Her arms slide around my shoulders and her breath fans my face. “Beaumont,” she sighs.
Using one of my hands, I tug a condom out of my pocket as she reaches between us and begins to unbutton and unzip my jeans. We’re comfortable with one another, been doing this for years.
She shoves my jeans down as far as she can. Using my teeth, I rip the foil open, taking the condom out and tossing the packet on the floor somewhere. Sheathing my hard cock, I push the head against her waiting center.
I don’t even have to spit, lube, or touch her, she’s always ready. Her hands return to my shoulders, her nails digging in as I bury myself inside of her.
“Beaumont,” she breathes once I’m fully seated inside of her.
“Quiet, Andi,” I grind out.
We’ve been seen together often, we used to date casually, and we still fuck casually. What we don’t have is anything other than sex between us. Which is why I don’t want to pretend to have a serious relationship with her. We’ve never been more than casual.
Andi and I don’t have anything in common, except the need to get off, and often. It’s hard for two people to get what they need, physically, in the spotlight. Physical release is all we are to one another and I don’t plan on changing that with a fake relationship for the tabloids.
I pound into her as her back slams against the door with each thrust of my hips. I feel her body climbing closer toward its climax and grin when she lets out a long cry as her legs tighten around my waist. Planting myself deep inside of her, I come into the condom as I attempt to catch my breath.
“Fuck,” she pants.
I grunt, removing myself from her grasp. Taking the condom off, I tie a knot in the end and pick up the trash from the floor before I tug my jeans back up. Turning my back to her, I dispose of the condom and wrapper in her half bath trashcan.
Once I’ve straightened myself, I wash my hands and walk back into the living room. Grabbing my hat and glasses off of the couch, I head toward the door where Andi is still standing, naked. Wrapping my hand around the side of her throat, I touch my lips to her temple.
“See you again, soon?” she breathes hopefully.
Shaking my head, my hand falls from her neck. “Going on tour for a while,” I murmur.
“Want me to join you at all?”
It wouldn’t be the first time she came in the middle of the night, made me come, then took off again before anyone was the wiser. I think about her offer for a moment, then about how Daniel wants us together, before I shake my head.
“Nah, I need to be alone for a while.”
She nods, licking her lips and taking a step to the side. “I hope your sobriety sticks, Beaumont,” she whispers.
“You doin’ okay?” I ask as I reach for the knob of the door.
She lifts a shoulder, the sadness that I see swimming in her eyes causes me to pause for a moment. Then, she puts on her fake smile, the one that makes her just as much of a fraud as it makes me.
I watch as she shakes her head from side-to-side a couple of times. “I’m perfectly fine, better now that I’ve come. I’ll see you around?”
Nodding, I open the door and walk away from her, knowing that I may see her around, but it won’t be like this. I need to change the bad habits in my life and one of them is fucking Andi, using her body whenever I see fit. It’s time to grow the fuck up.
Chapter Three
HUTTON
“You have fun with PawPaw?” Laurie asks bright and early Tuesday morning.
I grunt, reaching for the white chocolate mocha that she pushes toward me. I stayed up all night long bingeing the new season of Stranger Things on Netflix and my eyes ache. Lifting the cup to my lips, I take a long drink of the warm liquid as I nod.
“Blueberry pancakes and everything.” I grin.
Laurie narrows her eyes, and I can tell that she wants to ask me something, but she shakes her head as if she decides against it. The door chimes, I turn to see my first customer of the day and all thoughts of what Laurie wanted to say to me disappear.
We spend the rest of the day working. My salon is just that, mine. I even own the building. Baker’s Square is the salon that I’ve poured my sweat and tears into. Laurie is the only other hairstylist that rents a booth. It’s just the two of us, every single day and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Working with my best friend is just what I’ve always needed to soothe my soul.
The building is a small narrow space, just enough for two chairs and a washing station. I don’t like to brag, but Laurie and I are good, especially together. I excel at color and she excels at cuts. Where I lack, she helps and where she lacks, I help her. We’re not only best friends, we’re teammates.
“Did you hear about the secret concert that was just announced over in Gallup in two weeks?” my client, Sheryl, asks.
I frown as I trim the ends of her newly dyed and washed brown hair. Lifting my gaze to hers in the mirror, I shake my head.
“What’s going on?”
“Everyone is buzzing, simply buzzing, trying to figure out who is coming. Tickets are free, and only given out on a lottery system, but you don’t know who is going to be playing until the concert starts. It’s all a secret, I think it’s insane, I mean why Gallup?” she asks, wrinkling her nose.
I don’t share her sentiment. I like Gallup, it’s a cute little town and although there isn’t much there, it seems like a nice community. The concert thing sounds strange, but exciting too. I haven’t been to a live show and gone dancing in a long time.
After Beaumont left, Laurie dragged me out to a summer concert in a park and I spent the entire time crying. I decided to swear off live shows. But it’s been nine years since that complete breakdown, maybe I could try again?
Once I’m finished with my client, I ask Laurie what she wants for lunch at the diner across the street and then head that way. The entire time I walk down the sidewalk, to the crosswalk, and then across the street, toward the diner, all I can think about is this elusive concert.
I don’t know why I’ve become so enamored by it, so enchanted, but I want to go. I know that Laurie will be glad to accompany me, she’s a lot more social than I am anyway. I tend to stay home, read, and spend time with my grandpa.
Most of my family has labeled me as perfect and a loner. I don’t mind, except for the perfect part. I’m nowhere near perfect. A perfectionist, anal? Sure. But actually perfect, no way in hell.
“What can I do ya for, Hutton?” Marie asks as I step up to the counter.
“Two clubs, no mayo or any sauce on one, works on the other. Fries and a bag of chips with two Cokes,” I order distractedly.
“Sounds good, just take a seat. To-go, right?” she asks, although she doesn’t have to, I always order my food to go, always.
I start to sit when I hear my name being called. Turning around, I’m surprised to see Channing, my client from last week. She’s sitting in a booth with two gorgeous men. One is blond with tattoos covering his skin, the other has dark hair and a gorgeous thick beard.
She waves me over and my body jerks. My breathing picks up, I’m nervous, and I know that one of these men is her husband, but I don’t do well with handsome men, I become nervous, tongue-tied and stupid.