butt to mold that as well. Suddenly, I don’t mind this so much.
“Like this?” I ask, purposely jutting my rear further out of alignment. He shakes his head, then smirks when he catches on.
“You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you,” he says.
“Oh, you mean like this.” I shove my left leg out and hold the stick above my head in the most ridiculous pose. My laugh becomes a yelp when he scoops me up from behind and swings me into his arms. I drop the stick, laughing as he carries me over to the couch.
“I’m pretty sure I won’t stop many goals from the couch,” I say as he lowers me to the cushions.
“No, probably not.” That smile, though. Stops my heart. I link my hands around his neck and pull him down.
“I have a better idea,” I breathe against his lips.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I thread my hands in his hair as he stretches out on top of me. His left arm braces on the cushion beside me; his right slides behind my back to force us together. I moan as he hardens against me, and I hook my legs around his.
Our kiss intensifies, our bodies instinctively finding each other in all the right places. I gasp as he presses into my hips, releasing his hair to shove my hands under his shirt. I pull until he helps me yank it over his head. I’m already dreading our separation. It could be weeks before we manage a rendezvous. Weeks before I feel his warm skin and hard body, taste his sweet kisses. Talk about wanting to preserve a moment.
“I’m going to miss you so much,” I whisper.
“I know—”
My phone rings. Nope. Not gonna happen. Grunting, I pull it from my pocket and drop it on the floor. “Ignore it,” I say, dragging him back and resuming our kiss. But he pulls up.
“Maybe you should—”
“Oliver, not now. Right now I need you inside me, got it?”
His eyes ignite with heat and humor, but he still doesn’t seem convinced. Seriously? What guy wouldn’t be swayed by that? His gaze travels to the device I discarded on the floor. “Okay, but it’s Sam.”
“What?” I cry, bolting up. He smirks as he straightens to let me free. I snatch the phone from the floor and swat the hair out of my eyes. “Hello?” I answer on the third ring.
A wry laugh greets me, and my heart races. “Genevieve? Oh my goodness. It’s true then.”
With a huge grin, I drop back to the cushion. “Hey, Sam. Surprise.”
“You’re Viv Hastings? I can’t believe it… and yet, I kind of do.”
Oliver reaches over and pulls me against him on the couch. I settle into his chest and adjust the phone. “I hope you’re not upset. I wasn’t trying to deceive you. I just wanted Viv to be who she was meant to be. I didn’t want Genevieve Fox to have any influence on her career.”
After a slight pause, she releases another long sigh. “Wow. I don’t even know what to say right now.”
For a brief moment, familiar panic rushes back. Will this change things? Is she going to pull the offer off the table now that she knows the truth? I glance back at Oliver whose expression hasn’t changed. Still steady. Still confident. Still full of love and strength. He kisses the side of my head, and the panic dissolves. Peace settles over me instead. Whatever comes next doesn’t matter. If they don’t want me because of who I was, I don’t need them. Viv Hastings has proven she can make it on her own.
“So this opportunity you wrote me about?” My voice is firm, curious when I continue. “You have a band looking for a lead singer?”
Sam clears her throat, and I hear the amusement—and possible excitement—in her tone when she speaks again. “I do. And now that I know it’s you, I’m even more confident about this fit. Both of you are looking to start over. Both of you have tremendous talent and a musical identity you’re still trying to form. Both have come through a dramatic fall and are searching for a path back up. This band has been through hell lately, but they’ve culled the poison from their ranks and are looking to start fresh. If you’re open to it, I’d love to have you sit down with the lead guitarist who’s forming the band: Julian Campbell.”
“Julian Campbell? Why does that name sound familiar?”
“His former band just spent a lot of time in the