Snare (Falling Stars #3) (28 page)

I moan and shove the denim down his hips.

Xavier's hand returns to my ass, clasping. He lifts and I wrap my legs around his waist.

A wave of nervousness tampers my lust.

I have to be too heavy.

"Put me on the table," I pant, knowing I saw one when we came in.

"Shut up and put me inside you." The flex of his fingers digging into my flesh accentuate his demand.

I comply, moving the crotch of my underwear—no hooks this time—and lining him up. The moment I do, he slams home and I grab his shoulders.

"Yes," I cry.

"Fuck," he growls, head dropping to my neck.

And then, he fucks me. Hard, fast, unforgiving, the force of his thrust smacks my lower back against the wall—not enough to really hurt, but enough for me to feel the urgency and emotion behind his moves.

"I hate you," I repeat, meaning the complete opposite, even if I won't admit it to myself.

"I hate you, too," he grunts, gripping my ass harder.

Later, I'll think about how momentous this all is. How, deep down, in the depths of my inner girl, I've accepted the way I feel about him.

Xavier

The house is quiet by the time we arrive from the venue. Most of my family having returned right after the concert, they didn't bear witness to my temper tonight.

Christ, I sat on that jealousy all fucking night until I exploded.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I put my head in my hands.

I'm a grown ass man acting like a fucking boy.

Rubbing my face and scratching my beard, I drop back on the mattress and close my eyes.

If I'd been myself, thinking straight, I would've just walked down that hall and found out what was going on. Instead…I turned into a fucking idiot.

Realizing I'm falling for a woman who would probably punch me in the nuts for uttering the word love to her is still a shock to my system. There's no way in hell I can tell her now. Not after tonight. She'd think I was using it to earn her forgiveness, but what I wouldn't give to say it out loud.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

The bathroom door opens and I angle my head. A cloud of steam rushes out into the room. Sitting up, I watch her emerge like a mythological creature. Wet hair framing her flushed face, sleep clothes clinging to her damp skin, and barefoot—it's a sight I could really get used to.

It's her silence that's driving me to fucking insanity.

No witty comments, insults, name calling—I get nothing. She's lost in her own head and I want to know what's going on in there.

She pads across the wood floor, pulls the covers back on the side I now consider hers, and slips beneath them. Her back to me, she whispers, "Night."

I want to grab her, shake her, make her say something—anything.

Instead, I climb from the bed and drag my ass to the bathroom.

When I emerge, freshly showered, my heart drops.

She's gone.

I stalk toward the bed, calming when I realize she's buried under a mound of blankets. Only her hair visible, I run my fingers through the damp strands. Closing my eyes, I bend at the waist and kiss her blanket-covered head.

Knowing I won't be able to sleep, I yank on a pair of sweat shorts and go downstairs.

With a bottle of tequila in hand, I poke at the fire pit, trying to get it going.

The click of the glass patio door pulls my attention from the fire.

"Everything okay?" my father asks, sitting on the plush patio furniture.

"Yep," I quip, taking a pull from the tequila.

"Want to talk about it?" he offers, removing the bottle out of my hand and drinking.

"Don't really want to tell anyone else how big of an asshole I am," I admit.

"Ah," he murmurs, handing the bottle back.

"Yep," I repeat.

"Sid kick you out of the room?"

"No."

"Is she angry?"

"I don't know."

"Ah," he nods, "silent treatment."

My eyes move from the fire to his face.

"By the way, that means she's pissed off," he says with a small smile.

"It's not even that," the words flow like I'm in a damn confessional, "I can handle anger, yelling, or silence. This is…she's a zombie. Sid is anything but quiet and zoned out."

Dad tilts his head, and says, "Hmmm."

"That's all you've got?" I toss the fire poker into the grass.

"What do you want, Xavier? I'm not an expert on women or Sid," he responds.

"How do you not get jealous?" My eyes bore into him, hoping my dad has the magic answer.

"So, it's jealousy." He almost looks happy. "This, I might be able to help with."

"I need you to tell me how you don't get jealous or how you, of all people, control it," I beg.

"What makes you think I don't get jealous?" he asks, a look of surprise on his face.

"You watched and filmed mom having sex with other men for years," I explain. "Not once have I seen you lash out."

"Sex is…well, was, her job. She was an entertainer. I knew that when I met her and when I married her. Kind of hard to be angry when we were both in the same industry."

"See?"

"Son, you don't see." He settles back into his chair. "What you children haven't seen, because we kept it that way, was our struggle to stay married when you all left the house."

"What?" I choke.

"It's true. Your mother and I struggle just like every other couple. We aren't an exception, but…" he smiles, "we are dedicated to each other."

"You guys almost split up?" I ask, not really wanting the answer.

Looking into the fire, he shakes his head.

"It was never on the table," his eyes come to mine, "for me."

"So, Mom…"

"Your mother got tired of my jealousy and told me she would leave me."

My mouth drops open.

"I'm afraid high tempers and jealousy runs in the family." He takes the bottle again and drinks.

"After all those years of her with other men, why would you—"

"You think it's about sex, it wasn't. Your mother started her own company, which I fully supported, and still do, but she spent a lot of time with the management team she hired to help run things. They were mostly women, aside from two men."

"I remember Mom traveling a lot for a while. I mean, even not living at home, I remember her calls coming from airports, cars, hotels."

He nods.

"It was her time."

"Time?"

"She spent it with them and not me," he clarifies. "I was used to her by my side at home, at the office, and on the production floor. And then, there were men who knew she got sick during a flight and I didn't. They knew her favorite wine, perfume, things like that—things you learn after being around someone."

"What happened?"

"I made demands and she made threats."

"And now?"

"Now, we are a normal couple with regular problems like everyone else. Sure, jealousy spikes, but I learned a big lesson."

"I guess I'm learning mine now," I mumble, taking a pull from the tequila bottle.

"You can't expect things to be perfect. If you do, that will be your most detrimental mistake. You need to adjust and accommodate each other."

"I've been through this before," I sigh. "Why do I still suck at it?"

"Because Sid isn't Maria, and you aren't that Xavier anymore."

I nod, focusing back on the fire.

"For what it's worth, son, it makes me happy to see you like this."

I furrow my brow and scrunch up my face.

"Gee, thanks," I deadpan.

He grins.

"It means you actually feel something real for someone again." His words surprise me. "Don't get me wrong. You love your family, the girls, and even Maria—in a new way, but still..." His hand comes to my shoulder and clenches. "Sid's giving you back the emotions you shut down after your divorce, losing Ethan, the band separating, and even Maria's health issues."

"I think I love her." The moment the words meet the open space, it's like a weight has lifted. Pieces click together and I smile.

"Feels pretty damn good, right?" Dad asks.

"I've held that in for too long," I admit.

"Now, you just need to show her," he says.

"If I told her right now—"

"I said show, not tell." He gives my shoulder a squeeze before standing up and returning to the house.

Chapter Twenty-Four
Sidra

The heat. The skin melting, boob sweating, ass crack flooding heat.

"Holy hellfire," I cry, fisting the blanket and throwing it off my body.

As is his preferred sleeping position, Xavier's body covers half of mine. His hand, of course, is cradling my left boob and his leg pins one of mine to the mattress.

Using my elbow, I shove against him. He grunts, but doesn't move, other than to give a little squeeze to my boob.

"Satan's ass," I complain, "get off me." I shove him again.

With another grunt, he rolls to his back.

I scamper from the bed like a scared animal, pull my t-shirt away from my body, and blow down inside the material.

"If you're passing out blow jobs…" he says with a yawn.

I release the shirt and scowl at him.

Grabbing a pillow, I lift it high above my head.

"Don't," he warns, opening one eye.

I climb on the bed and stand over him, pillow still above my head.

"I don't know if I want to hit you or smother you."

"Smother me," he chooses.

In a flash of movement, he sits up, grabs my waist, and tackles me to the bed. Covering my body with his, he sticks his face between my boobs.

He lifts and looks up at me, his brow furrowed.

"Your shirt's wet."

"No shit, Sasquatch." I shove at his shoulders. "You're like a walking one man furnace."

He settles himself in the cradle of my thighs, resting his cheek on my chest.

"Sleep naked," he suggests, snuggling in as close as possible.

"Get off me," I growl, using his shoulders to push myself up the bed a couple inches.

Propping up on his forearms, he bows his head, bites the cotton of my shirt, and starts lifting it up.

I snatch the material out of his mouth and push it back down.

"I will piss all over you in ten seconds," I warn.

Grinning, he starts counting and poking me in the belly.

My bladder protests and I slap his hand away.

"You're such a—"

"Ten," he stops, our eyes meet, and he chuckles. "That's what I thought."

I slap his shoulder as he rolls away, still laughing at me.

Hurrying off the bed, I stomp to the bathroom, cursing him the entire way.

"I'll put Nair in your shampoo, then we'll see how funny you are," I grumble and slam the door.

I'm in the shower, enjoying the warm water, when the door opens.

"There really is no personal space with you, is there?" I ask, rinsing my hair.

"Sorry." Her voice catches me by surprise.

Wiping the frosted glass, I find a short female form.

"Lyra?" I take a chance.

I mean, what the hell, right? My odds are fifty-fifty.

"Cass," she corrects.

"Sorry, give me a second," I instruct, and hurry to rinse my body.

Cracking the shower door, I grab a super thick towel from the hook and wrap it around me.

I step out, finding Cass leaning against the sink. Head down, she has her arms around her stomach.

"You okay? You need your dad?"

She shakes her head.

"O-kay," I say, and wait.

The silence lingers, so I press.

"You need something?"

Twisting my fingers in the towel, I start to fidget all over.

Why the fuck am I nervous?

"I—"

"Cass?" Lyra calls out from the bedroom.

I watch her shoulders stiffen. Then, Lyra pushes the door wide open.

"Well, come right on in," I exaggerate, "we're having a naked party."

Lyra's face colors for a moment until she finds her sister.

"Are you okay?"

Lyra's concern for Cass spikes my nerves.

"What happened?" I ask Cass.

"I think I started my period," she mumbles.

"Um…"

"You did?" Lyra gasps. "But I'm the oldest," she whines.

"By five minutes," Cass sighs.

"It's still older," Lyra argues.

"What's—" Xavier stops in the doorway, glancing from Lyra to Cass to me. His eyes linger a bit too long on my chest.

"I can't believe you got the first bra and period," Lyra finishes.

"Who has a bra?" Xavier interrupts this uncomfortable moment.

"Both of us," Lyra states, rolling her eyes, "but Cass had a training bra first."

"You have to train them?" Xavier asks.

I level a look at him. His eyes drop to my chest again.

"Well, in your case, I could understand it," he says, drawing the girls' attention to my braless, towel-covered state.

"Nice," I deadpan, and motion to his teenage daughters.

"This is so unfair," Lyra complains, hopping up and sitting on the bathroom vanity.

"Maybe you should go get your sister," I suggest to Xavier.

"No!" Cass shouts. "Nate and Ian will find out," she explains. "I'll never hear the end of it."

"Yeah," Lyra concurs, "when they found out about our bras, we found them everywhere. They even flung one at me in the middle of a pool party with all my friends."

I bite my lip so I don't laugh. It's funny, but asshole-ish, too.

"I won't get Em," Xavier reassures.

Walking further into the bathroom, he puts the toilet lid down and sits.

Yes, please join us. In fact, why don't we just get his whole family in here?

"I still cannot believe—" Lyra starts to complain, but Cass isn't having that shit.

"Will you stop!" Her outburst surprises us. "Your five minutes, not years, older."

"Okay," I interrupt.

Securing the towel around my body, I step between the two of them.

"Are you really arguing about getting your period first?" I scoff. "I mean," I look at Lyra, "you know she can't control it, right?"

For just a moment, she looks embarrassed and nods.

"And you," I turn to Cass, "realize that a period is like a medieval practice where your uterus tries to evacuate your vagina every month? It's all like…
abandon ship
!"

"Jesus," Xavier groans.

Twisting, I glare at him.

"Anytime you want to jump in, you just let me know?"

"Do you have to make it sound so gross?" he asks.

"Do you have a vagina?"

He doesn't answer.

"Do you?"

"No."

"How about a uterus?"

"No," he says, face tight with discomfort.

"Then how about you sit there and just look pretty," I suggest, turning back to the girls.

"Do you guys know about periods and all of that?" I ask, looking between them.

Both of them blush, eyes shifting to their dad.

"Just nod if you do," I say.

They nod.

Thank the Tampax cotton fields for that.

"So, you don't, like, think you get a text message telling you your period's arrived, right?"

They nod, smiling.

"And you know a little elf doesn't jump out and throw glitter when it's over?"

"Oh my God," Lyra laughs out.

"What is it with you and glitter?" Xavier asks.

"Hey, I'm just checking." I smile, hopeful my ridiculousness relaxes the girls. "Now, on a more serious note, do you have pads or tampons?"

"We have some," Lyra announces, jumping off the vanity.

"What do you have?" I press.

"Both," she responds proudly. "Mom said we should start keeping them in our bags."

To Lyra, I say, "Smart woman."

To Cass, I say, "Use the pads. You've got enough to deal with today. Work your way up to tampons."

"But we can't go swimming," Lyra whines.

Dropping my head back, I look at the ceiling.

Dear God, I know I'm a terrible person, but this is just cruel. They aren't my kids.

"If Cass feels like swimming today, then we'll talk. But I think she'll want to eat chocolate, potato chips, curse every male on the planet because their underwear doesn't look like a crime scene, and sleep."

"Christ," Xavier grumbles, earning him my middle finger.

"Thanks, Sid." Cass wraps her arms around me.

I'm equally warmed and uncomfortable with the gesture. The poor girl's cheek is pressed into my wet, braless, towel-covered chest.

"No problem," I respond, patting her back. "Go get some Advil."

She releases me, Lyra puts an arm over her sister's shoulders, and they leave the bathroom.

"I can't believe my little girl has her period." Xavier's statement makes me turn around.

I snort.

"Be worried when it
doesn't
come," I tell him.

"That's not even remotely funny," he growls.

"Is for me," I sing over my shoulder, leaving the bathroom to get dressed.

"What are you doing?" Xavier follows.

"Getting dressed," I answer, throwing my dirty clothes into my suitcase and grabbing clean clothes out.

"But why are you putting all your stuff in your bag?"

"My flight home is in," I look up to find the bedside clock, "six hours. I'm just getting everything ready."

His arms come around my waist, one hand slipping under the towel.

Grabbing his hands, I pull them away.

"I need to get dressed and big girls need to eat."

He growls, but I ignore him and grab my clothes. I slide my underwear under the towel, slip the bra over my arms, above the towel, and try to fasten it.

"You know I've seen you naked right." It's not a question.

He yanks my towel away.

Reflexively, I curl in on myself, suck my stomach in, and grab for the towel.

Moving behind me, he takes each side of my bra, makes me stand straight, and latches it.

"I prefer taking these off." His finger trails down my spine, slipping into my ass crack.

Squealing, I move away and put on a pair of jeans with my
Blink If You Want Me
t-shirt.

His eyes drop to the words and he shakes his head.

"You and those damn shirts."

"I've seen quite a few saying-shirts on you, too," I counter.

"Geez, stalker, how often are you checking me out?"

"Idiot," I mumble, fighting a smile, and return to packing my things.

Knowing, when I leave, it will be another week before I see him, it's hard to keep my mask of indifference in place. If I smile, I might break the careful wall I built last night.

After the jealousy, arguing, and fucking, everything overwhelmed me, drowning me in reality and emotional bullcrap. And that's the last thing either of us needs or wants.

Yes, it's mutually exclusive sex, but it's only convenience. When this tour is over, he'll be in L.A. with his family and I'll be in Pennsylvania. Long distance never fucking works, besides the fact that no promises were made, not by either of us.

"I'll meet you downstairs," Xavier says, pulling my attention to him. "I'm going to jump in the shower. Everyone's already down there," he says over his shoulder, disappearing into the bathroom.

Almost fifteen minutes later, I make it downstairs with my laptop bag over my shoulder. The kitchen is loud and full of Xavier's family. I try to stay on the outskirts, but Sherry spots me.

"Sid," she yells, "good morning. Come, join us."

"Good— Ah!"

Xavier's familiar arms wrap around my waist, tighten, and lift me against his chest. Holding me off the floor, he walks us both toward where his family has congregated.