Page 92 of Grave Misgivings
I can’t keep my hands off of him, and he doesn’t seem to mind one fucking bit. Because he can’t keep his hands off me, either.
I make him come twice before we leave, only relenting when neither of us can ignore our growling stomachs or the inevitable traffic if we leave too late.
We barely make it out of the house on time, too caught up in one another to remember a world outside us exists.
I watch him in my truck, singing along to Taking Back Sunday’sMake Damn Sure.His dark hair blowing in the window, his glasses catching a glare.
He sings, tapping along the rhythm against the side of my car door.
I can’t resist singing along with him.
I can’t resisthim.
We pull into the parking lot of a place I don’t recognize for lunch, but the place looks interesting enough, and we’re both starving.
I open his door and he jumps down, sliding his hands in his blue jean pockets. His pale skin doesn’t look so pale anymore, and I can see the faint beginnings of a tan.
He catches me staring, looking at me over his glasses. “What?”
“Nothing,” I reply. “Just appreciating the view.”
Geo rolls his eyes as we head for a table, but stops when someonescreamshis name.
I watch his face fall, and he turns. A woman with an excited expression stands with a group of friends, all of them with their phones ready.
“Oh my God, itishim! It’sGravedigger!”
Geo flashes me a pained expression.
“Can we please get a picture?” one friend asks while the other waves a sharpie.
“Ohhh, can you sign my boob? Pretty please?”
Geo bites his lip, nodding. “Yeah, of course.”
I watch as his entire demeanor changes. He takes off his glasses, handing them to me, runs a hand through his hair, shakes his head, and his spine straightens. He extends his arms, the muscles fully on display and the girls curl into him easily as he strikes a pose.
He smiles, shaking their hands, signing their tits, and I’m reminded just who heactuallyis.
He’s a famous rockstar who’s performing in just a couple days.
And then he’s going to leave.
My stomach feels sick because I don’t want him to leave. Not again.
I want him to stay.
Here, with me.
I shove the pain down, because I know if I let it, it will consume me.
What are you doing, Zeb?
“Sorry about that,” he says, putting his glasses back on.
“Mateo said Hailee booked a private tour, so we won’t have to worry about... that on the hike.”
I nod, my mouth going dry. “Of course.”
