Sweet Ache

But it’s the words he’s left unspoken that captivate me the most.

Chapter 7

QUINLAN

I watch the lecture from the cheap seats near the very top of the hall. This time I pay attention, listen to his lessons buried under the glamour and glitz of his stories. His charisma comingled with his star power mesmerizes the other students in the room. They laugh with him, groan in the right places, and are rapt with attention.

I see the attraction now, why they hang on his every word because despite telling myself he’s off limits, I’m doing the exact same thing.

The lecture ends and while everyone stands, I remain seated as student after student approaches him to get their five seconds of personal attention. He comes off as approachable and yet after about thirty minutes and a line that never ends, I catch the glance Hawke slides to Axe in a practiced move so smooth that most wouldn’t notice it.

“Okay, folks! We’ve got to clear the room for the next lecture. Those who need to speak to Hawkin can do so through the Fine Arts department Web site or after the next lecture.” Axe starts ushering the stragglers out, walking behind them up the steps to assure that they keep moving toward the exit.

The minute they clear the door, Hawkin takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair before reaching for his phone on the podium shelf. Irritation flickers on his face when whatever he’s looking for isn’t there.

When I start to stuff my papers in my bag, his voice booms, echoing through the empty theater. “What do you mean Hunter hasn’t been there?” I jump when his fist pounds on the podium, obviously not happy with whatever answer he’s getting on the other end of the line. “She’s okay, though? … Okay. I will…. Later.”

He shoves his phone in his pocket and hangs his head down for a moment. “Do you need something?” Impatience, irritation, annoyance—so many emotions laced in the tone of the question.

I didn’t realize he knew I was still here and now feel like a voyeur, unsure of what to say or do. He lifts his head to meet my eyes across the distance of the room as I stand and lift my bag to my shoulder.

“No, I—uh—was just gathering my stuff.” I apologize without saying the words.

“You good if we take off, man?” I’m startled when Axe speaks behind me.

Hawke’s eyes shift from me to him. “Yeah. No. Fuck, Hunt’s got my car so—”

“I can take you home.” The offer is out of my mouth before I can think about it or the ramifications. “Or wherever you need to go,” I correct realizing no way in hell is Hawkin Play going to let some random woman he knows nothing about take him to his house.

Then again, he is a successful musician, aren’t random women a way of life?

His eyes move back to mine and although the agitation from moments before is still there, I also see intrigue. “You gonna drive me home, Trix?” He begins to walk up the steps as he asks the question. I don’t even get a chance to respond before he lifts his chin to Axe. “I’m good. Thanks man.”

Axe leaves without a sound. I wait for Hawkin, and with each step he takes, I can see him shed whatever it is that’s bugging him bit by bit so that by the time he reaches me, he’s the same man from earlier. Arrogant, enigmatic, and sexy as hell.

He stands in front of me, tongue flicking out to wet his lower lip, and all I want regardless of what I’ve told myself is to kiss those lips again. Screw caution because I’m throwing it to the wind when it comes to Hawkin Play.

“Are you afraid to take a ride with me?” I ask, knowing full well how the question will be received.

A dimple deepens with his lopsided smile, eyes dancing with mirth. “I assure you, I’m not afraid of riding anything with you.” He gestures in front of him for me to lead the way. “Just be warned, I like to take shotgun.”

“Good thing I’m great at driving a stick,” I say over my shoulder as the welcome sound of laughter returns to his voice.

“I have to tell you I’m seriously turned on here.”

The subtle change of subject from my question about whether he and his brother were close does not go unnoticed. I mean we’ve driven for forty minutes through traffic filled with idle chitchat, but the constant glances at his phone for a text he told me he’s waiting for have caused the somber mood from earlier to settle back over him.

So I figured why keep dancing around it and instead I would just ask. And of course, he just delivered the comment that has my mind shifting gears faster than my car climbing up through the hills of Bel Air. So now I’m left to try to figure out what it is he’s turned on by, hoping like hell it’s by me.

It’s one thing to be in a large lecture hall where there is space to move about, to step away. It’s another to be in the close confines of a car where everything about him is mere inches away, causing my libido to go into overdrive.

I wet my bottom lip with my tongue and nod. “And …” I’ll let him lead this conversation, see where it takes us.

“Between your choice of car and the way you handle her … damn.” He lets the last word trail off and I smile smugly at his compliment. “Impressive and hot.”

“Yeah, well, when your brother is a professional race car driver, you can’t shame him by being a shitty driver.” I recall the numerous driving lessons from Colton as a teenager, the constant ribbing that he was going to teach me to not drive “like a woman.”

I catch his double take in my periphery. “Race car driver, huh?”