Clash

by Belle Aurora

  I kept my eyes on the page. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

  He turned to face me. “Maybe I am.” He wiggled his fingers in front of my face. “Maybe this is all a dream.”

  My book fell to my chest. Sometimes I worried about this man. “Are you ever serious?”

  Connor’s nose bunched. “You’re touchy tonight.” He shot me a cunning look. “You really need to get laid, Emmy.”

  “I’m not touchy. I’m tired.”

  He clicked his tongue. “Don’t go to bed. I’m bored. C’mon, Emmy.” He sighed, running a gentle hand down then length of my arm. “I need you.”

  I need you.

  Oh my stars.

  He knew just what to say. And I tuned myself like the violin I was so he could continue to play me.

  Book forgotten, I turned on my side with my hands under my pillow. The cubby wasn’t small but it wasn’t designed for two people and even though it was cramped, I didn’t mind. “Okay, but talk to me. Otherwise, I’ll fall asleep.”

  Our faces were close and when he smiled at me as tenderly as he did just now, I realized I was in danger of loving this man.

  You’d think after our carnal encounter that it would be awkward to be around each other but for some unknown reason, it was just the opposite. I found myself wanting to be nearer to Connor and from the way he randomly kept appearing, I wondered if he felt the same. Every time Connor became too lost inside of his chaotic mind, he sought me out. And I liked being his safety blanket.

  We respectively provided each other with something the other needed.

  For me, it was affection and intimacy.

  For Connor, it was… well, I wasn’t sure exactly.

  “What’s your favorite album?”

  I thought about it a second. “I spent my teen years addicted to ABBA’s Gold but more recently, I’ve been favoring the Forrest Gump soundtrack.”

  Connor pulled out his cell and searched for the soundtrack. When he scrolled through the songs, he started nodding. “Okay. All right. There are some lit tunes on there. Nice choice.”

  Smiling at his praise like the fool I was, I asked him the same question he asked me.

  Without hesitation, he spoke. “Dr. Dre. 2001.”

  I knew he’d be incensed at my response and that was why I began to laugh before I said a single word. “I don’t know who that is.”

  Connor made a sound of annoyance. “You need to educate yourself, baby.” He searched on his phone and played a song he liked. It played softly. I was surprised to hear it was rap.

  “You like rap?”

  He revealed openly, “I love rap. Love it. Now hush. Listen.”

  The song was called “Forgot about Dre.” The beat was pleasant. I didn’t listen to rap. I didn’t know what would classify as a good song so I just did as I was told and I listened. When I actually heard the lyrics, my expression went through a series of changes. First, curiosity, then moving onto surprise and, finally, ending in shock. The song hadn’t even finished when I suddenly gasped, “Connor, this is obscene!”

  “I know.” He was highly amused at my astonishment. “It’s great, isn’t it?” My mouth gaped and he chuckled. “Ah, Emmy. You’re a pip.”

  I never knew what Connor would say or do. Unpredictable as the weather in Minneapolis, he took my hand and put it to his mouth, gently nibbling on the pad of my thumb.

  It tickled and without meaning to, I laughed softly.

  Connor’s eyes smiled as he continued to chew on my skin. He seemed to like to make me laugh and my gut feeling told me I’d never know why. That made me sad.

  In a deeply relaxed state, I closed my eyes and allowed Connor to continue whatever the heck he was doing. With a soft sigh, I smiled to myself and everything stilled. I permitted sleep to take me, knowing I was in good—but not great—hands.

  When a rare free morning was upon us, I organized the four glasses of juice and set them on the counter, ordered breakfast then sat on the sofa at the open laptop. There were emails I needed to respond to. Majority of them were from Micah about publicity and promo events and radio interviews. However, the one from Rita Lopez, the label’s lawyer, stood out.

  “Hey, Noah?”

  From his room, he called out, “Yeah?”

  How did I say this? Delicately, I guess. “If you had a secret love child, you’d want to know, right?”

  I heard him come up behind me. He rested his hands on the back of the sofa then leaned down to read the email. He didn’t seem worried. In fact, he was smiling. “Another one? Shit. I gotta leave my dick in my pants.”

  I pulled back to look at him, confused. “You’re not worried?”

  His response was to shuffle around then fall back onto the sofa so his legs hung over the back of it. “If she’s expecting, it’s not mine.” He added a scoff. “I doubt she’s even pregnant.”

  “How can you be sure?” I asked.

  “I can’t,” he said, then explained, “Emmy, this crap comes up at least once month. And, yes, we do screw around, but we aren’t stupid. We use protection or we don’t fuck.”

  “Protection doesn’t always work, Noe.”

  “I know and don’t take this the wrong way but women lie.”

  It wasn’t a jab at me so I didn’t take it personally. “Groupies lie.” Typing, I uttered a blasé “Okay, well, I’m going to ignore you now, sweetie.”

  “No problem.” Noah closed his eyes beside me and I smiled at him before opening the music player. I hit shuffle and “Take a Chance On Me” by ABBA started to play. I loved ABBA and I loved this song. I responded to Rita while singing quietly and from beside me, I heard Noah singing too.

  My heart melted.

  Here was this rock star, a rock star who women feigned pregnancy just for a chance to see him in court, and he was lying next to me, singing one of my favorite songs.

  I sang a little louder.

  Noah matched my volume then tapped his hands on his chest, drumming out the beat.

  Hell walked into the kitchen, taking a glass of juice then searched the fridge. When I peered up at him, I noticed his lips moving along to the words.

  The chorus began and, from behind us, Lee joined in on our little sing-along.

  The song had almost finished and Connor walked out of his room, looking adorably sleep mussed. When he heard the four of us singing, his brow furrowed. “The hell?”

  He looked so confused that I couldn’t help but laugh.

  It must’ve registered as to what song we were singing because Connor glared at us. “You call yourselves rock stars?” He shuffled over to the bathroom and before he shut the door, we all heard him mutter a goaded, “The fuck outta here.”

  “Money, Money, Money” started. Hell slapped a hand onto the kitchen counter and hollered, “This my jam!” He whooped. “Turn that shit up, Emmy.”

  I did, and I did it fighting a giggle.

  Connor was going to be so mad.

  When he stepped out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, and heard the song blasting through the suite, he glowered then stalked to his room. Before he shut the door, we all heard him. “Fucking weak.”

  The suite was, somewhat suddenly, filled with laughter.

  “Never?” Connor asked from his position beside me.

  My arms were folded behind my head and I stare up at the plain white ceiling. “Nope.”

  He turned onto his side then checked his watch. My eyes narrowed suspiciously. He peered over at me with eyes full of mischief. “You wanna go?”

  I started to chuckle but he waggled his brows and I quickly realized he was serious. He was ridiculous. “Now?” My expression uncertain, I used my elbow to prop myself up. “Right now?”

  “Sure.” He said this like it would be a piece of cake for a touring rock star to sneak out of his hotel. “Why not?”

  An amused sigh escaped me. “Connor Clash, you are exactly the kind of man my Nanna warned
me to stay away from.”

  “I don’t blame her, baby. I’m not a nice guy.”

  That surprised me. “Are you kidding me?” My eyes met his. “Connor, you’re one of the nicest guys I know.”

  His body shook and he muttered a laughing, “Fuck, Emmy, you have to get out more, because if you think I’m nice, we got some real problems. Also—” His eyes narrowed. “—what guys? You don’t know anybody, baby.”

  That stung a little but he was right. “True, I don’t know many guys and, yes, you’re brash and crude and sometimes make me want to rip my hair out of my head one strand at a time, but you’re here.” I averted my eyes and quieted my voice. “With me.”

  “Well.” Connor seemed to think about this. After a while, he stated a matter-of-fact, “You’re Emmy,” as if that meant something.

  I didn’t understand. “What does that even mean?”

  “You get what I am. You get what this is. Most girls would have taken my proposition and run with it, virgin or not. But you—” His face was solemn. “You’re smarter than that. I like that you aren’t compromising yourself for me, just because people know me. It wasn’t even an option, you know? You got morals.”

  He said morals like it was a bad word.

  My heart turned gooey like melted caramel.

  Before I could get all mushy on him, he went on. “Emmy isn’t gonna try to prick tease me or blackmail me. She’s not gonna go fuck one of my band mates just to try and make me jealous.” He held up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong. I am not the jealous type but this shit happens. I know. I’ve been there.” He exhaled quietly. “Emmy doesn’t make my life hard. She makes my dick hard.” His eyes searched my face and his fingertips skimmed the softness of my stomach. Connor watched in fascination as my skin broke out in goosebumps. He was quiet a moment before he added, “Emmy’s my friend and probably the only honest female I know.”

  I love you, Connor Clash.

  Then I thought about what he said.

  The only honest female he knew? “That’s sad.”

  “Not for me.” We were quiet a short while and Connor clearly didn’t feel as comfortable in the silence as I did. He sat up. “Are we doing this or not?”

  I blinked up at him and thought all the things I could never say out loud.

  You could lead me into the very fires of hell but with you by my side, I’d happily skip into the flames.

  “Let’s go.”

  His head snapped around. “Yeah?”

  At his surprise, I smiled. “Yep.”

  “All right.” He flung himself off my bed and pulled me up, grinning like the depraved human being he was. “We’re gonna have fun.”

  Of course, we were.

  We always did.

  The strip club was busy, and that surprised me.

  Connor held my hand, leading me to a table in the back, one that was almost hidden in the shadows. I knew why he’d chosen this table. It was the same reason he was wearing an unassuming black cap and aviators that covered half his face.

  The woman on stage was almost completely naked apart from a tiny sparkling thong and matching heels. Her breasts were out, nice and perky. I was astonished at how inoffensive I found this entire situation.

  The stripper danced slowly, sensually, and I watched her closely.

  I felt that she knew the power she held over every man in this room and, in some ways, her power was my power. After all, I was a feminist and if this woman chose to do this for a living, who was I to be outraged on her behalf when she was undoubtedly loving her job?

  I kept my eyes on the woman then leaned over and said, “It’s 3:00 a.m. Why is it so busy?”

  Connor’s snicker warmed my ear. “What, you think they shut at 7:00 p.m.? You come at four, get the early bird special, and head on home with a skip and a whistle?”

  He was mocking me. I shouldn’t have been laughing. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Connor ordered drinks and, yeah, I was here with the hot guitarist from Left Turn but my attention was solely on the woman on stage. I had a shot and this time, I didn’t—barely—flinch.

  When the pretty lady undid the sides of her thong and it fell to the floor, my head whirled to Connor and my mouth gaped. “Oh my God!” I couldn’t stop laughing and Connor bit his tongue at my excitement. I pointed at her. “No hair!”

  Connor tipped his head back and howled with laughter.

  When I glanced down at my jean-covered privates, Connor inclined into me. “You got a bush, baby? That’s so ‘70s. Retro. You’re wild.”

  Downing another shot, I jerked my chin toward the stage. “Do guys like that?”

  “I don’t know about other guys, but I like that. Nothing worse than eating pussy and pretending you don’t got a hair in your mouth. I mean, it’s not enough to make my dick soft but it kind of kills the mood.”

  Hmm. Interesting. “Right.”

  Two hours passed and we were still there. Majority of the crowd dispersed and there were only a handful of people left. A new woman was on stage and when Connor started to catcall, I did too. But mine differed slightly from his.

  “Yeah, baby. Shake that ass!” This was Connor.

  “Take it off, but only if you want to!” That was me.

  “Nice tits!”

  “You are an impressive woman!”

  “Damn, girl. That pussy looks tight!”

  “My opinion of your body is irrelevant because you’re a strong woman and you don’t care what I think!”

  Connor was dying of laughter and when the woman on stage winked at me, I turned to him, stunned. “Give me some money!”

  Without hesitation, he pulled out his wallet, took out a bill and handed it to me. When I saw it was a ten, I glared and pointed at that woman. “You think she’s worth a tenner?” I scowled. “You cheap bastard.”

  He snatched back the bill with a frown and pulled out another. I stood, moved to the stage, and held out the paper. The woman got onto her knees, crawling sensuously over to me. When she popped her hip in my direction, I gently placed the fifty-dollar bill in her panty line and rambled, “I just want to say you’re really pretty and very good at your job, and I hope you have a nice night.”

  She pulled back, clearly surprised. “Thank you. You’re so sweet.”

  “I know you’re not wearing any clothes, but can I hug you?”

  She smiled as if I were the cutest thing in the world then bent down and put an arm around me, hugging me briefly.

  My night was made. I walked over to Connor and grinned. “Okay. We can go now.”

  He put his arm around my shoulders and we left the club in the wee hours of the morning.

  And Connor was right.

  We had fun.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Everlong.

  Emmy

  The suite was empty and, in the stillness, I thought about Nanna.

  Guilt ate away at me.

  It had been days since I called to check in. I dialed and put the cell to my ear.

  “St Jude’s. How many I direct your call?”

  “Good morning. I was just hoping to speak to my nanna, Fay Aldrich. She’s in 109.”

  “Please hold.” Soft music played and I waited, and when she came back on the line, all she said was, “Putting you through,” and the phone started to ring again.

  “Hello?”

  I smiled instantly. Her voice had always been my saving grace. “Hi, Nanna.”

  Nanna hesitated. “June, is that you, dear?”

  My heart stuttered and my face fell. “Uh, no, Nanna. It’s Emily.”

  June, my mother, had been gone for years.

  “Oh,” she said, sounding placidly perplexed. “That’s nice, dear.”

  Then silence.

  I cleared my throat and asked, “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m very well but somebody keeps breaking into my house.”

  Oh no. Not again.
“Why do you say that?”

  “That man is back, the one who knocks on my window at night. And my clothes are being stolen.”

  My heart sank. “Oh my, that’s terrible.” There was no point trying to reason with a dementia patient. They believed what they believed and telling them otherwise often caused undue distress. “Maybe I can talk to somebody about that for you.”

  “Please do.” Her voice was weak. “When are you coming to get me, June bug?”

  My eyes closed and sadness took me. I bit my lip to stop myself from crying.

  Nanna was getting worse.

  Voice unsteady, I told her, “As soon as I can, okay?” I felt like scum when I openly lied. “I promise.”

  “Okay, dear. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Tears filled my eyes. My voice shook. “I love you… Mom.” And my chest ached.

  “And I love you, Ju—”

  My heart couldn’t take it. I hung up.

  Covering my mouth with my hands, my face crumbled and I let the sorrow I felt take over. I wept silently until there were no tears left to cry. I lowered my hands, hugging myself tightly.

  This was for her.

  I was doing this for her.

  So, what would I do when the inevitable happened, when she passed on and I no longer needed to work for Left Turn?

  It was a depressing thought and not one I wanted to think about right now.

  Suddenly, the door to the suite was opened and Connor strolled in, whistling cheerfully. “Forgot my lucky pick.” Thankfully, he didn’t even look at me.

  I spun around to hide my red and blotchy face.

  When he left his room, he started talking, “Hey, can you pick up some of that shampoo I like?”

  With my back to him, I nodded. “Sure thing.”

  I don’t know how he felt something was off but he appeared in front of me and searched my face. “Emmy.” He frowned then gently touched my arm. “Why are you crying?”

  My smile was forced and I tried to speak as normally as possible. “No reason.”

  Connor’s frown deepened. He looked confused. “So,” he drawled, “you just like to cry in your spare time?”