After several minutes of getting our mouths reacquainted with one another, we were finally ready to talk. Dylan stayed close to me, in between my legs with each of his hands on my bare thighs, his face was just inches from mine.
“I really like the boots,” he said smiling while he looked down at my feet. “They’re very sexy Texas.” I grinned at the compliment and wiggled my feet for him.
“But I love the pigtails,” he murmured as he leaned in to me once again. He kissed right below my left ear and then whispered, “They make me think very naughty thoughts about you.” I whimpered as similar visions crossed my mind and my wet pussy ached with want.
“Oh God, Scarlett. Please don’t make sounds like that. I’m having a hard enough time controlling myself as it is,” Dylan pleaded but kept his face nuzzled in my neck and his body up against mine.
“Sorry. I got a little carried away there. You aren’t the only one fighting to stay in control, ya know?” I replied. We continued to stand like that for a little while, I had my arms wrapped around his neck and I was running my hands over his freshly cut hair. I loved the way the hair felt under my hands, it was soft and smooth if you rubbed your hands one way, but stubby and prickly when you ran it the other direction. He continued to lay against my chest, kissing my neck and ears every so often, both of us were lost in thought. This was quite different from last Saturday when we spent the majority of the time talking and getting to know one another. I wondered what it would be like to be in a different setting with Dylan, like a real dinner-movie date kind of thing. And then I wondered why he hadn’t asked me out yet. We had talked or texted every day this week, but he never brought up seeing one another outside of these parties. Before I could jump off into one of my notorious overanalyzed hypotheses on why that was, Evie and some guy walked out the back door towards us. The competition had officially begun.
“Hey Sam. How you doing out here?” she asked as her and her male friend approached. I could see the wide grin on her face and the sparkle in her eye and I knew that this was her so-called chosen “prey” for the evening. He was cute, a little dorky, but still cute. He was tall and skinny, had short black hair, and his pink polo, seer-sucker shorts, and loafers screamed “preppy frat boy.” The look was so over the top, I couldn’t help but snicker into Dylan’s back. I knew that this “genre” of book boyfriend was not Evie’s top choice, she much preferred a guy with some rough around the edges, but she was sticking to the guidelines… almost a little too well. A pink polo, really?
“We’re good. Sorry to bail, there were just so many people inside the house, and I was getting overheated and claustrophobic,” I told her apologetically.
“No worries, I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay. And I wanted to introduce you to Anthony,” Evie grabbed his hand and jerked him closer to her. The move startled the poor guy, but he wasn’t about to protest.
Dylan and I both introduced ourselves and shook the guy’s hand without moving from our position. Dylan had just turned around so that his back was leaning against my chest, still standing in between my legs. My boots were hooked around the front of him, resting on his thighs; my arms snaked around his middle, hands clasped together at his waist; and my chin rested on his right shoulder. I loved having his neck and ear in such close proximity to my mouth and every so often, I would kiss and nip at his soft skin. The moans I could feel vibrating in his neck that had escaped in the back of his throat fueled me to continue.
We spent a while talking outside with Evie and Anthony, who actually turned out to be a pretty normal guy, despite his questionable clothing decisions. I could tell that Evie was bored with him about halfway through the conversation, but she was not going to forfeit the win easily. She tried her hardest to get Anthony to partake in some form of PDA, but he was shy and reserved and any physical contact between the two of them was a direct result of her initiating it. It appeared I had two breakfasts coming my way.
At some point Jess stuck her head out the door and told us the jam session was about to start and I needed to come in. I really hadn’t thought about playing again this week, I was hoping there would be other people who wanted to perform, especially since there were so many more people this time. But Evie, Jess, and Dylan insisted that we go in, so I went along with them. I really didn’t want to see Ash. I had managed to avoid him since we had arrived at the house by staying outside, but I really didn’t want to see him with or without female companionship. I hoped he wasn’t stupid enough to pull the same shit with his song choices again, I was irritated enough with him as it was and it wouldn’t take much to make me just want to leave… probably with Dylan, and I really wasn’t ready for that yet.
Thankfully, Ash, who surprisingly appeared to be bimbo-less, didn’t try to embarrass me or send any secret messages while he sang, at least not that I picked up on. He actually paid very little attention to me whatsoever. I decided that this irritated me even more than when he was trying to get under my skin, at least then I knew he was thinking about me. I knew I should feel guilty thinking these thoughts about Ash as I sat in Dylan’s lap, but I didn’t. Mostly because I knew that nothing would ever happen between me and Ash, that had been made clear more than once. Once again, Ash was fantastic. He played a mixture of classics and current sounds, but all of them in his own style that kind of reminded me of a mixture of Mason Jennings and Jack Johnson. His sound matched his image so perfectly - if you closed your eyes, you could imagine yourself sitting around a bonfire at the beach after a long day of sun and surf. It was absorbing and therapeutic.
When he finished his last song, Sitting on the Dock of the Bay, which was absolutely spectacular, he looked in my eyes for the first time since we had left the restaurant and held the guitar out towards me. His mouth turned up in a slight smile but it did not reach his eyes. I hoped he felt as distraught inside as I did, but I doubted that I was the reason for the troubled look on his face. He was probably just frustrated at his lack of female worshippers and the fact that he apparently wasn’t getting laid two Saturday nights in a row. The thought of all the girls he had slept with made me shudder and reminded me of my exasperation with him. I grabbed the guitar from him with a short “Thanks,” and took the seat that he had been sitting in.
I followed the mood that Ash had set, a cheerful calm, by playing similar songs in style. As always, I lost myself in my music and at times I forgot that anyone else was even in the room with me; I was grateful for the opportunity to release some of my frustration. Playing the guitar always soothed me.