Sweet Ache

Chapter 28

QUINLAN

I watch Hawkin from the couch in the studio. He’s working through the lyrics of a song while I’m on my laptop getting into the heart of my thesis. This feels good. All of it, especially where we are right now when it could have gone in so many different directions after the past couple of days.

I love the opportunity to watch Hawke work. He gets this little crease in his forehead when he jots down lyrics and reworks them on the pad. He also does this thing where he bites his lower lip as he strums out the chords on the guitar with his eyes closed before he brings the words into it. Something about his process is most definitely sexy.

Every time I see him stare off into space in thought, I wonder how he’s really doing, and I can’t help but remember the look on his face as he stared at his mother, the hurt and shock and devastation in his expression. It was so brutal to watch, so heart-wrenching to stand by and not be able to do anything to ease his pain.

He’s shut down still, not really talking about it, and yet I know the truths he learned are making him question everything about what he’s grown up believing. Maybe that’s why he’s poured himself into his music the last couple of days.

After this past week, I know my mom’s old adage describes Hawkin perfectly: Sometimes the strongest people are the ones who love beyond all faults, only truly grieve behind closed doors, and fight battles that nobody knows about. My only hope is that by losing himself in his music, he’s been able to process everything.

Besides leaving the house for his last lecture today, he hasn’t really left the studio much according to Vince. But in Vince’s eyes that means Hawke’s coping, he’s working through it with music, and that’s a good sign.

Hawke glances up and smiles softly, the guitar falling silent. It takes a moment for me to realize I’ve been caught staring at him and the smile on my lips is out of pure reflex.

“Hey, how’s your paper going?” he asks as he grabs a handful of M&M’s.

“If it included a hot rocker guy writing a song, then I’d say it was going great…. You’re distracting, Play.”

My stomach flutters at the full-fledged grin he gives me in return. “I can distract you in other ways if you’d like.” He raises his eyebrows and my heart squeezes at the comment because it’s the first time he’s pseudo flirted with me since everything happened.

Maybe Vince is right, maybe the music is helping.

“I’d like that. Maybe I can inspire you with my wicked ways to write a dirty song.”

“Sweetness, every time I touch this guitar I’m reminded of you.” He smirks, my eyes drawn to the guitar and my body reacts viscerally. “But there are plenty of other instruments in here; we can try to add another one to our sexed-up band.”

I start to clear the papers from my lap, not one to turn down the look in his eyes or the hints of what they say he wants to do to me. My old, playful Hawkin has emerged from hiding and a part of me sighs in relief. He reaches me the same time I have a clear lap and drops to his knees between my legs.

Leaning forward, he bestows a tender kiss that causes that sweet, slow ache to burn in my core. He slips his tongue between my lips, and I swear to God I can taste the next sixty years when his mouth connects with mine.

The thought startles me. Shocks me enough that I break away from the kiss. A tide of panic flutters within me but at the same time, I know what I just felt was real. With our faces inches apart I stare into his eyes, my hands smoothing over his jaw as I let the idea settle some.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Hawke says throwing me for a loop.

“What?”

“You have every right to question me right now with everything and how I’ve been acting and—”

“That’s not … I’m not questioning … I just …” My voice trails off as I realize he thinks I’m hesitant to kiss him, to be intimate with him, because of how closed off he’s been the past few days, when in reality it’s because I’m so overwhelmed with feelings. How do I tell him that and not freak him out? I can’t. Not with everything he’s going through.

“Hawke, it’s not you at all. I—”

“You guys gonna come out of your sex studio long enough to join the party?” Vince asks as he barges in the room. A knowing laugh falls from his mouth when he sees our positioning. “See, I knew it. Shit, I owe Rocket ten bucks. I told him that there was no way—”

“We’ll be there in a minute,” Hawke shouts over his shoulder. “We’re kind of busy.” He leans in and kisses me again, a little piece of Heaven amid the chaos that’s been surrounding us as of late. I slide my hands up his torso, anxious to feel him and touch him, show him somehow, some way that his past is his past, and that his future is wide open.

I moan into his mouth as his strong hand slides up under my shirt, rough to soft, and finds my breast, thumb grazing over my nipple as his mouth seduces me. I sink into the feeling, the emotion surrounding us, and can’t think of any other place I’d want to be.

Hawkin’s phone buzzes with a text and we ignore it as my hands start to tease and tempt and taunt his bare flesh, loving the heat of him beneath my fingertips, the bunching of muscles, the connection being made. His hands work wonders on my breasts, his fingers finding their way beneath my bra so his calloused fingers pleasurably scrape across my sensitized flesh. My head falls back as I lose myself to the sensation and he moves his mouth to the span of skin on my neck to place openmouthed kisses there.

His phone alerts another text. “Such a popular guy. I guess I should feel lucky to be in your presence,” I tease breathlessly, my senses in overdrive.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than right here, right now,” he murmurs with his lips against my neck. His phone alerts again and he mutters, “Jesus Christ!”

“It might be your …” And my voice fades off, afraid to bring up his mom, but I’m already worried.

He swears again and leans back to the table he was writing lyrics on and grabs his phone. God he looks sexy with his hair all mussed up by my hands. He looks at his phone and scrunches his face up momentarily before slamming his phone down. I cringe at the sound and worry what’s wrong.

“Fucking Hunter,” he grits out. “The lecture’s over so he must be back on the prowl for drugs again. How is it possible he’s asking for money? He gets more than enough. Goddamn it!” He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair before raising his eyes slowly to meet mine. “I’m sorry—this is … this is just how it is with me. I’m trying to change this—how I need to fix him and help—so it’s going to take me some time to not react … to not enable him. You deserve better than this….” His voice trails off and he lowers his head.

I scurry over to where he sits on his knees and mimic his posture. I force his head up with my hands and stare into those gray eyes of his that do funny things to my insides, even now when he’s looking at me with regret. “Hey, rocker boy … I don’t want anybody else though, I want you.” I love this hitch in his breath from my words, love knowing that it can affect him that way because maybe one day he’ll be able to tell me what I see in his eyes … that he feels the same way about me.

“Quin …”

“Look … I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. It’s going to take time and I get that.” I lean forward and use my lips to reinforce the words. He pulls me into him and uses his tongue meeting mine to tell me he understands.

The door at our back flings open, the noise of the party escalating tenfold from when Vince did what seems like minutes ago. “Hawkin motherfucking Play! Get your and Trixie’s ass out here now!” Gizmo says with a drunken laugh. “It’s time to party!”

The tenderness of the moment is gone but I still have Hawke in my arms. “We can escape if you want…. After this week, you might not want to …”

“Nah,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m okay.” He kisses me one more time. “We’re coming, Giz!”

Note to self: Never let Rocket mix me drinks again. Holy shit, he makes them strong!

My mind’s a bit fuzzy as I wander downstairs looking for Hawkin, wanting to make sure he’s okay after all of the shit from this week. And I might want to take him upstairs and have my way with him because every time I think of him, I feel that ache deep in my core and know the only person who can sate it is him.

“Have you seen Hawkin?” I ask a group of women, my buzzed mind not registering until it’s too late that they’re probably here angling for the man that I have and they might not be too friendly.

“Why, who are you?” The redhead sneers.

“I’m with the band,” I say, my own private joke because they think I’m just another floozy on the long list of them here tonight.

“Really?”

“Is it true what they say?”

“Do they like to tag team?”

All three questions are thrown at me at once and I can’t focus on a single one of them because I catch sight of Hawkin across the room. “Sure, yeah …” I leave them behind, on a mission to walk up and kiss him to prove to them I am indeed with the band.

About fifteen feet away from Hawke, I stop when I see him arguing with Vince. I can’t hear what they’re saying but can tell by the body language that Hawke’s not happy. I walk closer, curious and cautious at the same time.

“Why are you pushing this so hard?” Hawke asks, his jaw clenching.

“Deal’s a deal, man.” He shrugs his shoulder and catches my eye, immediately standing down. He holds his hands up in mock surrender and backs away. Hawke shoots daggers at him and Vince just laughs with a shake of his head. “I’m off to the head. Let me know when you change your mind.” He turns to leave the kitchen, and when he walks past me, he stops to kiss me on the cheek. “Convince your man to come and play, Trixie.”

It takes a minute for his words to sink in and by the time they do, Vince is gone. I’m not sure what in the hell he means but shrug it off because I meet Hawke’s eyes and even though there’s underlying irritation at Vince, I can also see the desire we unleashed earlier simmering beneath it.

I walk toward him; the sight of him slightly unkempt, with a carefree smile he hasn’t possessed for days calls to my libido on so many levels it’s ridiculous. He brings a shot of something to his mouth and I don’t even give a second thought to what it is because I know I’ll taste it on my lips momentarily.

He hums deep in his throat when I step up into his body and there is something so inherently sexy about the sound—knowing that I caused that reaction—that together with the feel of his firm body against mine lets me know there will be no interruptions this time.

He looks at me, eyes darkening and one hand sliding beneath my shirt a beat before our lips meet in a hungry, no-holds-barred kiss. His empty bottle clatters on the counter behind him so that his other hand can join in the temptation. I lose myself in the taste of the tequila on his tongue, and the hypnotizing feeling of his hands on my body.

The music thumps hard around us, the noise buzzes, and the faint scent of cigarette smoke wafts in from outside but it’s as if none of it hits me because I’m consumed by everything about him: his taste, his cologne, the groan I can’t hear but can feel against our connected chests, the heat of his body. I don’t care who’s watching because it’s almost as if the overwhelming emotions that he’s experienced all week long are manifesting themselves into our mutual desperation.

“Upstairs. Now,” he murmurs against my lips, and I’ve never heard more perfect words. He grasps the bottle of tequila behind him in one hand and my hand in the other without saying anything further and walks with purpose through the crowd. I can’t see his face but he must have a determined look on it because not one person stops him to talk when that’s been the norm for the evening thus far. At the bottom of the stairs, I catch the eyes of the three wannabe women and just smirk. Call me bitchy, but I can’t help it, I’m with the one they were hoping to land tonight.