Love Song: A Stage Dive Novella

by Kylie Scott

  For a long moment, I just stared. “Oh, boy. I don’t know what to say.”

  “That’s alright. Really.” He nodded slowly, studying my face with his serious eyes. “Tell you what, let’s say we sleep on it. Just sleep. No more sex. The sex seems to be freaking you out a little.”

  “It’s a lot more than sex with you freaking me out.”

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday so you’re not working or anything, right?” he asked.

  “Right.”

  “No big plans?”

  I shook my head.

  “Why don’t we spend the day together and see how things go? Make a decision about all of this later when we know we’re not going to immediately drive each other crazy.”

  “Maybe I should go home, give us both some space.”

  “No,” he said, adamant. “Do that and we’ll lose our momentum. We’re getting somewhere here, don’t you think?”

  I frowned.

  “Plus, it’s late and we’re both tired. Let’s just crash and see where we are in the morning. You like it here, right?” He smiled and it was so hopeful it broke my heart. “I have a new toothbrush for you and everything. That’s how much of an organized adult I am these days.”

  “Impressive.”

  “Well, to be honest, Martha actually organized the buying, delivering, and possibly even the putting-away of the toothbrush. But it was totally me who thought to ask her to get it done.” He grinned. “So…what do you say, Jill?”

  The plan had merit, I could admit that much. And I was tired and in need of some quiet time so I could catch up with everything. So I could overthink and dissect it all. “Okay. That sounds good.”

  I lay on my designated side of Adam’s monster of a bed—linen bedding because…fancy—staring at the faint shadows on the ceiling. Beside me, Adam’s breathing was deep and even. Meanwhile, my mind was a whirl. It would not shut up. Thoughts of him and me, of Europe, of damn near everything going around and around, making for one big stressful question. What was I going to do?

  I wanted to travel.

  I think I even wanted to travel with Adam.

  But the last time I’d invested in this man, he’d let me down big time. He broke my heart.

  The man in question slept on, lying above the sheets, wearing only a pair of dark grey boxer briefs. He had such nice thighs. Very pleasant to look at. Which reminded me that when he’d been throwing all of these crazy ideas out there, we hadn’t discussed if I’d be sharing his hotel room or getting my own. Would we eat meals together? How many hours a day approximately would we spend in each other’s company? Was dating/living with someone on tour the same as in normal life, or did new and unexpected rules apply? Such as no girlfriends at the afterparty. Because if that was the case, he could kiss my round ass. And what about this whole signing women’s boobies thing? I was so not down with that. He’d have to give up marking mammary glands or we were dead in the water right here and now.

  A strong arm slung around my middle, pulling me back against the long hot length of his body. “Go to sleep, baby.”

  “You’re not the boss of me.”

  “Shh.” Fingers moved my hair aside, and a kiss was pressed to the back of my neck. Another very pleasant thing. “Everything will work itself out. Go to sleep.”

  And the bitch of it was, I did.

  Following one of the best sleeps of my life, I woke up to the scent of bacon and eggs. Never a bad thing to wake up to. Unless you’re a vegan, I guessed. Adam’s side of the bed was empty, the sheets rumpled. Hard to tell which was the more intimate act—sleeping together or having sex. They both required a level of trust. Besides checking the time (almost eleven, yay for an awesome sleep-in!), I didn’t look at my cell. Whatever had happened overnight regarding the photos of Adam and I, I didn’t need to know. At least, not before coffee. The truth was, there was nothing I could do about the whole thing anyway.

  “Who are you and what have you done with Adam?” I asked as I stumbled on out to the kitchen in my underwear and a borrowed tee promoting some brand of guitar strings.

  He stood at the kitchen counter, scraping butter onto some toast—the kitchen counter we’d profaned last night. I tried to keep my focus on the food and the cooking, but the memories were too fresh. Whatever else this reunion had in store for us, that was at least a damn fine bit of profaning. We’d profaned the heck out of that counter.

  “I was just about to come wake you. Breakfast’s ready.”

  “You don’t cook.”

  “I do now,” he said, pushing a plate loaded with fried goodness my way. “I also pick up my dirty clothes and have even been known to do a load of laundry on occasion.”

  I gasped. “Good, God. How adult of you.”

  “I told you. I’m a whole new man. Not only can I pay my own bills, but I also get shit done, baby.”

  “Hmm. Are you eating?”

  “I already ate.”

  While inspecting the food, I climbed onto a stool, getting comfortable, mindful of the mild somewhat enjoyable ache in my nether regions from our furious fucking against the fridge. Maybe having sex with him again wouldn’t be the worst thing. Confusing as all hell, but still. The man would be gone to Europe soon (I wasn’t awake enough to ponder the should I or shouldn’t I go with him question yet). It’d probably be a good idea to get what I could while I could.

  And he’d done a more than adequate job with the cooking. So the bacon edges were a bit black. They’d still taste delicious. Apparently, Adam was serious about showing me that he’d changed. Didn’t mean I was any closer to taking another risk on or with him. What a crazy notion. I mean, we’d hit the wall so badly. Our breakup had been loud and angry and heart-rending. And the thought of going back there…

  “Coffee,” he stated, placing the steaming mug in front of me.

  “Thank you. You’re dressed up,” I said, nodding to his pale blue button-down shirt. It was the only concession to formality, but for him, it was a notable one. His usual jeans and boots graced his lower half. His long hair had even been neatly tied back out of his gorgeous face.

  “Ah, yeah.” He gathered up the dirty fry pan and so on, loading up a sleek dishwasher. “Here’s the thing. In all of the excitement, I forgot that Ev and Dave were throwing me a going-on-tour party today in their apartment upstairs. You’d be more than welcome, and I’d love for you to meet them. Will you come with me? Please?”

  Ruh-roh. I took another sip of coffee. “More famous people?”

  “More nice, down-to-earth people who’d love to meet you.”

  “More people who’ve heard those songs about me. Though everyone’s heard those songs about me. But these people know you and they know…you know.”

  He raised his brows and took a deep breath. “Jill. Listen to me. You’re overthinking this. Back in the day, Dave wrote a whole album about how Martha slept with his brother and broke his heart and then caused trouble with his new wife. It doesn’t matter. They’re all friends now and get along fine. They’d be the last damn people to make you feel weird about being in my songs.”

  “Even if the lyrics are wrong.”

  “I was angry at the time. We already discussed this.”

  “Being your muse has its downside. That’s all I’m going to say about the matter,” I said. “So that’s what Martha was talking about? That album was about her? Wow.”

  The doorbell rang, and he wiped his hands on a cloth before heading over to answer it. Him making me breakfast and us hanging out in his apartment was a strangely domestic scene. I wanted to feel easy. To be relaxed. Despite the matter of me going on tour not having been raised again, it remained at the forefront of my mind. Also, we were getting along so well it was scary.

  To be honest, I kept waiting for something to go wrong. For everything to go wrong.

  Adam returned carrying multiple shopping bags bearing the labels of high-end boutiques. “Like I was saying, they keep things casual. But Martha thought you’d like something n
ice to wear. She got a local place to send some things over so you wouldn’t feel the need to rush home to change or whatever. Sound good?”

  “I feel like you’re trying to buy my affection.”

  “Bullshit.” He placed the bags on the counter. “If I was doing that, you’d already love me again because of the check. In all honesty, it’d be much easier. But here I am, wooing you.”

  “You’re wooing me?” I asked with a smile.

  “Me and Martha, apparently. We clearly have a Cyrano de Bergerac thing going on. What has she sent over?” He pulled out a black wool bodycon-style dress with long almost modest Chantilly lace sleeves.

  I squealed in untold delight, pushing the remains of my breakfast aside. “That’s new season Valentino. Give it to me.”

  The man did as told.

  “What else is there?”

  He opened a box, pushing aside numerous layers of tissue paper. “Army boots?”

  “Louboutin Combat Booties. Oh, look at them, they’re beautiful.” I clicked my fingers. “Gimme.”

  “Why didn’t I think of this? I should have thought of this,” he mumbled. “It hasn’t even occurred to you to try and shove this back in my face like you did with the check.”

  “They’re so shiny.”

  “Ah…underwear, stockings, shit like that.” He reported on the contents of another bag. “This one is jeans and a fluffy sweater.”

  “Fluffy? You mean cashmere. How lovely.” I happy sighed. “It’s just like Christmas but better. Your manager has amazing taste.”

  “Glad you approve. This one has makeup and some jewelry boxes.”

  “Great,” I said. “You wear that battered old black leather jacket over your shirt and I’ll wear the dress and boots and we’ll look amazing. Trust me.”

  “Whatever makes you happy.”

  “Thought you didn’t take fashion advice.”

  He laughed. “I don’t from stylists. But I know enough to do what you tell me.”

  “Wise man.”

  “So you’re good with going to the party?” he asked, a hint of a smile still lingering about his beautiful mouth.

  “Oh. Absolutely.”

  * * * *

  “Always carry sunglasses and a hat,” directed the Lena Ferris. A fabulous curvy brunette with tortoiseshell glasses perched on her nose. She was married to the singer from Stage Dive, Jimmy Ferris. He was hanging over with the dudes on the other side of the room, drinking beers with my maybe/maybe not boyfriend. Or ex. Whatever. But the moment Adam and I had entered the apartment, the women had surrounded me. It was mildly scary but also kind of thrilling.

  “Long hair is useful because if you have your head down, it kind of curtains your face, you know?” Anne demonstrated aptly, letting her red hair hide her. “Nothing to see here.”

  Lizzy, married to bass player Ben, sighed and ran a hand through her short, layered blond hair. “I miss being able to do that. Mind you, it only takes me a minute to wash it now, which is awesome.”

  “It looks fantastic,” I assured her.

  “Thank you.”

  “Just don’t do what I did and hold a bag up in front of your face and then proceed to just about walk into a pole.” Evelyn Ferris handed me a glass of white wine. “If Sam the bodyguard hadn’t been there, I’d probably be brain dead now.”

  Despite the packages, Martha and her new husband Sam weren’t at the party. They were apparently having alone time while they could get it what with the upcoming tour and everything. I made a mental note to thank her for the shopping next time I saw her. Assuming I saw her again.

  “He keeps watching you. It’s so cute.” Anne peered over at Adam from behind a bottle of soda. She was off the hard stuff due to breastfeeding, her infant son currently blowing bubbles with his father. Not so surprisingly, there was dribble on both of their chins. Jimmy reached over with a rag to tend to the baby’s chin. The drummer and father however was left to his own devices.

  Twin girls and one boy child, all around three or four years of age, were off watching some Disney film in one of the spare bedrooms—along with popcorn and a nanny to keep an eye on things. Ah to be rich and famous and have help with your small children. Not that I necessarily wanted kids. I didn’t know about that either.

  “This your first time on tour?” asked Lena.

  Awkward. “Oh. Um. Yeah. I’m not sure I’m going yet.”

  Evelyn grinned. “But he asked you to go?”

  “As tour hairdresser.”

  “Europe is cool,” said Anne. “The summer festivals he’ll be playing at are really fun.”

  Lena nodded. “Kind of a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

  “Don’t push her,” chided Evelyn. “It’s a big decision. And touring is hectic and exhausting, even if a bit exhilarating.”

  “My apologies.” Lena did a half-bow from her sitting position on the couch with a flourish of the hand. “We love to see true love triumph.”

  “How do you know it’s true love?” I asked, taking another sip of wine.

  A small wicked smile curled her lips. “Because if someone wrote songs like that about me, I sure as fuck wouldn’t still be sneaking hot looks at them unless they were embedded in my heart so deep, I didn’t have a chance of getting them out.”

  “She has a point.” Anne nodded.

  “That damn album.” I slumped back against the chair. “I mean, I’m glad he’s been successful. He’s super-talented. He deserves it. But I feel like it enters the room before me half the damn time, you know?”

  Ev snorted. “The whole world knows the ins and outs of my relationship. Trust me, girlfriend. I hear you.”

  “I thought that song about Dave giving you head on the last album was just lovely,” giggled Lizzy.

  Ev wasted no time in lobbing a cushion at Lizzy’s head. “Shut up.”

  “And it went to number three on the charts,” said Anne.

  “Should have been number one with a bullet. A small compact but highly effective travel-size bullet.” Lena smacked her matte red lips together. “You kids and your sex toy euphemisms in the lyrics. So sly.”

  “I don’t know why we’re friends,” said Ev with laughter in her eyes.

  Lena joined in on the giggling.

  “If I stay, I should just learn to suck it up. That’s the lesson I’m getting here.” I swirled my wine in the pretty glassware.

  “Rock stars,” grumbled Ev. “What the fuck can you do?”

  “They’re the poets of the modern generation and no topic is off-limits.” Lizzy sighed. “The important thing is to not lose sight of yourself amongst all of the grime and glamor.”

  Willie Nelson played softly over the hidden speakers.

  “Relationships can be all-encompassing. Claustrophobic even. Traveling together and working together just ups that.” Anne popped a cherry tomato from the charcuterie board into her mouth. “You need to have your own life and interests and defend them vigorously.”

  “No, you don’t!” Mal popped up behind the couch, sliding his hands down over his wife’s shoulders. “I am your whole world.”

  “Who has the baby?” asked Anne.

  “Ah, Adam. Yes. I left him with junior.”

  “You know Tommy freaks him out.”

  “Yeah. It’s hilarious.”

  She clicked her tongue.

  And sure enough, Adam was indeed frowning down at the small bundle of joy held tentatively in his arms. Adam and I as parents… What a strange idea. Tommy waved his little arms in the air while my ex watched as if the baby were about to explode or something at any moment. Not sure I’d ever seen such naked fear in his eyes. Ben the bass player sat nearby, keeping an eye on things while Dave and Jimmy both played guitars softly.

  “Ben’s watching him,” said Mal with a smile. “Relax, pumpkin. For I am a good and noble father.”

  Anne smiled back at him. “I know. I just worry.”

  “Of course, you do.” Lizzy passed her another tomato.
“You two went to a lot of trouble to make him. But everything’s fine, Anne. Relax.”

  What I liked was the warmth these people shared. The connection they all had.

  “We haven’t even told you how impossible it is to be around them when they’re in the middle of recording,” said Ev. “It’s like their minds are permanently elsewhere. All of their thinking space is taken up with creating the great work.”

  “That’s true.” Lena crossed her legs. “And that’s why you need your own life and interests.”

  “Nonsense,” said Mal, still lurking over the back of the couch. “Anne worships me, and her life couldn’t be fuller.”

  “I work in a bookshop when I’m not on tour,” reported his wife. “I love it.”

  “But all the books in there are about me, right?”

  “Oh sure.” Anne grinned. “It does imbalance the store sections a little, but I’ve made it work.”

  “Too much in the romance section, you mean?”

  “Actually, it turns out most of the store is taken up with mental health books.”

  “Because I make you crazy in love?”

  “Absolutely, that’s the reason. I am crazy, and I do love you,” she faithfully repeated, patting his hand. “And Tommy.”

  Across the room, the baby gurgled, and Adam kept right on frowning down at him. Never had I seen a grown man so perturbed by something so small. It was kind of fascinating. A little person, half me and half him. Our little person. How amazing and terrifying would that be?

  “There’s no rush,” murmured Ev with a soft smile. “David and I have things we want to do before thinking about having children. That’s still out there someday. And from what I’ve seen, babies are way more work than you can ever imagine.”

  “I believe you. But honestly, I don’t even know if Adam and I should be together,” I admitted, my heart on my sleeve.

  She blinked. “Well, do you love him?”

  God help me. “Sadly, that was never the problem.”

  Her smile softened even more. Like she’d been through her own share of doubts and heartache. “Take it one step at a time then, I guess. I don’t know. It’s easy to be smart for other people when it isn’t your soul on the line. Love can hurt like a bitch. But it can be beautiful, too. David taught me that.”