As I ease further into consciousness, I glance over to see he seems to have checked out—as in transported elsewhere—his fingers tapping along to the music.
I lean forward to Joel behind the driver’s seat.
“Hey, what’s this song?”
““Firestarter” by The Prodigy,” Joel answers.
“Thanks,” I say, sliding back into place and making a mental note. If I was writing a story, I’d be taking a lot of notes, both mentally and physically. If I want my ruse to seem convincing, I need to keep up with my norm. Pulling up my phone, I start a new playlist and add the song before flipping through to see the sad list I started and forgot about years ago. Pulling up my texts, I quickly add some of the songs Easton played yesterday on our drive that I’d texted myself to remember, the only true notes I made.
Meh, if anything, maybe my eleven-hundred-dollar plane ticket will have me back in Austin with a better music library.
Not long after I add the music, we arrive at what looks like a small arena. Pumped I might get to hear Easton sing or play, my hopes get dashed when I read the marquee on the front of the building. “Are we here to watch motocross?”
Easton ignores my inquisition and grips the headrest of the passenger seat, his question for Joel. “Where are we meeting them?”
“Here they come now.” Joel nods toward two men who appear at the front of the building before making their way toward the SUV.
Easton’s eyes light as he turns to me, pulling a packed duffle I hadn’t noticed from between his booted feet.
“Wait,” I grip Easton’s arm, slightly stunned by the zing that accompanies touching him as he pinches his brows, his eyes dropping to my tightening fingers. “Easton,” I glance toward the men now waiting outside of the SUV, “you can’t be serious.”
Another almost smile upturns his lips as he slowly lifts his hazels to mine, and I see just how serious he is. “Let go.”
I pull my arm away quickly as he leans in on a soft whisper, his woodsy scent invading my nostrils, sweet coffee breath hitting my ear and neck, “I said, let’s go, Natalie.”
“Oh,” I whisper back as he plants a foot out of the SUV and turns, extending a hand toward me. The second I place my palm in his, his eyes snap to mine and flare slightly before he turns and ushers me toward the building.
Safety Dance
Men Without Hats
Natalie
Anxiety slithers through me as I gape at the track behind Easton, who is currently conversing with Jedidiah, one of the two guys who met us at the SUV. On the floor of the arena, I’ve patiently stood at his side, being completely forgotten for the last ten minutes. Feeling oddly put off by his blatant brush-off, I entertain calling an Uber and giving him the one-finger salute. As I entertain the thought, Easton finally looks over and smirks as if he can sense my aggravation. Just as I narrow my eyes, he reaches back and pulls off his shirt. Olive skin stretches over perfectly muscled pecs, down to a crystal-cut eight pack. His upper body is every bit as impressive as that of a top-tier athlete, and my appreciation for his efforts threatens to escape as I fight to keep my jaw clamped closed. As he busies himself back into the conversation, I drink in his long, muscular torso, my eyes bulging as he starts to unbuckle his belt, the sheer sight of it doing something to my insides. Belt dangling, he pulls another shirt from his duffle as I step back to where Joel stands idly by.
“He’s not actually planning on—” my question is cut short as Easton pushes his jeans off his hips, and I’m struck sideways by the sight of him in nothing but black boxer briefs.
Jesus by the river.
Toned, muscular calves, thick thighs, a prominent LELO-HEX-XL bulge hanging between them. He’s most definitely been graced with the body to match the face. His tinted skin helps to showcase the shadow of the ridiculously deep V-cut that peeks out of his boxers. A dark trail of hair lining what I can see of the top of his navel. His eyes flit to mine briefly, and the faint curve of his lush, red-tinged lips follow before he plucks some pants from his duffle. A deep chuckle sounds from next to me, and I turn to see Joel eyeing my reaction with amusement.
“Is it customary for men to strip—” I’m cut short again as Jedidiah manages to get into his own underwear within a blink. His body is just as insanely toned, muscles rippling with his every movement as he jokes with Easton like they’re old friends—and maybe they are.
Easton again glances over at me as I narrow my eyes.
I’m onto you.