Page 69 of Quarantine Crush
“Now is not a good time to get injured. Not with the interview tomorrow.”
“Are you nervous?” he asks, worry creasing his forehead.
I cross my arms, mostly to cover my nipples, which aren’t worried about tomorrow or anything else that doesn’t include Knox’s naked body on mine. “Maybe. And something tells me you are too if you’re here in the middle of the night. We’re not twelve anymore, you know. You could’ve used the front door.”
“Nah. More fun this way. More romantic too.” He wiggles his brows and inches closer. “Am I right?”
Who knew this guy was a hopeless romantic? In the weeks since our quarantine period ended, he’d performed gesture after gesture. More songs. Lots of surprise picnics in the back acreage. Slow dances on the patio.
I’ve fallen harder than I ever thought I could. And I was wrong before. When I look at him now, I don’t see the rejections. I don’t feel the embarrassment. I see our future. And a guy who cares about me as much as I care about him.
Now, he grabs me, pulling me against him and brushing kisses along my throat. I push back, wriggling to get away when his kisses begin to tickle. All that does is turn both of us on. I can feel his erection pressing against my stomach, and I consider giving in and letting him have his way with me right here on my childhood bed. Hell, it’s one of the few places we haven’t done it since coming to stay here a few weeks ago. Then I remember my dad’s room is two doors down, and I shake my head, putting my hand over his mouth to stop him from taking this further.
“Knox, there is no way I’m doing this with you here, now. We both know there’s not a chance in hell we’ll keep it quiet enough to avoid waking my dad.”
“You’re right. You’re pretty loud when I–”
“Me? You’re the one who had the neighbors beating on their ceiling with a broom handle at my apartment that time.”
“Okay, now you’re making shit up,” he scoffs.
I grin. “Not my fault you were too distracted to hear it.”
He grabs me again, hauling me close. “I’ll show you distracted,” he whispers and sends a trail of fire down my neckline with his mouth.
Somewhere in the hall, a floorboard creaks.
“Knox,” I hiss.
He pauses, listening, but there’s no further sound.
I exhale.
“Fine,” Knox whispers. “We’ll table it. Save all the tension for the interview.”
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” I say, still awed by the events of the last few weeks. And all of it because Knox wanted to go bigger with his gesture for me than anything I ever did for him.
Even the playing field, he called it.
Or atoning, as Christian had pointed out before he’d ended that recording of Knox’s balcony performance–and then posted it to his YouTube.
Now, he won’t stop calling himself our manager. I argued in the beginning, but now that he’s managed to get us a guest spot on Helen, the biggest talk show in the world, I can’t really doubt his skills.
Besides, the book sales have been nuts since I self-published our story.
My dad doesn’t discourage any of it, and his support, more than anything, is what pushed me to go with it. The book, the press, the media attention–the viral stardom. It’s been insane.
It also means I’m officially a full-time author, and according to the dads, I’m fired from Jacobs-Hess Enterprises. They won’t even let me do a part-time position because they say it interferes with my creative process.
Unbeknownst to them, Knox has unofficially named his dick “creative process.”
He’s insane.
“I can’t believe Christian’s filed a trademark for Knemy and is contracting for an apparel line.” Knox shakes his head. “This shit is beyond crazy.”
“I told you Knemy is better than Emnox.”
“I never should have doubted you,” he says, straight-faced yet sarcastic.
