Page 93 of Cherry Beats

Presley and his hands.

Presley.

Presley.

Presley.

At once, I was pulled away from him and left gasping for breath with swollen, wet lips and wild, pre-orgasmic eyes. Big D was laughing roughly above us, one hand on my shoulder and another on Presley’s. We blinked up at him wildly, but I was still in a haze, barely able to hear anything Big D or Presley were saying to each other because all I could hear was that Presley wrote that song.

Had he loved me that morning?

Was it possible to fall so hard, so fast?

When I blinked wildly to refocus, I saw Presley protesting and shaking his head while Big D tried to pull him to his feet.

“Nah, man. Seriously?” Presley was fighting it, leaning back and groaning like a teenager. He had one hand curled around mine, gripping it tightly.

“Just put her the fuck down for five minutes, will you? They’ve got it rigged up for us. Dicky sorted it. The crowd expect it now. It’ll make great press.” Big D tugged on Presley’s arm again, yanking him to his feet in one fluid motion. Even putting up a fight, Presley looked smoothed and composed. With a roll of his eyes and a glance down at me, he blew the air out of his cheeks and let go of my hand.

“What’s happening?” I asked with a small smile on my face.

“Impromptu gig over on the stage over there.” Big D chucked his chin and gestured behind us with a nod. The black curtains had been drawn back to reveal a drum kit and several pieces of equipment, as well as guitars and a mic stand.

“Are you serious?” I cried with excitement, my eyes popping as I jumped to my feet and kicked the almost empty bottle I’d thrown down on the floor to the side. “You’re playing? Now? As in… right now? Live?”

“I’m too drunk for this shit,” Presley said with a smirk, which showed he wasn’t too drunk for anything. He had this down already. Music was, after all, his first and one true love.

“There’s nothing you can’t do,” I told him before I pushed his arm and told him to, “get out of here.”

“You going to be okay?”

“What am I? Twelve?”

“I hope not, or I’m in serious trouble right now.”

“Go!” I mouthed before I broke into a fit of laughter.

All eyes from the dance floor and bar area were focused on the guys as they made their way to the stage. Rhett was bouncing around, already halfway there and ready to play his role. Big D had his hands above his head and was clapping, getting the crowd into the mood even though they needed no encouragement. Hawk and Coops followed closely behind, and then trailing at the rear with his infamous leather jacket over his shoulders and his blonde hair being thrown up into a knot on the top of his head was my Presley.

That’s right. He was mine.

He was all I saw.

Rhett spoke to the crowd both intimately, and with enthusiasm, turning them from giddy to horny and back again with a simple switch of his playful tone, but I was focused on my rock star.

Once Presley was behind that drum kit, adjusting it to fit him, rearranging his stool, and banging the pedals, he was right where he belonged. He was the boy I’d first seen in high school, lost to everything around him apart from the sticks in his hands and the beats running through his head.

Time seemed to move slowly while I watched him, and my smile only grew bigger.

Presley raised his sticks in the air, and just before he hit them together, he looked through the crowd and found me. When my smile grew, so did his, and that moment right there would stay with me forever.

A man everyone was looking at was looking at me.

Stupid Bryan Adams T-shirt or not, I’d never felt more beautiful in my entire life.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

It was daylight when we left the club without the others: not dawn—pure sunshine and bright balls of light attacking our eyes.

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