The Rider List: An Erotic Romance (27 page)

Chapter Forty

Evan

If I’d had time, I could have planned this better. I could have had something in the house—a couch, a mattress, even a big chair or something. But circumstances didn’t allow for that, so now we’re in the master bedroom back at the bungalow.

Audrey is standing against the bed, the backs of her thighs touching the mattress. I lift her shirt over her head.

“I’m a mess,” she says.

“No, you’re not.” I don’t care that her hair is in fact a mess, or that she has on no makeup, or that her eyes are puffy and red from all the crying she’s done today. “You couldn’t be a mess if you tried.”

She kicks off her sandals as I unbutton her shorts, and she’s tugging at my zipper, her hand eagerly slipping inside, her fingers wrapping around my cock.

Her teeth are clenched together as she mumbles “Oh God” and it comes out with a hiss. She wants this is much as I do.

Her shorts and panties fall to the floor. I reach behind her back and unclasp her bra. Her tits fall out of the cups, one of my favorite sights.

I lean down and take a nipple in my mouth, my tongue teasing it to the hardness and wetness that I love so much. “Take my pants off,” I tell her as I move to her other nipple. This one gets some special attention—clamped between my tongue and my teeth, as I pull on it just enough to get a reaction out of her.

Audrey has both hands on my cock, end to end, rubbing and turning, her palms so soft and warm.
Fuck.
I pull my shirt over my head, tossing it to the side.

Lifting her by her hips, I move her up onto the bed, where I get between her legs and push them open as I crawl closer to her.

My tongue leads the way up her body—starting at her thigh, then over her hip, up her stomach, gliding over one breast stopping for just a second suck on her plump flesh, then up to her mouth, where I kiss her one time before saying, “I’m sorry.”

Her hands are on my arms, her fingertips massaging my biceps. Her brow furrows. “For what?”

“That you thought for one second I would leave you.”

She smiles a little. “I’m sorry I did, too. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

I lower my head to kiss her collarbone, then her neck. “You had a good reason. Just don’t let it happen again.”

She laughs softly. “Or what?”

Lifting my head, I look down at her. “Or I might just have to spank you.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, really?”

I nod.

Her hands move from my arms to my chest. Her palms are flat against me, her fingertips teasing, almost tickling me. “I can’t believe you haven’t done that already.”

“Me, either. But we’ve got all kinds of time now.”

I’m moving my hips as we talk. I can feel how wet she is against my bare cock. If it weren’t for the fact that I like this type of teasing beforehand, I would already be inside her.

It’s probably a good thing I’m not; I’m so hard and she’s so wet, I’d probably come before I wanted to.

She’s starting to concentrate on that feeling, too. I can tell by the raw little noises she’s making, and fuck I love making her wet and eager for me like this.

I need to be inside her so badly. Teasing time is over.

With one different movement, my cock notches against her and I slide in. Just a little, just enough to watch her mouth open and hear her suck in a quick breath.

I prop myself up with one arm, then reach down with my other hand. My thumb is on her clit, moving around.

She’s so slick, so wet, so fucking horny, and she’s getting more worked up because her hips are lifting off the bed as if she’s begging for more of me.

Pushing into her slowly, I let out a moan of my own as Audrey throws her head back, saying, “Oh fuck.”

She arches her back and I look down at her. This intelligent, career-minded, earnest and nearly pure girl who likes to shed all those things in private and loves the way we have sex.

The sight of her chest heaving as she arches her back, her tits bouncing as I pick up the rhythm, the little gasps and squeals she’s making, and the way she looks at me, her eyes trained on mine like she’s trying to get inside my head while we do this…all of this is something I’ll never tire of.

I want to tell her again that there’s no way I’m leaving her, but she knows it now. I can tell by how she reacted to everything back at the house.

It was in the way she looked at me at one point, just for maybe two seconds, but it was there in her eyes and I knew it: she trusts me, she believes me. And she should.

She writhes beneath me as I pick up the pace, unable to slow myself and deny my body this perfect sensation.

I look down at her as she opens her eyes. “You know you’re the one.”

She nods. “I better be.”

Her arms extend above her head. Her hands grip the headboard.

“Come for me,” I whisper.

“So good.”

“Come with me, Audrey.”

She cries out, raising her knees and her legs lock around my back.

I move inside her with long, deep, desperate strokes.

She comes, and she comes hard, tightening around my cock, massaging it and pulling me to the edge. I drop my head to her shoulder as I come with her, my teeth grazing along her soft skin.

We are a pile of heavy breathing and sweat as we regain ourselves.

I roll off of her, onto my back, and she stays where she is, arms and legs splayed out like she’s exhausted. I have one hand on my chest, feeling my heart racing, and not just from the physical exertion.

Not even two months ago, I found her in this room and wanted her the moment I saw her. One time with her would have been good. Better than good, I’m sure. But one time only would have meant missing out on everything else—all the amazing sex, the fulfillment of some of our fantasies, but more importantly, I would have missed out on Audrey the person.

“I don’t know how we’re going to top that,” she says.

I look over and see her chest. Her breathing has almost returned to normal. Mine is getting there. She’s looking straight up at the ceiling and then closes her eyes.

“If I didn’t know better,” I say, “I’d think you were challenging me.”

She turns her head on the pillow to look at me, and smiles. “Ah, you figured me out.”

Epilogue

Audrey

It’s October, just over two months from the day Evan shocked me with the purchase of the old house.

The house wasn’t the only thing he surprised me with that day. We spent a good portion of that afternoon looking around the house, talking about changes that could be made to both the interior and exterior. I was happy that he didn’t want to change much—mostly repairs that preserved the charm of the old house, and upgrading the bathrooms and kitchen.

“Or you could have it knocked down and you could build a whole new place,” I said, knowing it was a possibility but hoping he wouldn’t do it.

He just looked at me. “
We
. We could knock it down and we could rebuild. But we won’t, because that’s not what you want, is it?”

The surprise came later that evening, as we watched the sun set over the marsh.

“I’ll need a cover for this indie album,” he said. “And I want you do design it.”

We were sitting next to each other, shoulder to shoulder. My head snapped in his direction. He kept looking forward. I couldn’t see behind his sunglasses. I had no idea what to say.

Evan continued, “I’m thinking something along the lines of…” He looked around. “I don’t know, maybe this dock at sunset. Me with a guitar.” He finally looked over at me. “But you’re the artist. You come up with some ideas and let me know.”

“You’re serious.”

“Very.”

We shot some photos later that week after I came up with some ideas and he selected his favorite.

Three weeks later, when he uploaded the cover and the song list to make it available for preorder, he remarked at how good it looked on the Amazon listings. “It’s exactly what I wanted.”

One week later, he had been contacted by two bands, both of which asked him who did his indie cover, and just like that I had two clients. One local band from Charleston and a somewhat local band from Savannah.

Evan called Bruce to confront him. He knew it wasn’t the guys in the band who had leaked the lie that Evan had been fired by Tuesday’s Fault.

It was Bruce, exacting some kind of revenge, payback the band had no interest in because they’d moved on with their own stuff and all the guys were supportive of Evan. Tuesday’s Fault fired Bruce the next day, and that was the end of that.

The yard has been cleaned up, and new sod was put down a couple of weeks ago. The house was painted, floors redone, bathrooms were upgraded, and the kitchen is next. There’s furniture here, but Evan is waiting for everything to be completed before he moves in.

I haven’t heard a word from Wyatt. The last I knew he was indeed back in Seattle. I’m a little surprised he hasn’t tried to contact me after finding out who Evan is. Maybe he’s embarrassed by what happened. Maybe he knows he can’t compete with Evan, who is now the center of my love-life. Or maybe…maybe Wyatt has truly accepted the fact that this is really over.

Evan and I met Stacy and Trent for drinks in downtown Charleston one night, so they could all meet. Trent comes from a family of fishermen, but he’s not involved with the business, having opted instead for a career in software development. He and Evan hit it off with their similar experiences with breaking family tradition and pursuing what they truly love. Stacy has come to see the house once so far. When she was leaving she said, “Remember a couple of months ago when I was encouraging you to get out and find a man? You didn’t have to go and find the hottest one on the planet. I’m a little pissed off with you, but I still love you.” I was laughing as she hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. “I’m really happy for you.”

Evan picks me up at my house some days, and one of those days he met my mom. It was unplanned, so I didn’t have time to fret over how it would go. We stood on the front porch and talked for a little over thirty minutes.

I think she might have been expecting a guy with long and unruly hair, numerous visible piercings and tattoos—the stereotypical rock star image—and she was surprised when she first saw him. Evan hasn’t grown his beard back, just the occasional stubble, and he says he likes the shorter hair he went with when he set out on his trip back in May. It’s a new look for a new chapter of his career and his life.

Their introduction was casual, easy, without Mom insisting that he come in and sit down, no pressure at all. She did invite herself to see the house when it’s completely ready to show, saying she had to see that sunset for herself sometime, because she’d always only seen it in my pictures.

Sophie was, of course, unimpressed. If she were a few years older, I probably wouldn’t have been able to prevent her from secretly taking pictures of him and sending them to her friends. As it is, Evan isn’t in the sphere of celebrities she cares about, so it’s like he’s just another guy. She’s back in school now so that gives me even more free time.

With summer over, and with the two new clients I picked up for my unexpected graphic design business, I stopped working at the resort at the end of August, right about the time Evan went into the studio.

He spent five weeks recording the thirteen tracks for his first solo album. I spent a good number of days there with him, watching from the other side of the glass.

A couple of guys sat in with him on a few songs, but it’s mostly acoustic solo stuff. It’s a big departure from the sound of Tuesday’s Fault.

The music itself is different, and of course Evan is singing.

. . . . .

It’s almost release day for Evan’s album. When the clock hits midnight, the whole thing will go live.

He fretted over what to call it, finally deciding to do what a lot of artists do when they release their first solo work. It’s just his name.

I had kind of wished he would name the album after my favorite song, “You Know You’re The One.” It’s got this alternative sound to it that Evan described as post-punk pop, and it’s a great rock song. Okay, I’m saying that because he told me it’s about me. It would be self-serving to push for that as the album name so I said nothing about it. I’m happy enough just to have that song.

The picture he chose for his cover is one of him sitting at the end of the dock, with the sunset off in the distance, casting him in silhouette as he holds his guitar upright next to him.

We’re at the house, sitting on the new couch. Two beers rest on the coffee table in front of us. I think we’re both too jittery to drink. Maybe that’ll come later when we celebrate.

Evan has his computer on his lap. The browser is open to a page that shows real-time sales and downloads. I’m cuddled up next to him, my hand holding onto his forearm.

He spent a good deal of time over the last week tweeting about the release, showing his followers pictures I took inside the studio while he was recording, as well as some candid shots I took of him while he was writing some of the songs.

The response on social media has been overwhelming. He’s even had a few tweets from friends in the music business, other bands, and all three of the guys from Tuesday’s Fault, wishing him well.

I look at the clock in the upper right corner of his laptop screen. It’s 11:58 p.m. In two minutes, people will receive their copies, and the real-time sales page will begin to show the numbers.

We wait and watch the clock. When it hits 12:00 a.m., he closes the laptop and says, “Let’s get some sleep.”

I look at him. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”

He laughs as he opens the laptop again. “Yeah.”

An hour later, the numbers have me sitting there with my mouth agape. It’s over five thousand in that short period of time. Evan still looks nervous. We’re both drinking now.

He clicks over to a music site, one of the few that he submitted the songs to for review. The write-up says his new music is a whole new sound for him, but you can still hear the influences that permeated his songwriting when he was with Tuesday’s Fault. “A must-hear debut” is one phrase. “Evan Crawford has done something special here.”

“Jesus,” he says.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “It’s too much good news.”

“Will you stop? It’s great stuff. People are going to love it.”

He takes a deep breath and refreshes the sales page. The album is about to hit ten thousand downloads.

It’s almost four in the morning and sales hit the milestone we’ve been waiting for: fifty thousand downloads.

I’m a little groggy from fatigue and beer, but the excitement of watching all of this happen is keeping me going. I think the same is true for Evan. There are moments when he’s looking at the laptop screen, either at the sales page or Twitter, and he’s concentrating so hard he doesn’t know I’m looking at his face.

His eyes reflect the screen in the otherwise darkened room and I can see the corners of his mouth curl up. It’s a satisfied grin.

Despite his concern about the overly positive praise and the somewhat pessimistic outlook it caused him to have earlier, I can see clearly now that he’s feeling good. He knows he’s accomplished something great and that this is going to work out fine.

I look at my phone and see that I have a new email. Opening the app, where I have my personal email and my new work email, I see that it’s one in the work account. There’s a new request from a band in Charlotte. Client number three. And this one’s in North Carolina, about four hours away.

I’m excited because this is the first inquiry I’ve had from a band that didn’t know Evan from being around the studio. I know my work is good enough and the first two wouldn’t have hired me if it wasn’t, but there’s something more satisfying about this new one, like I got it all on my own.

Evan closes his laptop, leans forward, puts it on the coffee table and rubs his eyes. “I’m exhausted.”

“Me too. I don’t know if I can sleep, though.”

“I know I can.”

We decided during the day that this would be our first night spent in the house. It’s a Monday, so Mom’s off work, so it works out.

Evan follows me to the bedroom where we both collapse on the bed without getting changed. I think he might even still have his shoes on. It’s that kind of tired.

“So what happens next?” I ask, my voice quiet, almost weak.

Evan rolls over to face me. “Not sure. This is kind of uncharted water here.”

I roll onto my side and we’re facing each other now. We’re looking each other in the eyes—heavily lidded, droopy eyes.

He says, “I guess anything can happen. It could keep going well or it could crash and burn.”

I squint at him. “Wait, are we talking about the same thing?”

He smiles, a soft chuckle follows. “Are we?”

“Maybe not. What are you talking about?”

“The music.”

I sigh and close my eyes. “Thank God. If you had been talking about us that way, I’d probably freak out.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You’re too tired to freak out.”

I open my eyes. Now his are closed.

We lay there silently for a moment.

Sleep is seconds away. I can feel it. But I’m brought back from the brink when I hear his voice. “One more album, at least. I don’t want to play live anywhere. Maybe next year.”

“Sounds good,” I say, drifting back toward inevitable sleep.

“So start planning.”

I can’t even form a real word. “Hmmm?”

Evan’s response comes in a whisper. “I’m not going on the road without my hot wife.”

My eyes open wide. Evan’s are closed and his breathing is even, no expression on his face.

I rise up a little, propping myself on my elbow. Did I dream that he said those words? I watch him for a solid minute. He doesn’t move. He’s fast asleep.

“Hey,” I whisper.

No response.

I touch his shoulder. He moves a little.

“Evan.” I start with a whisper. Then I say his name again a little louder.

Before his eyes open, he smiles, then breaks out into a laugh.

I punch his shoulder. “You jerk.”

He reaches for me and pulls me closer to him, right up against his chest, like he’s holding me as tightly as he can and will never let me go.

“You know it’s going to happen, right?” he says.

“I do now.” Honestly, I’d thought about it, of course, but I wasn’t expecting him to say something like that tonight. Especially at this hour, and especially when we’re both falling asleep.

“Come on,” he says, “you know you’re the one.”