Thursday, May 23, 2013
Teaser Thursday: SAVOR YOU
Happy Teaser Thursday, everyone! I hope you enjoy. :)
He nods, almost convincingly, so I climb into the taxi he flags down a moment later. I slide to the far left side of the car, and he comes in right after me, gazing across the seat at me intensely all the while.
By the way he’s looking at me, you’d think I was sitting on the other side of a bed naked, jutting my B-cups out and begging him for round two, instead of scowling in a cold, dark cab.
“Stop picturing me naked,” I whisper. Smirking, Wyatt lowers his mouth until it touches my cheek, and my shoulders lift up involuntarily.
“Not naked, Ky, but fully clothed,” he drawls softly enough so only I can hear. “I’m thinking about how creative we’d have to be to fuck right here.”
“What happened to the whole not where anyone else we’ll see spiel?”
“Emphasis on the word creative, beautiful.”
I’m damn lucky that the cab driver clears his throat a few times to let us know that he’s waiting for a destination. The moment between us ruined, Wyatt and I break apart and glance up to meet the driver’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “The Pavillion,” we say in unison.
I cock an eyebrow. He grins, and damn it, my stomach and chest tighten up. “You Foursquare stalked me down to the hotel?” I ask, my voice low and hard.
He shrugs nonchalantly. “Better me than somebody else. I have good intentions.”
No, he had sweaty intentions.
“It was someone else. It was Cal,” I point out, rolling my eyes. I catch the cab driver glancing up at us through the front mirror again, and I drop my volume. “What time do you have to be back tomorrow to record?” The sooner Wyatt has to leave the better for my vacation and for my heart.
“There’s not going to be any recording for awhile.”
“Y’all finished already?” I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice. The band had just started to record. It had been a long time since Your Toxic Sequel had made a new album without a lot of B.S. and time.
“You’re sexy as fuck when you say y’all. You know that, right?” Wyatt says. He bites his lower lip—it’s the corner with the labret because he wants to see me squirm— and shakes his head to each side. Before I have a chance to smart off at him, or trace my own tongue around his piercing, he continues,
“But no, we’re not. Look, Lucas didn’t want to mess up your trip, but Sinjin . . .”
The moment he says the drummer’s name, I know nothing good will follow. “Oh god,” I murmur.