Page 22 of Rock Strong

“I’ll be right there,” Liam said, wisps of annoyance in his voice. “Go. Just give me a minute.” He literally shooed her.

Helen’s eyes flitted from him to me then to him again. Then she turned and strolled out of the garden, pausing just outside of it to light a cigarette, glancing back every so often.

Liam turned to me again. “Sorry about that.”

“Who is she?”

“My best friend. Known her since middle school.”

“Were you a couple once?”

He shook his head sheepishly. “Looks like it, doesn’t it? No, we weren’t.”

“Well, for someone who was never with you, she watches over you closely. I would’ve guessed ex-girlfriend or older sister. Either that, or she wants you very bad.”

The thought of that seemed to resonate with him. “Maybe. But she’s my homie, my homeslice, my ninja, my buddy.” He laughed. “But yeah, she can be my chaperoning grandma, too, I guess.”

“I wasn’t suggesting otherwise, but…” I feared I might be showing the twinge of jealousy rearing its ugly head when I had no right to him. “She definitely wants you.”

A sly smile seeped onto his lips. “You sure about that?”

“A girl knows.” I turned my face from him, so he couldn’t see the warmth of the blush creeping into my cheeks.

“A girl knows what?”

A deeper thought sat just below the surface of that one, and I debated whether or not to say it out loud. However, considering I’d kissed him again, and that had resulted in the most astounding kiss ever, I urged myself to take another chance. Say what you mean, Abby. Say it out loud… Say it strong. “It takes a girl who wants a guy to recognize another one hovering. Literally. Outside the garden gates.”

“Are you saying you want me?” He inched closer and held me by the hips. As much trouble as I was already in—both with my string section and in my love life at the present time—I leaned into him. I didn’t know why. Maybe because he seemed to genuinely like me and didn’t just want to “get in my pants,” as I’d so horribly accused him. Maybe because we’d bonded over the song onstage.

Or maybe just because I felt like it…

My arms reached up and laced around his neck. He lowered his head considerably, so I could reach the whole way. I was almost an entire foot shorter than he was.

“Are you saying you want me?” he repeated, this time less like a question, more of a confirmation.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe you’re saying that, or maybe you want me?” His mouth hovered just over mine, lingering with proximity and warmth and making me crazy.

“Maybe I want you,” I said, completely breathless, as though the air had been sucked from my lungs. It was true. Whether or not it was the smart thing to do, the fact was I wanted him. The desire to keep kissing him for the next year, not to mention the warmth and wetness between my legs, confirmed it. “Definitely I want you,” I amended.

A half second later, his lips crushed down on mine. He breathed me in, tasting my mouth and tongue, sending crazy feelings into the pit of my stomach, even crazier ones between my thighs.

I reeled and gripped his shoulders to keep from falling.

He held me tightly. There was no way I was going anywhere.

“I want you, too,” he said, dotting my nose with one last kiss before pulling away. “But right now, you have rehearsal, and I have a meeting. I’ll look for you later? If I don’t see you before the show, I’ll see you onstage.” He laughed, then did something fabulous, scary, and delicious at the same time. He enveloped my upper body in a big bear hug and squeezed me tight. “Thank you, Abby.”

“For what?” My face pressed against his chest. I had no choice but to breathe in his scent again through his shirt, that awesome mix of damp skin and spice and sweetness I would never be able to describe well, not even with the most comprehensive dictionary. All I knew was that I had to smell him again.

Soon.

“For talking to me,” he said.

“Anytime,” I said. “I’ll see you later.” Me, Abby Chan, just agreed to see Liam Collier later, to head into dangerous, treacherous territory, despite knowing better. What was wrong with me?

Quickly, he tromped off, breaking into a little jog. At the garden gates, I heard him talking to Babe/Helen. “Robbie’s not my fucking dad, and you’re not my fucking mom, bro.” He plucked the cigarette from between her lips, and for a disappointing second, I thought he was going to take a drag from it himself, but he threw it on the ground and stepped on it. “And stop with these. They’ll fucking kill you.”

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