Page 17 of Unlocked Dive
I like the nearness of him, where I can study the play of muscles in his shoulder and the flex of his long fingers on the wheel unobserved. And the way the charged energy between us bounces around the trapped space until he has to look over at me, the deep green shadows of his hazel eyes reflecting the sylvan scenery.
“Will you tell me what happened when you fell?” he asks, taking the right onto Flynn Creek that will eventually bring us to Mendo. All the roads here are named after the landscape: Flynn Creek, Albion Ridge, Little River.
“I broke five bones in my hand and wrist.”You kissed me.
“You know what I mean.”
“Are you asking how my brain got fucked up too? Maybe I landed on my head.”I kissed you back.
“You didn’t.” He gives me a sideways look. “Reggie would have told me.”
“So, one kiss, and you think I’ll spill all my secrets?”I will. That was the hottest fucking kiss of my entire life. I’ll give him my whole life story for another taste.
“I want to know what really happened. Howyou fell.”
“And I want to know how your mouth feels swallowing my cock.” I take a second to admire his reaction: the way his head falls back against the headrest and the sound he makes low in his throat. “I’m pretty sure it’s a bad idea to drive these roads with your eyes closed,” I tease. He opens them and aims a glare through the windshield.
“You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Trying to distract me.”
“Am I distracting? I thought we were discussing the price of my secrets. That was just my opening offer.” First rule of negotiating—start high. I’d definitely settle for a hand job.
“No blow jobs. And no more kisses.” He flashes me a stern look. “You know this thing can’t go any further, Echo. I’m evaluating you for Reggie.”
“But you admit there’s a thing.” Giddy triumph creeps over my limbs, culminating in a rush of saliva at the lingering taste of his tongue exploring mine.
“There’s no—That’s not the point.”
“Whatever you say.”I know you want me now. I know you were as hard as I was.He glances at me again, clearly suspicious, but lets it lie. We drive in silence while he pretends to concentrate on the road and I stare at his perfect profile.
“It was the video,” I say eventually.
“What video?”
“The four pirouette switches on IG. ‘That Echo.’” There’s no accusation in my voice, the bitter taste of his earlier words burned away by his molten tongue, but he flinches slightly anyway.
“You tried it on the home point?” he asks, skeptical.
“I’m not a complete idiot,” I scoff. “I’ve only got eighteen feet at home. No way I’d pull four without dragging my feet on the last two beats.” Before he can voice his confusion, I continue. “Gabe was at the house that weekend. My parents had thrown a big send-off party to celebrate me heading to Tilburg.” I look out the window and remember the last time I felt like my old self, drunk on champagne, with Caleb Fortner bent over the counter in my parents’ master bath. And the next afternoon, sweating out my hangover with Gabe in the studio.
“Gabewas there when you got hurt?” There’s something menacing in Byrd’s voice that I don’t recognize, and my barely recovered cock twitches. I spend half my time around him trying to keep it in line and failing. Or not trying at all.
Is he feelingprotective? And why the hell is that so hot?
“He’d seen the video and was bugging me to demo the switches. He’s got this thing where he makes it sound like he’s complimenting you when he’s really being an ass, and…” I hesitate, not sure how to explain. Or maybe I just don’t want Byrd seeing any more of my scars.
I worshipped Gabe for half my childhood, always wishing he was around more, and I felt like an idiot when I realized he didn’t feel the same. By the time I was old enough to understand him, I was already my own brand of asshole and very, very good at pretending not to care.
“Most of the time with Gabe, I let it slide,” I say. “He’s a dick, but it can’t have been easy, watching his dad replace his momwith a younger, hotter version, and then do the same thing to him.”
“Is that what you think you are? A younger, hotter version of your brother?” He throws me a glance I can’t decipher, some shadow flickering beneath his carefully cultivated calm.
“Well, younger and hotter, obviously. And then I was better at circus too.” I shrug and toss him a cheeky grin. “Sucks to be Gabe.”
“So he tried to talk you into the switches, and you said no,” Byrd says, fighting an answering smile and refusing to be distracted. “Then what happened?”
