away. Why didn’t I?

  He twirls me around so I’m pressed up against the wall and him. He kisses me a few more times, then pulls away. No, no, no. I’m not done yet!

  I yank his neck, but he puts a hand to my mouth and laughs. “In a minute, antsy pants.” He whips out his phone. “Let me get dinner for you.”

  “Pizza?”

  “Is that what you want?” He raises an eyebrow and tightens his grip on my waist with his free hand.

  I nod. “With lots of olives.” I can’t even remember the last time I had pizza. Yay! This night will be awesome.

  We don’t move from the floor as he calls and orders the food, and that’s when his cute little kitty hops on my face.

  “Hey!” I giggle, moving the soft cat’s butt off my nose. Chase slides his phone into his back pocket of his black jeans, and carefully picks up the fluffball and sets it behind him.

  “He likes you,” he says with a smile. The cat meows and rubs his tail over Chase’s face.

  “I think he’s worried I’m moving in on his territory.” I reach up and scratch the kitty’s ears. “What’d you say his name was?”