Page 32 of Cherry Beats

I studied him, confusion creasing my face, my heart racing and swirling around with the tornado Presley always dropped into my chest whenever he was close.

“Do you know what I need?”

“What?” I asked quietly.

“More alcohol.”

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

His eyes opened, and he turned to look at me sharply. There was something there staring back at me now—defiance, maybe. A harsh edge. Something that could have looked like hurt if only I believed what he said.

“I’ll get it myself,” he said, sounding bored, and just like that, the drumming sensation of the world climbed out of the bathtub, covered in bubbles with his golden skin dripping wet, and he began to walk through my apartment completely naked, leaving me to stare at his broad, muscly shoulders and his tight arse with my mouth hanging wide open and eyes popping like saucers.

The sound of his wet feet slapping against the floor rang out when he disappeared. I heard him reaching into the fridge and bottles clinking together. He opened a few and began to make his way back to the bathroom. When he reappeared in the doorway, I struggled to breathe. His body was wet and slick, the small bubbles over his pecs dripping down, down, down, down…

Fuck!

I snapped my eyes shut and scrunched my face tight, pretty sure my cheeks were turning purple as I forgot how to breathe.

Presley snickered quietly, and I listened as he walked back across the bathroom, stopping directly in front of me.

Don’t open your eyes.

Don’t open your eyes.

Do not open your…

Apparently, when you repeat that three times, it isn’t Beetlejuice who appears, but Presley West’s soap-covered dick.

I’d forgotten how big he was.

My thighs pressed together instantly, reminding me there was no way I could forget, begging me to reach out and touch it.

I swallowed, unashamedly staring right at it when he leaned down and pressed a cold open beer into my hand. Forcing myself to look up, I hitched in a breath from him being so close, and I held it in my chest.

“Just so there’s no room for any further misinterpretation while I’m here, you should know that I respect you, Cherry, and I’m here because I genuinely missed you. I wanted to see you. I wanted to be near you. I’m here for your company, your quick wit, lack of bullshit, and your friendship, but if at any point you want to suck my dick or take this energy between us under those crisp, white sheets of yours, I am more than fucking ready. Not because I want to get laid by anyone. But because I would give my left bollock to spend another night with you and only you. Understand?”

I nodded weakly, unable to move or speak a damn word.

“Good girl.”

Then he pressed a warm kiss to the top of my head and climbed back into the bath, holding a Peroni in each hand, and by the time I’d regained enough composure to take my first sip, Presley had drained a full bottle.

Chapter Eleven

Fine, maybe I’d be the loser today.

After twenty minutes of us talking about life in general, while he sipped on beer, and I perched my feet on the edge of the bathtub, I’d figured out a bit more about his life, and a lot more about myself. He was closest to Big D in the band, but he admired Rhett, Hawk, and Coops, too. Rhett seemed to be the ringleader, with Big D and Hawk being the clowns, while Coops was the saner, calmer one to be around. Presley, by his own admission, was the enigma. He lived for the music, not the fame, but he wasn’t going to be the guy who turned his nose up at the opportunity to lead the rock star life, either. It sounded like he drank too much, dabbled in things he wouldn’t admit to, and the women were willing to do anything to get near him. Every time I tried to lead him down a route of conversation that meant him talking about those women, he very cleverly steered it back to the music.

His passion for the songs made me simultaneously swoon and melt. I could listen to him talk about his time in the band all day, every day. I was a goddamn sucker in love again, giving him any information he demanded of me, and he’d been back in my life less than half a day. Damn drummer demon. And there I was, currently lost in the way he managed to make his raspy voice sound like smooth caramel.

“Rhett put his vocals over this beat that I’d been playing without even realising I was playing it. Sometimes, when they’re all bitching and arguing over the pettiest of shit, I zone out. I let those fuckers toss around their squabbles while I just kick back with the sticks in my hands. They must have been watching me knocking out this lazy rhythm as I daydreamed about something… probably you.” He lifted his hands out of the water and air drummed the slow beat he was talking about. “Next thing I know, Rhett has zoned in and he’s blurting out these lyrics off the top of his head. He’s got that gravely rough tone that makes it sound like he shouldn’t be able to sing because he’s smoked forty a day and guzzled a gallon of whiskey, but man, can hefucking sing. Have you heard the way he stretches his voice out during the final chorus of Wylde?” Presley turned to look at me, the piercing blue of his eyes making my eyelashes flutter.

“I adore that song.”

“Hawk wrote it about this chick he loves but can’t have.”

“Why can’t he have her?”

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