Wild Open (17 page)

Back at the bus, O’Connor was dressed and ready for action. “But not too much action,” he said. “I don’t hike. I’m inherently lazy. I
stroll
.”

“There’s a paved trail that runs along the river,” Leah said. “They designed it for wheelchairs. Do you think you can handle it?”

“You might have to carry me on the way back,” he said, grinning, and slid his sunglasses onto his face. “Let’s go.”

The trail was crowded, but not unbearably so, and the path was so shaded and lovely that Leah didn’t mind sharing it with other people. The river burbled along rapidly to their left. O’Connor caught Leah’s hand and held it in his as they walked, and she had to bite her lip to keep from beaming like the infatuated fool she was.

The trail ended at the the beginning of the Narrows, the gorge the river disappeared into upstream. The flat muddy bank of the river was studded with rocks, and other hikers had stacked endless piles of pebbles on every flat surface. It was a magical fairy landscape: the little balancing cairns, and the blue-green water of the river, and the red walls of the canyon towering overhead. O’Connor made Leah pose for a picture, crouching among the cairns. “Proof to the fans that we took their advice,” he said. “Although I’m sure James will post some terrifying picture of himself thousands of feet above the canyon floor.”

“I didn’t expect him to be that much of an adrenaline junkie,” Leah said. “He seems so… responsible.”

“Mostly out of necessity,” O’Connor said. “He used to be pretty wild.”

They sat side by side on a rocky retaining wall at the edge of the trail and watched the river for a while. People with backpacks and hiking poles waded into the water and up the canyon into the Narrows. Leah bumped her elbow against O’Connor’s, and he turned to smile at her. Her happiness was incandescent. She didn’t deserve it; she couldn’t believe it.

He leaned in close and spoke into her ear. “We’ll be in Vegas tonight.”

Leah had, somehow, forgotten, but his words brought back all of the fantasizing and anticipating she had done over the last few days. She swallowed. “I know.”

“What are your feelings about dirty talk?”

“Uh, I guess positive,” she said.

“I’m going to fuck your tight pussy until you can’t walk,” he murmured.

Leah’s face flooded with heat, and heat pooled between her thighs. Her heart went thump-thump-thump like James’s bass drum. O’Connor was the
worst
, the worst person, the worst tease she had ever known. She said, “How do you know it’s tight?”

He laughed, and said, “Are you telling me it isn’t? Is it really saggy? Does it
droop
?”

And the moment was broken; and it was just as well, because if he kept dirty-talking to her she was going to ravage him right there beside the river, in full view of the picture-taking tourists on the trail. “How would it
droop
,” she said. “Are you sure you’ve seen a naked woman before?”

“I can imagine some drooping,” he said. “The possibility exists. Not that yours does, of course—I’m sure you’re the paragon, the Platonic ideal of womanliness—”

“Oh my God,” she said, and thought about shoving him in the river. It would be very satisfying.

* * *

Hunger drove them back to the bus, finally—mainly O’Connor’s hunger, because he stupidly hadn’t eaten when he woke up, and now his stomach was punishing him for his sins. The mini-fridge was packed with sandwiches and cold soda and beer, because Rushani was a mastermind, the best hire they had ever made. He and Leah threw themselves down on opposite couches and ate until they were stuffed, and then Leah lay down on her back, arms stretched above her head, and let out a contented sigh.

She had done a pretty bad job of applying sunblock, and there was a bright red strip of skin across the middle of her face. It was adorable, and the second-best outcome of their hike. The best was those little cotton athletic shorts she was wearing: thin, skin-tight, and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. He’d spent the entire walk back to the bus trailing a step behind her so that he could stare at her ass. He thought she probably didn’t realize how indecent the shorts were—most of Leah’s clothing fell somewhere between “loose” and “baggy”—but he wasn’t going to enlighten her.

He needed to get laid. He needed to have gotten laid about a week ago.

Seven hours until they were in Vegas. Maybe eight. And then an entire night in the hotel with nowhere to be and nothing to do.

Leah sighed again. “I’m sweaty.”

“That’s what happens when you walk around outside in July,” he said, amused. “Aren’t you used to it by now? I don’t think there’s ever a time on tour when I’m
not
sweaty.”

“This is a different variety of sweaty,” she said, and rolled her head to the side to look at him. “Tell me a secret.”

“Okay, abrupt subject change,” he said. “What sort of secret?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Something stupid, some little thing that nobody else knows.”

He thought about it. “I shoplifted once, when I was thirteen or fourteen. Stole a bag of chips from a convenience store. They didn’t catch me, but I was so terrified and guilty that I never went there again. I think I was probably trying to impress a girl.”

“Little O’Connor, the juvenile delinquent,” she said, smiling. “That’s not much of a secret. I shoplifted and I got caught, and my parents—oh, my God! They were so disappointed, which was even worse than if they had been angry.”

“You said something stupid,” he said. “If you’re not impressed with my secret, it’s your own fault for not giving me better instructions.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” she said. “So tell me a non-stupid secret.”

He got off the couch and walked toward the back of the bus. The bunks were all empty, and the door to the back lounge was open, and Andrew wasn’t in there. Everyone was out somewhere. He grabbed his laptop from his bunk on his way back to the front.

Leah watched him curiously as he sat down and opened his laptop. “Your secret’s that you have a laptop? I already knew that.”

“You need to come over here,” he said. “So I can show you.” His heart was pounding. He shouldn’t trust her with this; it was too uncertain, too volatile. It would cause too many problems if anyone else knew. But he had this stupid feeling that telling her would somehow justify their growing intimacy. If he told her, and she didn’t tell anyone, then he was right about her, and it wasn’t weird that he was falling for a women he’d known for less than two weeks.

She obediently rolled off the couch and joined him, sitting with her chin on her knees, her feet tucked beneath her. Her toes were red with sandstone dust.

“I’m working on an album,” he said. “This is a big secret. Nobody knows.” He opened up his editing software and played the first track for her. She listened in silence, leaning against his shoulder. Her toes wiggled in time with the beat, which he took as a good sign. He wanted her to like it.

The song ended. She said, “You write all of the music for the band, right?”

He nodded, and resisted the urge to demand that she tell him what she thought of the song. “Andrew and James give me feedback, and of course Andrew writes all of the lyrics.”

“This doesn’t sound like music for the band,” she said. “When you said you’re working on an album—”

“Solo stuff,” he said. “A side project. It’s all instrumental. I’m not sure if—”

“It’s amazing,” she said. “O’Connor. Of course it is. You’re so talented.”

“Thanks,” he said, embarrassed, but immensely pleased that she liked it.

“So this is your backup plan,” she said. “If Andrew totally melts down. Right? You can keep making music no matter what.”

She knew him too well; or else the situation really was that obvious. “That’s the idea.”

“I don’t think it will come to that,” she said, but they both knew it was an empty platitude. It probably
would
come to that, and sooner rather than later. After Andrew’s screaming fit after the show the night before, O’Connor thought they were probably on a pretty short timeline.

“Well, anyway,” he said. “That’s my current major life secret.”

“Can I listen to the rest of it?” she asked. “How many songs do you have?”

Every man wanted the same thing in life: the admiration of a woman. There wasn’t a chance in hell that O’Connor would pass up an opportunity for Leah to tell him how wonderful and talented he was. “A few more. I can send you the tracks.”

“I would really like that,” she said, and maybe she was just stroking his ego, but he would take it.

He closed his laptop. “Now you have to tell me a secret. It’s only fair.”

She tapped her chin, looking thoughtful, and then grinned at him. “I’m not wearing any underpants.”

“Holy shit,” he said, newly in awe of what a devious, manipulative creature she was. “You wore those little shorts on purpose.”

“Maybe.” Her eyes twinkled. She was pleased with herself.

“I am going to do things to you that you can’t even imagine,” he said. “How fucking long do I have to wait until I can get you in bed?”

She looked at her phone. “Seven or eight hours.”

An eternity. He groaned and went back to his bunk. If he spent any more time near her bare legs in those shorts, he was going to fuck her on the floor of the front lounge and get busted by Rushani. Eight hours. His heart was going to explode. He was going to die.

He couldn’t wait to see her naked.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

They arrived in Las Vegas right around sunset, which made for a thrilling drive up the Strip to their hotel, but it was unfortunate timing in that everyone immediately wanted to go out for dinner. Rinna was having some sort of problem with her boyfriend back home, and she asked Leah to go to dinner with her so they could hash it all out, and Leah couldn’t turn her down; so it was close to 10:00 by the time she made it back to the hotel and went up to her room.

O’Connor had texted her an hour ago: Room 1108, whenever you’re back. And she had spent at least five minutes in a sex haze before she could focus on her conversation with Rinna again.

She took a quick shower and shaved her legs, but other than that she didn’t bother with making herself look pretty. She pulled her wet hair up into a knot on the top of her head, moisturized her face, and called it good. O’Connor had seen her in every possible state of disarray—sweaty, half-asleep, grumpy, drunk—and she didn’t see the point in trying to impress him. He knew what she looked like makeup-free and just out of bed, and he seemed to like her anyway.

And she didn’t want to waste any time. She’d been waiting long enough.

She did put on the one skirt she’d brought with her on tour, sort of as a nod to the idea of feminine beauty ideals.

And then she walked down the hallway to his hotel room.

Her heart was beating so quickly that she felt a little nauseated. She stopped outside his door and took a few deep breaths. This was her last chance to turn back—but of course she didn’t want to; she had been waiting for this moment since the first time she saw him. It was just sort of a big deal. This was no random tour hookup. She had feelings for him, and sleeping together would solidify the light-hearted flirtation they had enjoyed up until now. Sex would make things real.

But she wanted that. She wanted real.

She knocked on the door.

He answered so quickly that she knew he had been twiddling his thumbs waiting for her, and she was laughing when he opened the door.

“Something funny?” he asked. “I hope you aren’t laughing at me, because you know my ego can’t—”

“Oh, shut up,” she said. She stepped forward, pressing her body against his, and tilted her head back to look up at him. “Why don’t you close that door?”

His eyes darkened. He seized her around the waist and tugged her into the room, and kicked the door closed with one foot. She laughed again, happy and excited, and still nervous, and he said, “You have got to quit this giggling,” and bent his head to kiss her.

And this was the kiss she remembered from that night in her bunk: deep, possessive, overpowering, and with an urgency that matched her own. He ran his hands down her body and beneath her skirt, and groaned when he encountered bare flesh.

“You slutty little—where are your underpants?”

“I didn’t put any on,” she said, blinking up at him, trying to look innocent. “I thought they would just get in the way.”

“Jesus Christ,” he said, and kissed her again, squeezing her ass with both hands. “Look, I know I’m supposed to take this slow, and be gentle with you—”

“I don’t care,” she said. “I don’t want gentle. I don’t want to wait.”

He look at her, breathing hard, his pupils dilated, and yeah, she was a little scared, but it was a good scared. She felt safe with O’Connor, who respected her, and wanted to please her, and it was really turning her on that he wanted to fuck her so badly. She wanted to make him lose control. He muttered a curse and slid one hand between her legs, and of course she was soaking wet; and he swore again, and manhandled her over to the bed.