Page 16 of Rocking the Receiver
Moments later, Tim takes the microphone and announces me. The crowd quiets down, and I grab my guitar that’s waiting for me.
Heart hammering in my chest, I strum my guitar, incapable of looking away from Elliot.
His cocky attitude is oddly refreshing. So alien to my controlled, self-imposed persona that I built to protect myself. I love that he’s not apologetic about who he is—granted, he’s still partially hiding, in a closet that is. He admitted that I’m the only one who he feels comfortable taking his mask off with. Same for me, I’m truer with him than with anyone else.
But why?
CHAPTER 9
IF U SEEK AMY
Elliot
His voice.Raw. Feral. Intense.
Goosebumps spread across my skin. Ablaze. Quivering. Awestruck.
Nothing could’ve prepared me for Rupert’s live performance. Brilliant. Pure. Emotional.
I’ve heard him countless times on social media, but this doesn’t compare, especially when his beautiful green eyes are on mine.
Holy shit! He’s perfect.
Standing far enough from everyone to pretend that I’m not that into it, but at the perfect angle to enjoy both the view and the music, I chug the rock that’s taken residence in my throat. I shift my weight from one foot to the other and drink him in, despite my blurry vision.
My eager dick gets the message. Convincing Rupert to agree to this friends with benefits deal suddenly takes the forefront, though it never really left. Actually, that’s not true. Originally,I intended to find a quick, trustworthy, and dirty solution to my V-card. Don’t ask me why I trusted my dream guy so much because I don’t have an answer to that. Maybe because of how my brother talked about him. Maybe because, even in pictures, his eyes convey something genuine. Maybe because giving him the benefit of the doubt suited my hormonal needs.
Who cares?
Clearing my parched mouth, I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. This silly uptight son of a Brit made me all verklempt.
I’m fucking crying! For real?
I’ve been so enthralled by Rupert’s performance that I didn’t even register my reaction to it.
I’m fucking crying over this.
Sighing, I comb my fingers through my hair that I have every intention of chopping before I’m go to Austin. Same with my virginity; being a virgin for my first year on campus is unthinkable.
Desire flares. I’ve never craved anyone as much as I crave Rupert Smith at this exact moment. The memory of us stripping each other’s formal clothes threatens to tent my pants.
It contradicts the song that he told me he specifically wrote for the happy couple. A love song about their journey with details only a best friend would be privy to, so subtly hinted that I’m pretty sure I’m missing the point. I’m in a parallel universe anyway, hearing him in front of an audience while coveting him as if this song was ours.
Right now, Rupert Smith is triggering emotions that always have been foreign to me. My confusion finds an outlet when my front teeth gnaw my lower lip, drawing blood.
My heart skips a beat. There’s a moment of silence before the thunderous applause. I can’t pretend anymore, so I flee to the house in search of peace and quiet. That’s the best way to enjoy the music some more, replay it inside my head, and make it mine.
I sprint upstairs like a man possessed, taking the steps two at a time. It’ll take more than that to be out of breath. What I desperately need, though, is some alone time to recover and be in the right headspace when I see him again. About to grip my door handle, my head swivels to the end of the hall.
With my nerve endings on high alert, I don’t have much of a choice. A cold shower with a happy ending isn’t an option; I won’t risk missing Rupert in case he comes up here, which I’m hoping he will.
In less time that it takes to draw my next breath, I make a beeline for Romain’s room where I unearth his stash in the back of the desk drawer where his laptop along with his stacks of books await. I smirk. My brother is so predictable!
Old habits die hard…
He probably knows I know his secret, but what’re older brothers for? Considering the amount in the bag, I bet he won’t even notice some is missing. I rarely indulge in this, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I’ll punish my body with extra workouts when the object of my obsession is gone.
Back in my room, I deposit the blunt on the nightstand, fumble nervously with my shoelaces, and kick off my dress shoes. Withtheir fall, a loud thump resonates on the hardwood floor. Oh, well! Unconcerned, I change into gym shorts and a fitted tank top. Only when I’m done, do I remember that Rupert and I agreed to a drink.
