Kat mouthed, “On the burner.”
Shit.
“You’re working late. Again.” Shit. I hadn’t told him about Sculpt yet. Matt’s arms were crossed, and his legs were braced. “You going to explain to me why Sculpt is talking to me about you?”
I awkwardly sat on the edge of the couch, and glanced at Kat beside me who quirked a smile and rolled her eyes at her overprotective brother. “Well . . . we’ve been kind of—”
“Tell me you’re not f**king him.”
“Jesus, Matt,” Kat said and reached over and squeezed my hand. “It isn’t any of your business who Emily’s with.”
“Like hell it’s not. Sculpt’s bad news, and I don’t want you anywhere near him.”
Kat slapped her hand onto the leather couch making a loud smacking sound. “Bah. Matt don’t be absurd. You said so yourself a few weeks ago that Sculpt is a good guy.”
“Yeah, for showing up on time for his gigs, paying for his fuckin’ drinks, and bringing me business with his band. Christ, the guy even keeps his bandmates in line, but I sure as hell wasn’t saying he’s a good guy for my sister’s best friend.” Matt ran his hand through his hair, took a ragged breath, and walked over and crouched down in front of me. “Emily.” He sighed. “I know after your dad . . .” He took my hands, and his thumbs rubbed back and forth on the back of them. “I know what it’s like to lose a parent, and sometimes when you miss them you end up looking for a replacement of sorts. Someone to ease that missing link. Sculpt isn’t that guy. Has he told you anything about his past?”
I shook my head.
“That’s because not a single person knows anything about it. He is closed off, and that means he’s dangerous.”
“He’s friends with Georgie, and he knows Deck and—”
“And he’s been playing at my bar for months, and no one knows his real name. Not even his bandmates. I don’t like it, Emily.”
Ever since grade school when Kat and I had started hanging out, Matt had been there for the both of us. I’d snuck in Kat’s bedroom window numerous times after running away from my mom’s when she brought a new boyfriend home. Matt never kicked me out, never told me to go home, nor did he call my mom. Instead, he bought me a cell phone, programmed his number in it, and told me if I ever needed to leave home that I was to call him, and he’d come get me.
I loved him and Kat; they were my family, but I saw in Sculpt something Matt couldn’t. I saw the truth in his words. The meaning in his touch and the sweetness in his kiss. There was something more to him than he let everyone see. A vulnerability beneath his confidence.
“Matt,” Emily said. “I get why you’re worried but—”
“Oh I’m more than worried, Emily.” He stood and walked toward the kitchen where he opened the fridge, grabbed a beer, and popped the cap. “You’re not dating him.”
I stood, hands on my hips. “Matt.”
“No. You live under my roof, you’re following my rules.”
Kat gasped jumping to her feet beside me. “Matt. No.”
Anger pulsated, and I strode over to him but stopped just out of reach, afraid of getting too close and slapping him. “I pay rent. You have no say over who I date. And I’m dating Sculpt.”
Matt slammed his beer down on the counter, and it foamed up over the sides. His face was beet red as he glared at me. But I wouldn’t on this. “No, you’re not. Jesus, Emily, he’s a fuckin’ illegal fighter. I already dragged Kat out of that underground shit and you . . . you took off on his fuckin’ motorcycle.” Oh. I guess he saw us leave. He hadn’t mentioned it, and I certainly wasn’t going to ask. “Yeah, I saw you. I spoke to Kite who told me you didn’t want to be there and just needed a ride home. Sculpt provided.” Thank you, Kite. “I let it go, because he brought you straight home, and you weren’t hurt.”
“God, Matt we’re not kids anymore.” Kat came up beside him and placed her hand on his arm.
His gaze turned to her, and his brows rose. “You wanna go there, Kat? Beets not enough?” She scrunched up her nose and made a face as soon as he turned back to me. “End it, Emily. Now.” He picked up his beer and strode from the kitchen. I could hear his feet pounding up the stairs to his room.
I jumped when the door slammed.
Kat put her arms around me, and I slunk into her embrace. “Don’t worry. He’s just shocked, that’s all. Give him time. He’s never seen you date before, and Sculpt is . . . well Matt is just worried. Give him a few days, he’ll settle.”
I didn’t think so, and I was guessing Kat was just trying to make me feel better. Since I’d moved in with them on my eighteenth birthday two years ago, this had been the first fight Matt and I had, and I really didn’t like pissing him off. Matt was very protective. That’s why Kat and I had never told him about my attack a couple months ago. Well, Kat had wanted to, but I insisted otherwise. I knew how responsible he felt toward both of us, and it would have only hurt him to know that he hadn’t protected me. Even though he wasn’t to blame—at all. Matt was the type of guy who took all the responsibility onto his shoulders. Guess that happens when you’re so young and need to suddenly grow up and become a parent to your ten-year-old sister.
Kat went to the fridge, pulled out two beers, and cracked off the caps. “So, you going to tell me what’s up with you and Mr. Fuckable?” Kat passed one to me, and we tipped the necks, clanking them together. “’Cause last I heard, he was slamming you onto your back in some old barn.”
I took a swig of my beer and smiled. Then I told her.
Chapter 4
I fell harder each day we spent together. Harder than I wanted or maybe should have, but Sculpt was protective and sweet in his own way. And cocky and demanding. He liked to call it self-assured and challenging.
I’d discovered Sculpt’s passion stretched beyond vanilla ice cream to motorcycles. There wasn’t once when we passed an ice cream parlor that we didn’t stop for a scoop, and when he saw a parked motorcycle he liked the look of, we stopped and he admired. It was cute. I liked it—a lot.
He picked me up every morning to take me to the coffee shop. I disputed that the TTC and I were old friends, and it wasn’t a big deal taking public transit if it was too late at night to walk. He said no. Of course I said, “Don’t be silly,” and he raised his brows and gave me that don’t argue with me look. I glared. Then he kissed me and had been picking me up ever since.
I was concerned about Matt seeing Sculpt pulling up on his bike at our place. Most of the time Matt was at his bar when Sculpt dropped me off at night, but in the mornings he was home, and Sculpt’s bike wasn’t the quietest of vehicles. I never mentioned the argument Matt and I had to Sculpt, hoping that Matt would settle in to the idea.
He hadn’t yet.
We went for dinner at the Brazen Head in King Liberty Village. It was a nice restaurant, and I knew Sculpt was saving his money, but he wanted to celebrate the new song he’d written as it was inspired by me.
I tried to persuade him to take me to his place and I could make him dinner, but he told me his place was off limits. That unsettled me a bit, considering I had yet to meet his band, see where he lived, and he still never talked about his past.
Of course, I knew about his band, and he talked about them. Internet became my best friend when I’d met Sculpt, and I’d tried to find out everything I could about him, which included Torn. I scrolled through pictures and blurbs about them. Ream was the lead guitarist, Crisis guitar, and Kite drums. I also read that Crisis was an ass, “offensive” according to one blurb in a local paper. When I mentioned it to Sculpt, he grunted and said Crisis had the article hanging in his bedroom.
Sculpt ate the Jambalaya and had ice cream for dessert. I squirmed in my chair while he licked the remnants of vanilla off his lips, giving me that “look” when he finished—intense eyes, soft mouth, sitting back in his chair, relaxed and casual, arm slung over the back. I felt like I was nak*d, and he was slowly running his tongue inch by inch across my skin.
I was so turned on by the time the bill came that I stumbled as I shoved back my seat and knocked it over backward. Sculpt chuckled while reaching for my chair, which set me on fire more because I rarely heard him laugh, and it was throaty and deep and sent my pulse racing. He slipped his arm around my waist, leaned in and whispered in my ear how much he wanted to slip his finger between my legs and feel how wet I was . . . My breath hitched, and I swear my body combusted, and I had a mini orgasm right then. Then he whispered, “Soon, I’m sinking into that wetness, Eme. But not yet.”
“When?”
The corners of his lips twitched. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. “When I know your first time will make you scream my name. When I know I have you completely.”
Didn’t he know? He already had me completely. I just wasn’t ready to tell him that. Maybe that was what he was waiting for?
By the time we walked outside, my chest was heaving and my blood was racing through my veins like heated honey. We made it two strides toward his bike before he snagged my hand, shoved me hard against the brick wall and devoured me.
A rush of urgency ripped through me. It was instant relief and release as his mouth drove into mine. His hands grabbed my wrists and pressed them against the wall above my head. Trapped by his heated hardness on one side and the rough, jagged brick on the other, I submitted to him completely. It was pleasure and pain on every part of my skin, and I couldn’t get enough.
He groaned, and the vibration had me quivering beneath his kiss as it sunk straight into my bones.
Nothing was said when he broke away, but when our eyes locked I saw the possession, his need, and I knew I looked the same. We were somewhere neither of us had been before, and it was an utter loss of control.
Back at my place, I wished we stayed longer at the restaurant . . . Well outside the restaurant. I took off my helmet—Sculpt had bought one just for me—and hooked it onto the back seat with the steel cable. When I looked up at him still sitting on his bike, his head was tilted and a lock of hair had fallen in front of his eye. My stomach’s permanent butterflies airlifted and hovered. I sighed, leaning into him, hands pressed into his thigh.
“Are you going to tell me your real name? I mean Sculpt can’t be what your parents named you.” I wanted to know who Sculpt really was, and he was cagey about his childhood, his past. The only thing I knew was that Sculpt’s best friend was Kite, and he considered the band his family.
“I don’t use my real name, Eme. Haven’t since I was sixteen.”
“Why? Is it something that doesn’t suit a fighter rock star, like Elmer or Herbert?” I giggled trying to imagine fans screaming the name Elmer at one of his fights.
He shrugged. “No one except Kite knows it. And it’s staying that way.” His tone was sharp, and I knew I’d touched a sore spot.