Page 111 of Play Fake

“It would seem that way.”

He scrolls through the list, and I watch him click on one of them.

The roll of the bass and drums comes through my speaker, the guitar flowing in soon after. I realize which one he picked, and I cringe.

“I don’t think this is a great idea,” I protest.

“Oh, I think it’s a great idea,” he grins again over his shoulder, and I see him press another button before turning around to face me.

Billy’s voice comes crashing over the instrumentals, sounding perfect as always. The lyrics don’t help.

“This him?”

“No,” I shake my head and laugh. “He wishes his voice sounded like pure sex.”

“Pure sex, eh? Who’s this guy then?”

“Billy. He’s the vocalist.”

“Billy, Jay, Ezra… any of them that don’t want you?”

I roll my eyes.

“I’m serious. I need to know how many guys I have to fight off.”

“Very funny.” I stand up and cross the small space between us. “I think we should turn this off and get back to where we were.”

I try to reach around him, but he catches my wrist in his hand and stops me.

“Nah, I think I want to hear this.” His eyes catch mine as Billy lets loose about missing the taste of his girl on his lips.

“I think this is going to ruin a really good night,” I say softly because I really truly do not want to argue with him for once.

“Why?” He whispers back, leaning over to kiss my cheek. His lips trail up my jawline and then dip back down my neck, sending little tendrils of awareness flowing through me.

“Because I’ve heard the song and I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

He pauses in his exploration to listen to another round of the chorus. One where Billy is belting out how much he needs to touch and taste her again.

“So far I think it’s pretty good.” He dots a few more kisses across my clavicle.

“Waylon,” I say his name softly, half pleading for more of his mouth and half protesting his choice in entertainment.

“Does it turn you on to hear it?” He asks, his fingers brushing over my wrist as he takes a step closer to me.

I take a step back to look up at him. “No.”

I need him to know however much I might want to patch things with Ezra and be friends again; I have zero interest in anything beyond that.

“Not even a little? He wrote a whole fucking song about it, and nothing?” His tone is teasing and playful and he closes the gap between us again.

“Just kiss me,” I plead.

He complies with the request, and gives me several slow kisses, his tongue sliding over mine. His hand slides under my dress, slowly trailing up my inner thigh before he pauses.

“Last chance to confess.” He whispers against my lips, but I refuse to answer.

His hand dips beneath the lace of my underwear. He groans with pleasure at finding me swollen and wet under his touch, giving me several soft strokes before he withdraws.