Heartless Few Box Set

by MV Ellis

Jake sighs. “Look, man, I’m not sure what I can say that will turn this around for you. The only thing I can think of is to be yourself.”

  I choke on a mouthful of beer, spraying it all over myself and Jake, who attempts to lean out of the way of the frothy spray.

  “Fuck’s sakes, man. Thought you were meant to be the hottest thing on two legs, a god among men, irresistible to women far and wide, yet here you are crying into your beer and then spitting it all over the fucking place. So smooth right now.” I can hear the grin in his voice.

  “I’m not crying.” I’m not breathing much either. The beer seems to have gone the wrong way down my throat.

  “You might as well be.”

  “Whatever. I’m beginning to wish I’d never come out here. That’s it? What the hell kind of advice is ‘be yourself’? It’s precisely that which has gotten me into this mess in the first place. I’m an asshole. You said so just a few minutes ago, remember? More Arlo isn’t going to help the situation. In fact, I’m pretty sure she hates me, so….”

  “You’re not listening, as usual.” He sounds genuinely pissed off. “I said be yourself. I’m talking about the guy who taught me how to ride a bike way after most kids had been riding for years, but didn’t make me feel bad about it for a minute. The same guy who used to defend Justin in the school playground even if it meant countless bloody noses and after-school detentions to do so. The guy who would give up his lunch money if he thought somebody else needed it more. The guy who was the mouthpiece for the “Quiet Twin” in public, even when he hated him in private. That guy.

  “Not the international rock god with questionable morals and even worse manners. Let her see the real you, and if she doesn’t want to know you after that, at least you can say it’s on the basis of who you really are, and not some caricature you put on for the cameras. Bottom line: I’m saying don’t be a dick.”

  I remain skeptical. I should have known not to seek advice from a guy who’s been in a serious relationship since before his balls dropped.

  Thirteen

  Even though flip phones were still a thing when he started dating Kris and it kills me to admit it, I guess I did Jake wrong for doubting his sob sister credentials, after all. After keeping a low profile for a few weeks, his advice comes back to haunt me in the best possible way. I wake unreasonably early with a raging hard-on of epic proportions and a song burning a hole in my brain. With the lyrics hovering just the right side of my consciousness, I decide to take advantage of the creative inspiration—and ignore the boner from hell—adding a melody to the lyrics in my head as I sing them quietly.

  I sling on a pair of loose, comfortable pants—all the better for my dick to stand tall—and grab my iPad and acoustic guitar. Before I know it, the song has taken shape. I mess with the melody, loving the simplicity of working this way—no other instruments, no input from anyone else, no distractions, and a stripped-back acoustic vibe. It’s a departure from the stuff I usually write for the band, but it seems right, so I roll with it. There’s so much change going on for me right now; this is just one more thing to add to the list. I feel like pretty soon I won’t be able to recognize myself or my life. I briefly wonder if this is what growing up feels like.

  I’m approaching the point where the song feels “cooked”—at least for now—and starting to think about food, as it’s past breakfast time, when something draws my gaze toward the door of the bedroom. London. We lock eyes. The look in hers is everything. My breath catches in my throat, and something tightens in my chest. Fish out of fucking water.

  I can’t articulate what I’m feeling, but I hope she understands the emotion in the song and knows the words I’m singing were inspired by her. It’s about the way she has pushed her being into my subconscious and etched herself on my soul, the way she slays me every fucking day. I hope she knows I’m a dead man singing. Continuing with the song, I motion for her to join me on the bed, tugging her by the hand when she approaches. Much to my disbelief, she acquiesces.

  Push. Pull. Push. Pull. Push. That’s us. I can’t contain the smile that spreads across my face.

  I put down my guitar; I need my hands for other things. Things like pulling London on top of me as I lie back on the bed, kissing her as though my life depends on it. Like threading my hands through her luscious curls, urging her mouth closer to mine. Like flipping her over on the mattress, pinning her hands above her head. Like pressing my palms into hers, trapping her beneath me as I straddle her.

  “I want you.” I love you.

  “I know.” You don’t know the half of it.

  “Do you want me?” Do you love me?

  “What? You know I do, Arlo.” Wanting is not enough.

  “Then tell me.” Tell me you love me. “I want you to say it. Out loud. For the avoidance of doubt, and so you can’t flip the script on me later. You want me as bad as I want you. Say it.” I want to hear the words and read the emotion in her face when she says it. I want to know that there’s a fire inside her burning for me, the same as the inferno inside me raging for her. Need to know.

  “I want to fuck you more than I’ve ever wanted anything or anyone in my life. Okay?”

  It’s a start, and I’ll take it. I choose to ignore the fact that in making the declaration she sounds like she’s admitting defeat, and grin involuntarily like a kid in a candy store. It’s apt, because she got me like stealing candy from a baby. I push her legs apart with my knees. Playtime is over.

  “Then never let it be said that Arlo Jones doesn’t give a lady what she wants. But first, this.”

  I’ve lost count of the women I’ve fucked. I’ve definitely forgotten more than I remember. I’ve screwed all over the world, joined the Mile High club so many times I have frequent flyer miles, done it in public, experienced things in private that would make most people’s toes curl; but everything, and I mean everything is eclipsed that morning with London. Making love to her is like pouring a vat of acid over the past. It all just disappears like vapor in the wind. Gone.

  Making love. I’ve never thought of sex that way, because it’s never been that way. It’s always been a simple, often mindless transaction. No emotion, no connection, just release. As soon as I come, it’s over. Even before that, sometimes. Wham, bam, see ya. Or not. Mostly not. That’s the way I’ve always liked it, and the way it’s always been. Nobody can accuse me of slacking off—I’ve made one-night stands an art form.

  Not with London. When I come, it’s the start of something, not the end. Something big. I can’t get enough of her. I don’t think there will ever be enough, and more to the point, I don’t think she’ll ever fully be prepared to give me as much of her as I want. Which is everything. I want everything with this woman. As much as she’ll give, and more. Now I’ve had her body, I want to take over her mind. I want to peel away the layers until she’s exposed. Raw, bare, stripped, then I want to own her like she owns me.

  I know it won’t be easy. Despite her birdlike frame, mentally she’s one strong, smart cookie, and she jealously guards her most private self. I’ve never been one to walk away from a challenge, and I’m not about to start now, not when the prize at stake is something I want more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Not when there’s so much at stake. I always get what I want, and I want London. More than my next lungful of oxygen. Now it’s a matter of when, not if.

  I call Jake in light of recent developments.

  “Hey, brother.”

  “Hi. I owe you an apology.”

  “Shit! I think my phone has been hacked. The caller ID said Arlo, but then a dude came on the line and said something wild and crazy about an apology. Man, technology is nuts these days, though, because it sounds just like the real thing. That’s some fucked-up AI shit.”

  “Very funny, smart ass. Shut up before you make me regret it.”

  “Apologies, oh magnanimous one, to what do I owe this rare and hallowed pleasure? Am I finally getting payback from the tooth fairy after all those years of broken prom
ises and unfulfilled wishes?”

  It would be funny if I didn’t have the very strong urge to strangle him with my bare hands.

  “Man, you’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?” I’m sure he can sense my reluctance and is determined to prolong the torture any way he can. Bastard.

  “Oh hell no! I’m pretty sure this is never going to happen again, so I’m going to squeeze every possible ounce of enjoyment out of it while I have you where I want you.”

  Great.

  “So shoot, what is it you wanted to tell me?”

  “You were right. About being myself with London.”

  “I know I was, but what happened to prove my point to your stubborn ass?”

  “Well, nothing at first. I guess we were kind of giving each other space around the house, trying not to get under each other’s feet, and keeping things simple when we did see or speak to each other. But the whole time I could feel the chemistry building between us. I just didn’t want to be the one to broach the issue, so I didn’t. I waited, and then this morning she came to me. Then she came over me, under me, around me….”

  “Arlo.”

  “Okay, all jokes aside, I was hanging in my room, writing a song, and she helped me write the last verse. Not that she knew that’s what she was doing, but what we did together after that gave me enough inspiration for a whole album, and then some. It was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. I mean all of the three-ways, strippers, sister combos, car fucks, Jacuzzis, kinky fuckery, coke marathons… tie it all up in a nice pink bow with a cherry on top, and making love to London outstrips all of it a thousand times over. It’s like everything I’ve been doing for all these years was just practice for the real thing. In fact, it was like I’ve been given these poor substitutes so I can recognize the real deal when it comes along.”

  “‘Making love’?” I can hear the air quotes in his mocking tone.

  “I know, right? I’m completely aware that I sound like a pussy of epic proportions, but that’s what it was. Screwing or fucking doesn’t even begin to cover what went on between us today. You want to know what else? After we’d fucked every which way but loose, I wanted to talk to her. Like really get to know her, what makes her tick, what makes her the person she is, her family, childhood, all of it. I want to know it all. What’s so fucking funny?” He’s laughing his ass off.

  “You are. You’re in love and suddenly you sound like a fucking Hallmark card. You are never going to live this down with the guys, you know that, right?”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “You didn’t need to. You stopped just shy of singing about rainbows and unicorns. I might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but it’s pretty obvious what’s going on here.”

  “It gets worse.”

  “Of course it does. Because… Arlo. So spit it out, what did you do?”

  “Thanks for your faith in me, brother. As a point of fact, I didn’t do anything.” I can imagine the look of surprise on his face. “Well, I did, but not directly,” I go on to explain. “Like I said, I don’t know what it is about her, but she just kind of fascinates me. I’m intrigued by everything about her, and I want to get under her skin like she’s under mine.

  “I asked her all these questions, and she started telling me about herself, but before I know it, she’s fucking sobbing. And I swear to God for once, I did nothing wrong. Well, not knowingly anyway. I just asked her about this tattoo and these tiny scars she has on her thigh. Turns out that just as we suspected, she has a story. I mean we all do, but hers is pretty epic.”

  “Really? What’s the deal?” He’s serious now, obviously genuinely interested to get to the bottom of the mystery that is London Llwellyn.

  “A few years ago she was in this horrific car accident and almost died. She was engaged, planning her wedding, the full nine yards. Her fiancé was driving the car, and he did die in the crash. Not only did I feel like the scum of the earth for upsetting her like that, it got even worse when my first thought after hearing about her fiancé was ‘How the fuck can I compete with that?’ I mean, what sane person even thinks like that? The truth is I’m jealous of a damned dead guy. How sick is that?”

  “Oh dude, when you do something, you really do it.” Understatement of the year. Go big, or go home.

  “You haven’t even heard the half of it. After I gave her the third degree about all of that stuff and she reluctantly replied, I asked her to stay with me, and she blew me off. And I don’t mean blew me. I mean she said no.” Silence on the other end of the phone.

  “Jake?”

  “Yeah, see again, I think my phone has been hacked. The weird Arlo-sounding robot dude just told me he asked a woman to stay with him after he banged her, and she refused.”

  “Knock it off, you dick, I thought the phone had died.”

  “Nah, not the phone. Me. Of shock.”

  “Right? I asked her for Netflix and chill. She said she had to get home for dinner with her roommate, who get this, is a fucking dude. A pussy-loving ballet dancer who she once fucked. I’ve seen photos and footage of this guy. He’s so stupid good-looking, I’d almost consider fucking him, and you know I’m 1,000 percent straight. I just about blacked out with rage when she told me. Now I want to find out where she lives and go string that motherfucker up by his immaculately shaved balls.”

  “Arlo, stop, you’re making this shit up.”

  I’m not surprised by his incredulity, it does sound far-fetched, even to my own ears, and I was there.

  “I really fucking wish I was, but I’m not. I swear, if you don’t hear from me over the next few days, it’s because I’ve been arrested. I’m borderline homicidal over this asshole.”

  “Wait, how do you know he has shaved balls?”

  My future is hanging in the balance, and this is what he wants to concentrate on?

  “I don’t, you moron. He just seems like the type, that’s all. He’s a fucking ballet dancer—he spends most of his time in tights. If that’s not the kind of guy to have immaculately shaved balls, nobody is. Anyway, we need to stop talking about his balls. It’s not helping my murderous tendencies.” I’m well aware of the hypocrisy of that statement.

  “Sure. You were the one who brought them up in the first place. I have no interest in some random dude’s balls, shaved or otherwise. As for London, well, they do say karma is a bitch, and now I’m witnessing it with my own eyes. You deserve this and so much worse for all the shit you’ve done to women since the moment you learned how to use your dick.”

  I love him, like I do all the guys, but given he’s been married since the dawn of time, he can be almost as sanctimonious as Luke when it comes to this stuff.

  “I feel like I’ve added triage nurse to my job description in dealing with the trail of devastation you leave in your wake 24/7. Don’t take this the wrong way, because you know I have your back, but I’ve been waiting for the day you’d be the one on the wrong side of this equation, just so you can experience what the rest of us mortals deal with on a daily basis. Looks like the day has come. How does it feel?”

  “Like ecstasy and agony with a side of epic mindfuck,” I deadpan.

  “Yeah, that sounds about right. Welcome to the dark side, brother.” Fuck. “Who else knows?”

  “About London? Well, Luke has obviously figured it out—he’s been watching the whole thing play out from the sidelines. But as far as I know, nobody else knows shit, unless he’s told them, like he spilled his guts to you. Actually, that’s not quite true. I might have mentioned it to Marnie when I told her we can’t screw anymore.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah, but she’s a big girl. She can handle it. Besides, we were never a thing—there was always an expiration date on ‘us’ before London was ever in the picture.”

  “Mmm….” He sounds far from convinced. “So what’s your plan?”

  “For London?”

  “No, for world domination. Of course for London, unless there’s anothe
r woman you’ve lost your ever-loving mind over and just forgot to mention it?”

  Ha! He’s funny in his own dry, prematurely aged way.

  “Oh, it’s on. Whether she knows it or not, she’s laid down the gauntlet, and as you know, I never back down from a challenge. The sooner she realizes that, the easier it will be. On the other hand, I’m ready for whatever she’s gonna throw at me. I have to admit, she has me on the ropes right now, but this is all just foreplay before I get what I want. And I will get what I want. You know this.”

  “Sounds like you’ve met your match with her, so good luck, Grasshopper.”

  Luck has nothing to do with it. A hostile takeover is a game of skill.

  Now all I have to do is work out how to seal this deal once and for all.

  Fourteen

  I don’t believe in fate, or in serendipity, or the planets, or the universe, or any of that faux mystical bullshit. I believe in the planets and the universe insofar as they relate to astronomy, of course, but not in the sense of them lining up to facilitate or keep things from happening. I believe shit just happens. Good shit, bad shit, and the kind of shit in between. I don’t believe in coincidences either. Shit happens, and sometimes it happens at the same time as other shit. That’s all there is to it.

  Shortly after my conversation with Jake, my phone rings. Noting the name on the caller ID, I answer it impatiently, guessing it’s more hassles regarding getting the tour back on the road.

  “Paul.” I’m preoccupied thinking about London, and my tone is arctic.

  “Hi Arlo, how are you?”

  “What do you want?” I should be less of a dick, but right now I can’t muster the energy.

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  That’s pretty much a given when I pick up the phone to him, but I keep that gem to myself. There’s a pregnant pause.

  “So stop dicking around and say what you have to say. I’m not going to like it any more if I have to drag it out of you.”