Page 57 of On The Rocks

“It was different from your other albums. Something about the lyrics got me a few times.”

His hand eased and stroked down my back.

I hated that I missed the tight hold.

“Irene and Marcus were enjoying a rare moment of happiness.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“For writing, it sure was. I swear, Marcus only wrote when he was in the middle of a tirade or existential crisis.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, I got it. I leaned back to look at him. “He didn’t help you write that one?”

“Very astute.” He pushed back my hair and cupped my face. “They left me and Baron to write it.”

“And the fans didn’t like it?”

“Some did, but overall, it was a failure.”

“Not for me.”

His lips tipped up at the corner in an almost grin. “Nice to hear it.”

“You know we have to…” I trailed off.

He laughed. “Couch sex is great until it’s not.” He reached over for the Johnny Cash shirt from his guitar and handed it to me.

It took a little fumbling, and I resisted the urge to groan from straddling him for so long. He lifted me up and I wobbled a bit before I got my feet under me.

My body had been deliciously used in the best way. I crouched and picked up my mangled thong. “Mind if I play in your spa shower again?”

He took care of the condom and grabbed his sweats. “Have at it.”

I should be running out the door. Instead, I grabbed him by the face and pressed a soft kiss on his lush mouth. “Thanks.”

Those incredible green eyes were staring into my soul a little too intently. I turned away and went down the ladder to the main living space. I could feel his eyes on me, but I didn’t stop or look back.

I needed a minute to get myself back together.

Quickly, I strangled my hair into a braid and took a quick shower. I could smell him on my skin, and now it was transferred into his soap so I couldn’t quite get away from him.

Maybe I didn’t want to for now.

Unwilling to think about that any further, I dried off and pulled on my jeans. My underwear and last night’s work clothes were a lost cause, so the stolen shirt and my jeans would have to do.

I had a spare pair of flats in my Jeep.

When I went back out into the living room, Griffin was dishing up something in a bowl. He’d changed into a pair of jeans and a green T-shirt hung from his back pocket.

“I really need to get home.”

“Eat first. We worked up an appetite.” He grinned over his shoulder. He was still shirtless, and his shoulders were a map of marks from me.

My stomach jittered at the proof.

I definitely needed to get out there.

But then he put the bowl of stew—Laverne’s beef stew—on the table and I was far too weak to say no. “No fair.”

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