Page 19 of Banging the Drummer

Tonight, her dark hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, and she’s just so damn pretty.

“What?” she asks, clearly self-conscious of my staring.

“You’re beautiful, Luna Coleman.”

“You’re sweet.”

I shake my head. “No, I’m honest. To a fault actually.” It occurs to me that maybe I should tell her about being on the spectrum. I’ve never lost a girlfriend because of it—never really tried to have a girlfriend before—but it has caused some issues with other people.

“I’m autistic,” I blurt before I can talk myself out of it. This woman feels like my forever, so she needs all of my truths.

She smiles at me, leans in and kisses me so gently. “I figured you were.” She points at herself. “Middle school teacher, remember?” Then her eyes narrow. “Were you confessing that like it’s something bad?”

“I’m not always the easiest man. Like how I treated you in Austin. I don’t always read social cues well. I don’t want secrets from you. I want you to see me.”

Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. It’s on my tongue to ask her if I said something wrong, hurt her feelings somehow, but she speaks first.

“You do know your autism isn’t a flaw, right? That brain of yours is where all those amazing songs came from. Did you know that I could hear a Soul Obsession song once and know it was one you wrote. Didn’t matter who sang lead on it. I recognized your words, your heart. You have nothing to confess to me. I see you, Mason Ball, and I like you.”

I kiss her. Partly because I have to touch her in that moment, but also because if I don’t do something else with my mouth, I’m going to tell this woman that I’m in love with her.

We make out the rest of the way to the hotel and I’m so thankful the driver drops us off at the keypad entry door where someone is waiting to give us access.

“Well, this is handy,” Luna says as we’re taken directly to the executive level elevators.

“Fame has some perks,” I say.

“I imagine it has more than some. But plenty of drawbacks as well. You’ve managed fairly well to keep some privacy though.”

“I have. It’s important. I understand that what I do—what I did—comes with fans. Couldn’t do it successfully without them.” I crowd into her, pressing her against the back wall of the elevator. “You’re the only fan I’m interested in though.”

“Can you believe how many of your bandmates got married or hooked up during this tour?” she asks. “That’s bananas.”

“And they’re all your friends. Kinda like it was all meant to be.”

The elevator dings, letting us out on my floor. I lead her to my door, then turn to face her.

“I think I said that wrong. I’m not hooking up with you because you’re a fan.”

“Mason, I knew what you meant. It’s good. We’re good.” She leans up on her toes and whispers in my ear. “Can we go inside? Because I’m still wet and needy from our kisses in the car.”

I’ve been aroused since I saw her backstage, but my dick goes rock hard at those words. I open the door and she’s on me. Licking into my mouth and raking her fingers through my hair.

While we kiss, I lead her into the bedroom. I don’t think it would be comfortable for either of us if I fucked her on the hard hotel floor.

But she has a plan of her own. Once we’re in the bedroom, she whips off her t-shirt, tossing it on the floor behind her. Then she drops to her knees in front of me.

“Moonbeam,” I growl.

She unbuckles my belt, the jingle of the heavy metal buckle filling the room. “You need some breathing room. It cannot be comfortable to have an erection confined in these tight jeans.” Unbutton, unzip, then she’s pulling my jeans down my hips.

“It’s not,” I croak. The heavy jut of my cock tenting my tight black boxer briefs is obscene. Her palms slide up my thighs. “You’re going to kill me.”

She looks up at me, her grin is positively devious. With one hand, she squeezes my dick from outside my shorts. Her blunt nails pluck at the waistband of my underwear; that’s when I see the tattoo on her inner wrist.

I turn her arm so I can see it better. It’s the band’s logo, but somehow incorporated with two crossed drumsticks. “This is amazing,” I tell her, running my thumb over the black ink. “When did you get it?”

“When y’all announced the new album and reunion tour.” She pulls my boxers down, sliding them to meet my jeans pooled at my feet.