'90s Playlist (Romance Rewind Book 1) Read online

  “Hey,” I say, tossing my backpack to the floor by my stool and clocking in.

  He lifts his chin in a greeting, then goes back to playing on his Game Boy. Par for the course with him, which is why I love when we’re scheduled together. He does his thing, and I do mine, all the while switching off who has to take care of the customers. Makes my school load a little easier to handle.

  An hour later, I’ve settled in with the reading for my Media Ethics class, Weezer weaving through the speakers overhead. The scattered customers are nodding their heads along with the beat while they flip through the selection of vinyl and CDs. I just did a sweep of the listening booths—I lost at rock, paper, scissors with Sean—and they were all empty, thankfully, their red velvet curtains tied to the side, open for anyone to use. And use them, the customers do. Too many times to count I’ve whipped open the curtain to the sight of two people going at it. I told my boss he needs to take the curtains down, but he just waves me off and tells me I need to get laid.

  If only he knew.

  That thought brings with it others—like getting on my knees for Mason last night. Normally, I’m not one for such a submissive position, but we both knew who held the power. Leaving him there like that, hard as granite and ready to blow, might’ve been a little cruel. But it’s not like I didn’t suffer, too. I tried to tell myself I was just horny in general when I got back to my dorm, slipped myself under the covers and my hand into my panties…that I wasn’t all worked up from having Mason’s cock in my mouth, his eyes burning into mine, but even my denial doesn’t work that well. He always gets me worked up, and last night was no different. Except that I didn’t allow either of us to finish for the first time ever.

  The siren hooked up to the front door goes off, letting us know someone’s entered the store. It’s obnoxious as hell, but it does a good job of pulling me out of my thoughts. Without looking up from the book in my lap, I say, “Your turn, Sean.” Then I try to focus once again on the words in front of me and not on the thought of what Mason’s cock felt like in my mouth.

  Instead of getting up, Sean yells from his perch on the stool, “Hey, man, ‘help ya?”

  There’s nothing for a few seconds, then, “I’m here to see her, thanks.”

  Speak of the fucking devil.

  I’d know that voice anywhere, the rough rumble one I’m intimately acquainted with. Snapping my head up, I look at him, then glance around to see if anyone else sees what I see—this guy who’s all wrong in this space. In my space. A square peg trying to fit in a round hole, too awkward to do anything but stand out here. Whether it’s him in my world or me in his, we were made to stand out. No one’s looking though, and even Sean has gone back to his Game Boy, ignoring the two of us.

  That doesn’t stop my ire, though, and I slam my book closed, hissing, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  He smiles and rests his elbows on the counter, leaning toward me, the picture of ease. “Do you not like me showing up in your places?” His meaning is clear, and I should’ve anticipated this. I should’ve realized my stunt last night wouldn’t go without retribution.

  I glare at him, then jerk my head to the side, silently telling him to follow me as I leave my book behind and head toward the back of the store. The hallway that leads to the restrooms and listening booths gives us a bit of privacy, and I lean against the wall, crossing my arms. “Okay, you’ve made your point. I won’t show up at your precious frat house again. I went there as a favor for a friend, and believe me, I didn’t want to be there anymore than you wanted me to be.” This isn’t new—since the beginning, we’ve made it clear what’s acceptable and what’s not, and me showing up at his frat is definitely filed under the not category—but for some reason it hasn’t sat well lately. It’s felt more like I’m not good enough for his world rather than he’s not cool enough for mine. I ignore the tug of unease in my chest, though, and say, “You can leave now.”

  Lashes a mile long frame blue eyes staring right at me. High cheekbones, square jaw, not a hint of stubble anywhere… He’s so pretty it hurts to look at him, so I don’t. I drop my gaze, pick at the chipped black polish on my nails, refusing to say anything else. Ignoring the pull I feel deep in my belly…between my legs. God, I just fucked him four days ago, had him in my mouth last night, and already I want. Again, I want.

  “What game are you playing at?” he asks. “Showing up at my house… Worse, you know anyone could’ve walked up and seen you with my cock between your lips.” He’s closer now, right up in my space. Too close, especially for public.

  Especially for my sanity.

  He doesn’t get to be this close to me unless he’s inside me. Self Preservation 101.

  “And yet you’re here, tempting the same fate,” I snap, pointing in the direction of the voices drifting in from around the corner.

  “My cock’s not in your mouth.” He tilts his head to the side, a smirk playing on his lips. “Yet.”

  “Keep talking like that, pretty boy, and it’s not going to be ever again.”

  His mouth kicks up on one side in a condescending smile. He doesn’t even try to lower his voice, to speak to me in anything resembling a whisper when he says, “We both know that’s not true. You love sucking me off. Get off on teasing me.”

  “Oh my God, shut up!” I shove him backward and into one of the listening booths, whipping the velvet curtain closed behind us. It’s floor to ceiling, but the privacy is an illusion. It doesn’t block sound, doesn’t lock to keep out prying eyes. We’re nearly as exposed in here as we were out there. Feels far more intimate, though. “Do you have no sense of self-preservation? You can’t just walk into my space and…and just—”

  “Do exactly what you did last night?” he asks, stepping closer, pressing me against the sidewalls of the booth. He leans down, bringing us eye level. “You know you left me hard all fucking night?”

  I scoff and roll my eyes, but deep down—in a place I refuse to examine too closely—I’m relieved. I wondered if leaving him like that would send him right into the arms of those cheerleaders who were hanging on him. To Taylor who boasted about planning to fuck him. Not that I would care. “I’m sure there were plenty of girls there to take care of your little problem.”

  “There were,” he says, and it feels like a punch to the stomach, like a knife to the chest. Affirmation of how easily I could be replaced. Affirmation of how easily I will be replaced when this crazy thing between us has run its course. “Too bad for me you’re the only one I seem to get hard for anymore.”

  And then he doesn’t say anything at all, instead slipping his too-large hand into my hair and tugging my head back before he descends, and I’m lost just like I always am with him. And I hate it. I hate it, but still I don’t stop it. The kiss isn’t soft or sweet or slow—together, we’re never any of those things. It’s frustration and desire and a little bit of anger, fast like usual, because no matter where we go, there’s always the chance of getting caught. No more so than now, with the store just beyond the material of the curtain, a flimsy excuse for privacy.

  That doesn’t stop us, though, both of us striving to get closer, to get the clothes off faster, get him inside me as soon as possible.

  Nothing ever stops us, even though we both know what a horrible idea it is, what a fucked up situation we’re in. Doesn’t matter. Only our need does.

  Chapter 3

  Mason

  What is it about this girl that drives me so fucking crazy? Before six weeks ago, I was only ever attracted to the girl-next-door type. Clean-cut and bubbly and pretty in a wholesome sort of way. Tia isn’t any of those things. She’s as rough and tough as you can get, complete with a surly attitude to match. No one in their right mind would call her pretty—and God help them if they called her that to her face. She’s hot as hell, yes, but pretty in that homecoming queen way? Not a fucking chance.

  So what is it about her that keeps me coming back? That makes her haunt my dreams and every waking hour
in between? Could be the taste of her lips—courtesy of Dr. Pepper chapstick—or the feel of her piercing when she slips her tongue into my mouth. Or the shape of her under my hands, so tiny and pliable, giving the illusion that I can bend her any way I want to. Considering she has an attitude too large for her frame, I know it’s exactly that—an illusion. Tia doesn’t go where she doesn’t want to go, doesn’t do what she doesn’t want to do.

  And now it’s clear what she wants to do is ride my dick, because she’s scrambling as fast as I am to get our clothes off. She can’t get out of her pants, though, without tugging her Docs off first, and she growls in frustration.

  “This would be a lot easier if you’d wear a skirt once in a while,” I say.

  She jerks upright, her back going rigid, then comes right up to me, yanking down my zipper so harshly I cringe and jerk away. Then she pushes my jeans down just enough to get at what she wants and shoves me to sit on the bench. “You want skirts, go see one of your cheerleaders.”

  Before I can respond, she’s pulled her pants down enough to give me a glimpse of her ass, and then she’s sitting in my lap between my spread legs, impatience clear in how she rocks against me as I put a condom on. I’ve barely rolled it down when she lifts off me and guides my cock straight into her body. Groaning low in my throat, I close my eyes as she sinks down onto me, her legs pressed together making her even tighter than usual. Making me go even crazier than I normally do. I’ve had my share of sex—you can’t get to be starting quarterback in high school and college without girls throwing themselves at you—but nothing…no one…has ever felt as amazing as Tia does wrapped around me. By all accounts, we shouldn’t fit together, her tiny body in opposition to my much larger one, but we do. Perfectly.

  I wrap one hand around her hip and slip the other under her shirt, swearing under my breath when I find what’s there—or not there. “You’re walking around in here without a bra on, your tits hanging out for anyone to see?” I whisper in her ear as I flick one of her nipple rings, irritation bleeding into my tone.

  She alternates between riding me fast, her hands braced on my knees as she bucks above me, to sliding against me slowly, sensual rolls of her hips making me lose my mind. “They’re my tits. I’ll show them to whoever I want.”

  The thought that she might—that she maybe has—makes me clench my jaw, my fingers tightening and digging into the flesh of her hip, and I hope I leave bruises. Hope I mark her good, so she remembers exactly who was fucking her earlier, exactly who got her off. I pinch her nipple harder than she likes, and she cries out, attempting to muffle the noise in her shoulder, but it’s too late. If anyone is anywhere near this booth, they heard her, and she’s just left little doubt as to what’s going on behind this curtain.

  That’s the least of my worries now, though, because all I can think about is her doing this with someone else. With one of the freaks in her film classes, or one of the guys I see her hanging out with in the quad—someone with piercings and green hair spiked into a Mohawk, a long, silver chain hanging from his back pocket. And even though she’s rocking above me, her pussy so hot and tight I’m about to lose my goddamn mind, I can’t stop thinking about that other nameless, faceless guy. An unspoken enemy. I can’t stand the thought of it, of her in the lap of some other asshole. Definitely couldn’t stomach the reality.

  Knowing I’m going to kick myself for this later, but not being able to stop myself, I grip her hips and bury myself deep inside her. Brushing her ear with my lips, I say, “I’m adding another rule.”

  She huffs and tries to lift off me, but I’m holding her too tight. Instead, she slides forward and back against me, shifting just enough to make her voice breathless. “We’re not”—she moans when I reach around and brush a finger against her clit—“we’re not doing so good on the three we’ve already got.” Pausing, she lets her head fall back to my shoulder, her eyes closed, lower lip captured between teeth. “How about we just stick with those,” she says instead of asking as she tries to lift off me again, and this time I let her. She bounces on my cock with purpose—to get us both off as quickly as possible—and she’s going to succeed, just like always.

  Even with dozens of encounters between us, I’ve never been able to take my time with her. Never even been able to look at her. Not completely. Instead I get pieces here and there when we sneak off. I wish I could have her spread out in front of me on a bed—my bed—completely naked, legs over my shoulders and my mouth on her pussy. Or straddling me, riding my dick with her tits in my face, her entire body above mine, all that skin on display for my eyes only. Allowing me to take in all that I want. Instead, we have to settle for cramped bang sessions in my car with half our clothes still on. Or like this—in the back booth at the place she works, pants around our knees so we can get dressed in a hurry, should it come to that.

  The thought of her at my place is a nightmare as much as a dream. Thinking about her walking past a dozen brothers…those dozen pairs of eyes watching. Judging. It’s not a written rule within the fraternity or anything—who we can and can’t date. But it’s an unspoken kind of thing. Groups merge with certain groups, and a frat merging with the film geeks? A hopefully soon-to-be President dating one of them? Ain’t gonna happen.

  I don’t say anything else, don’t push the subject while I’m inside her. She’s worked me hard enough that all I can think about is the feel of her body wrapped around mine, the walls of her pussy squeezing me as she glides up and down, getting faster and faster with each stroke. I press my fingers harder to her clit, and then I wrap my other hand around her mouth, tugging her back against my chest just as she starts coming. Her eyes lock with mine for a split second before they flutter closed—like always—her moans lost in my palm and her body pulling my orgasm from me. Burying my face in her shoulder, I let go, trying hard to keep my groans quiet.

  While we’re both trying to catch our breath, she sags against me, her back to my chest. I have the sudden urge to press my lips to her neck, feel how fast her heart’s beating…if it’s racing like mine. Before I can, she moves to stand, and I loosen my grip on her and hold the condom in place. Once I take care of it, I button and zip my jeans while she does the same, both of us all business now that we’ve gotten what we need.

  It’s always quiet after—there’s not a lot to say when our relationship consists entirely of fucking—so it’s no surprise when she moves to slip out of the booth without a goodbye or even a backwards glance. Before she can, though, I grab her wrist, stilling her. She freezes with her back to me, her shoulders tense. “I meant what I said. I want to add another rule.”

  She scoffs, and I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “What now? I think we’ve hit all the big ones. You only wanna do it in gas station bathrooms now?”

  “No.” I tighten my grip on her wrist and swallow, wondering if this is such a good idea, but then I just say what I need to say. “I’m the only one who gets to see your tits. Who gets to be inside you. No one else. Not while we’re doing this.”

  She turns her head to the side and looks back at me, pale green eyes rimmed in thick smudges of black, her lips a dark red. She doesn’t mean to—in fact, I’m damn certain she’d do all she could to hide this—but those eyes show vulnerability right now. Uncertainty she tries her hardest never to show. She licks her lips and then asks, “What makes you think I’d agree to that? What do I get out of it?”

  “My dick.”

  “I get that now, plus any others I come across that I want.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I study her. We’ve been at the same school our entire college careers, but I never really saw her around. Not until this semester when we were tossed in the same Econ class and assigned to the same project. It wasn’t until then that I got to know a bit about her…or anything at all. And while, granted, most of what I do know of her revolves around different ways to make her come, I’ve gradually learned to read her cues. And right now, how she’s picking at her nail polish, tells me s
he’s talking a bigger game than she wants to play.

  “As long as you realize the same goes for me, if that’s how you wanna work it,” I counter.

  This time, it’s her eyes that narrow until she’s glaring at me, and that look shouldn’t get my dick hard. Shouldn’t have me stiffening in my jeans already, but it does. She’s not saying a word, but she might as well be screaming mine at the top of her lungs. I shouldn’t like that as much as I do, especially when there can be nothing between us but secret fucks in back alleys and darkened parking lots, forever sneaking around.

  “Fine,” she snaps and yanks her arm from my hand. “We’ll do it your way. But the first time I find out you’ve fucked someone else, this whole thing is off. All of it, Mason. That clear?”

  She doesn’t wait for an answer before she slips around the curtain, and I’m left standing there, secure in our new deal, but having no idea why I’d make such a thing in the first place. No idea why, other than jealousy.

  Funny thing, I’ve never gotten jealous with a hookup before.

  Chapter 4

  Tia

  I’m sitting in class, attempting to listen to Professor Daniels drone on, but I can’t pay attention to anything. Well, nothing except the feel of Mason’s gaze on me, the hairs on the back of my neck along with my nipples standing at attention.

  It’s been a few days since Mason’s fourth rule was put in place. A rule I never should’ve agreed to. A rule that, had I been in my right mind, I never would’ve agreed to. The ironic thing is, if that rule had been there in the first place, I might not have felt the need to go to his frat house on Saturday and break every other rule we had in place.

  Our first three rules were created by us for self-preservation. Protecting both our reputations—mine as much as his. Neither of us could be seen with the other and maintain any level of credibility. His fraternity brothers and fellow football players would shun him, and my friends would flay me alive. But this? A monogamy clause for our hookups? That was put into place for nothing other than…what?