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“Mal?” I said his name in my super calm and in control voice. Under different circumstances I’d have probably made an awesome therapist. “Are you listening to me?”
“Yeah.” His hands gripped my ass, taking some of my weight. A good thing. Dangling from someone’s neck was harder than it looked.
“Everything’s fine. Ignore him,” I said. “Ben, get out.”
The jerk waggled his eyebrows at me.
“Now.”
“Sure, Anne. No worries.” He winked at me, closing the door.
“Be calm, Mal. The bad man is gone.”
“I’m calm,” he growled, holding me to him.
“He didn’t mean it. He was just messing with you.”
“Didn’t you see the way he looked at you? Idiot meant it.” Mal hugged me tight. “Piece of shit’s bad as Jimmy sometimes. Should have kicked his ass.”
“Hey now, harness that inner caveman. You’re very aggressive tonight.”
“I don’t like people saying stuff about you. You shouldn’t have to put up with that.”
“Well, that’s sweet. But I don’t need you beating up anybody for me.”
“Four of us have been beating each other up since we were kids. It happens.” One handed, Mal tugged my zipper back up into place. Then he pierced me with a hard look. “You didn’t want to, did you?”
“Generally, I do prefer one penis at a time. It’s a failing of mine, I guess …”
“Good.”
I gave him a kiss on the cheek because a jealous Mal was an awesome sight. “What was he talking about ‘it’s time’?”
“Davie wants to play a few songs for Ev. We gotta go back out.” He sighed and sat me back on the counter. His hands rubbed over my sides. “You okay?”
“Yes.”
Still he frowned.
“You know, you can be kind of intense sometimes, Malcolm Ericson.”
His watched me in silence.
“You come across as this happy-go-lucky-type dude most of the time, but you are in fact a man of many layers. You’re kind of complicated.”
“Surprised?”
“Yes. And no.”
“And you call me complicated. You gonna dance with me later?” he asked, shaking off the bad mood.
“I’d love to.”
“You wanted another drink, didn’t you? C’mon, let’s go get that before I set up.” He lifted me down, his hands on my hips, treating me with the utmost care.
“You’re the best boyfriend ever. Fake or not.”
“How many you had?”
“Boyfriends? Two.” I held up a couple of fingers, just in case he wanted a visual aid. It was good to be helpful.
“So I’m number three?”
“No, you’re number two. Relationships aren’t my specialty.”
“No?” He lifted his chin, looked down at me. “You’re doing real good, Anne.”
“Thanks, Mal.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I had a nice buzz by the time we stumbled home. We shared a cab with Nate and Lauren at around three in the morning after an amazing party.
I’d finally heard Stage Dive play live. They were awesome playing acoustic. Jimmy’s and David’s voices melding together beautifully. Each one of those men was so damn talented it made my teeth hurt. Ben, with his bass, and even Mal, deprived of his full drum kit, made his presence felt in amazing ways. They were all in perfect balance, integral to the music.
It might have been way past my bedtime, but I didn’t want the night to end. Not just yet. I lay on my back, staring at my bedroom ceiling. It’d stopped spinning a short while ago. The gap in my curtains provided just enough light from the street to see by. A few years ago on nights like this when sleep wouldn’t come, I’d often talk to Mal–I mean, the poster version of him. Sad and psychotic, but true. Now the man himself slept next door.
Life could be a strange and beautiful thing sometimes.
Other times it was just a disaster. But sometimes beauty won out.
I ran my fingers over my poor, sore lips. They’d almost been kissed into extinction. Once Mal got an idea into his head, he was unstoppable. And apparently dancing with him meant indulging in a mini make-out session. It had gotten more and more difficult to feign dissatisfaction every time he tried something new. So many ways to kiss, I’d truly had no idea. Soft and hard, with or without teeth, the varying depths of penetration by tongue had featured largely. And hand placement. Whoa, the hand placement. He’d done everything from gently stroking my neck to kneading my ass. A man who knew what to do with his hands was truly a force to be reckoned with. I’d only just stopped him from slipping it up my skirt at midnight.
Such a great night.
He’d stripped down to boxer briefs again once we got home. I’d gone into the bathroom to grab a hairbrush and there he’d been, brushing his teeth. A man brushing his teeth had never been such a turn-on, even with the white bubbly drool slipping out of the corner of his mouth. My guess would be he didn’t own pajamas. Nope, a guy like him must sleep in the nude. A brilliant scientific deduction based on the hot and hard man currently occupying my couch. All too readily I could imagine his warm, tanned skin exposed. Did he sleep on his back, stomach, or side? Aesthetically, on his back would be most pleasing … for various reasons.
But if he did lie on his stomach the long line of his spine would be on show with the bonus addition of his ass. I’d sell something important to see his bare ass. My books, my e-reader, my soul, whatever was necessary.
And I could think about something else anytime I wanted to. But why would I?
No, masturbating was a much more sensible course of action. I was all wired and awake, my nipples hard and breasts aching. The time had come to take matters into my own hands.
“Mm, Nate.”
More moaning.
Some groaning.
A thump.
“Baby, yes.”
“Lick it, Lauren.”
No. Fucking. Way.
I covered my face with my pillow and silently screamed. If I put on music to drown them out (my usual course of action for dealing with Nate and Lauren’s nocturnal passions) I’d probably wake Mal.
Two more thumps. The bed next door started creaking. It was so loud I almost didn’t hear my bedroom door being opened.
“Pumpkin, am I in hell?” Mal walked in, sat on the edge of my bed.
“Yes. Yes, you are. I’m sorry. This is the first and worst level of all, the one where you can hear your neighbors fucking through paper-thin walls.”
Lauren made some screechy noise she was particularly prone to during such encounters. I cringed.
“Make it stop,” Mal whispered, mouth opened wide in horror. “Oh, fuck no. This is horrible.”
We both started quietly laughing. It was the only sensible response.
“Let’s go to a hotel,” he said, moving farther onto my bed.
“It’s four in the morning.”
“How long do they normally take?”
“They’ve been drinking, so this could go on for a while.” I drew up my knees, hugged them tight to my chest. He didn’t need to know about my nipple situation. The sad truth was that listening to people having good, noisy sex wasn’t helping. Lucky I was wearing my best comfy cotton jammie pants and an old T-shirt. They were so baggy they hid everything. Otherwise, having Mal sitting on my bed so close might have been a touch embarrassing.
“Isn’t there something wrong with this picture?” said Mal, scowling at the wall as if it had personally offended him. “I’m the drummer from Stage Dive. I don’t get kept awake by other people having wild sex. I keep them awake. I keep entire fucking neighborhoods awake.”
“Damn, baby. You’re so good at this,” Nate snarled through the wall.
“Did you hear that?” asked Mal.
“Yep.”
“Right. That’s it.” Mal climbed up onto his feet, standing tall on my bed. There was only a foot between him and the ceiling at most. “He’s taunting me. He’s challenging me.”
“He is?”
“The bastard.”