Slower

by Deana Birch

  “Can I have that?” He pointed to my hand.

  “What? The butt? Why?”

  “Well, you took a drag, then I took a drag, then you did again. So, technically, our lips touched. I’d like to save the physical proof that you think I’m less repulsive than I imagined.”

  “That’s fucking creepy. And it’s exactly what I’m talking about: Don’t say that kind of shit out loud. And don’t look at my ass as I walk away.” I shook my head and led Archie back to the complex.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Louana.”

  11

  JAKE

  * * *

  “You said my Christmas! Isn’t it more like our Christmas? Jesus, I thought you would be happy to go on vacation.” Ah, Black Friday. A day for bargains, leftovers, long lines, and massive fights with your girlfriend.

  Louana tugged off her running shoes and threw them one by one into the corner of her closet. “Um, the week before I go away in the opposite fucking direction? I did the calculation. I’m actually flying for two full days during my two weeks off.”

  “Then don’t go to France. It’s not my fault your family is so far away.” I hovered in the hallway with my hands on the waist of my track pants.

  “Oh, you’d like for me not to go to France, but it has nothing to do with my jet lag. Why don’t you just say what you really mean?” She crumpled her black running top into a ball and stared at me topless.

  My traitorous eyes couldn’t help but glance at her chest. Hard little nipples peered back. Wicked vixen, this woman. How could she fight with her tits out?

  “It’s not my fault that fucker has power over you. That’s something you choose.”

  She threw her hands up in the air. “I knew we’d get back to this. And it’s oh so fucking fitting.” Her socks landed next to the rest of her sweaty clothes on the floor and she pushed by me.

  “Please, enlighten me.” I followed her to the bathroom, where she turned on the spray of the shower.

  “When we started this relationship, out there on the street”—she pointed to the wall— “when I brought up the concern about you not being faithful—which, for the record, considering the circumstances of your life and the amount of time I had known you, was completely legitimate—you went all ape shit on me because I thought you would cheat. But the truth is you think I’m a cheater. You think the minute I see my ex-boyfriend, I can’t control myself. I do believe your exact words to me were ‘Fuck you, Louana.’ So right back at ‘cha: Fuck you, Jake.”

  She climbed into the shower and slammed the plastic sliding door into its groove.

  “Such a runner,” I said to the steam pouring into the bathroom. “Get up in the morning, run. Don’t want to deal with something, run. Things get too intense, run.”

  The water shut off, and she slid the door open. “I’m here now.” Her snide tone didn’t sit well. She reached for a white towel and quickly dried her body.

  “Is this about the tour? Jesus, can we fight about one thing at a time?”

  “This is about me going home to see my family for New Year’s. I will see Dimitri, and I am more than capable of not falling back in bed with him.” With the towel around her torso and tucked into her small cleavage, she reached for her oil on the back of the toilet.

  I pinched my brow. One thing at a time. “You didn’t promise him something in exchange for Vincent’s whiplash mood change about you?”

  The oil dripped on her leg and she rubbed it in. “I most certainly did not.”

  How? How could she fight with me and look so damn beautiful at the same time? I shook my head to forget about her toned legs. “I don’t understand why you need to see him.”

  “Ugh.” Her head dropped back. “His parents have a New Year’s Eve party. I’ve gone every year since I can remember. I’m practically one of the hosts. It’s expected.”

  It was true that I couldn’t imagine what it was like growing up with a posh socialite grandmother and the pressure that put on a person. Hell, her mom had moved countries to get away from it. But it wasn’t just Stella who had a pull on Louana and that was what was eating at me.

  “You almost sound like you’re looking forward to going.”

  She screwed on the cap of the oil and placed it on top of the toilet. “You know what? I am. I love Dimitri’s parents. After my dad left and my mom and I went to France for the summer, they took me in like their own. So, yeah, I’m looking forward to seeing people who love me. Fucking shoot me, Jake.”

  Her words seeped through my ears, mixed in my brain, and traveled south to suffocate my heart. She wanted to see his family more than mine. There was no point in bringing up the tour or whatever the fuck the continued connection was that she had to the douchebag.

  I dropped my head and walked down to the bedroom where I plopped down on the bed. Despite it all, I still needed her. Still loved her. Still craved her.

  Sooner than I expected, she was in the doorway, where she bit her lip with red eyes.

  “I’m sorry if I hurt you. I still wanna try. I’m not done.” She walked over to the bed and wrung her fingers. I opened my arms for her because what else could I do?

  She curled into my side and put her head on my chest. “I am scared shitless about what will happen when you’re gone for six months.”

  “Can you at least find some time to meet me? Anywhere. Or I can fly back for a night if I have to.” I wove her dark locks between my fingers. This fight had to be over. Surviving a tour would be impossible without her support. She was the only thing keeping me chained to Earth. I had to let all the other shit go.

  We stayed quiet until she said, “Do you think it would be better to just be on a break and see where we are when it’s done?”

  A million times no. No to infinity. No. Someone had to deliver me from Black Friday. It was about to kill me.

  “Why would you say that?” I closed my eyes, not wanting to know.

  She sat up slowly. “I don’t know. Probably for the same reasons I didn’t want to date you to begin with.”

  Levity. Some levity would bring her back. “You wanted to date me. And those reasons didn’t work then and they’re not working now.”

  She laid her head back down and I kissed it. “You’re my girl, and there’s no way I’m letting you go.”

  She shifted to look me in the eyes. “Is it weird that I’m super horny?”

  I loved her. Fuck, I didn’t care if she clammed up when we fought. She was my home. I grinned and asked, “Make-up sex with all the bells and whistles?”

  Her eyes flashed, and she said, “God, I love you.”

  The two weeks leading up to my birthday were all about Louana. I skipped out of rehearsal early, took her to dinner, and bought her enough underwear to fill a store. I tried to court her, probably like I should have done when we first met but couldn’t because I was on the road. My plan was to fit as much in as I could before I left in January. She still hadn’t booked any flights to see me on tour, but I knew it was more because of her work schedule than anything else. At least that was what I told anyone who asked. And myself. Constantly.

  Louana threw her towel on the bed, then dug into her drawers and pulled out a matching set of the most boring underwear I’d ever seen. Definitely not one of my recent purchases.

  “Beige? It’s my birthday and you’re wearing beige panties?”

  Her chin doubled as she looked down at her body.

  “Not exciting enough for you?” She pulled a cream mid-length dress over her head and came to give me a kiss.

  “I don’t know. I was hoping for something a little more flashy. Or nothing at all…”

  She shrugged and shot me a twisted smile. “Sorry to disappoint. You still gonna meet me for lunch?”

  “Yeah, I’ll call you from downstairs.”

  At noon, she hopped into my Jeep, and I drove us to a little café not far from her office. We sat down and before we could order, she excused herself to the restroom. When she came back, she had a
small gift bag.

  “Is that my present?” I put down the long menu and rubbed my hands together.

  “One of them. The real one comes tomorrow night when it’s just us.”

  Ooo. Sex. She was giving me sex for my birthday. Fuck me. Maybe she would finally agree to anal. God, I loved this woman.

  I eyed the cheesy gift bag with its rainbow of balloons. “Can I open this one, then?”

  “You can look inside, but you may not want to take it out in public.” Butt plug. She’d gotten a bigger butt plug. Jesus Christ. Maybe she’d put it in while she was in the bathroom. Maybe it was an empty butt plug box. Louana Higgins was my everything.

  She handed the bag to me and I was immediately struck by how light it was. I peeked in and grinned.

  “You still think beige is boring?” She smirked from across the wire table.

  Inside the bag were the panties I’d seen her in that morning, which meant she wasn’t wearing them anymore.

  “Not at all.” Her without underwear was better than any toy. “But I’m suddenly not very hungry for food.” I could make a meal out of Louana any damn day.

  “Don’t you always claim to be patient?”

  I rapped my fingers on the menu and stared over. Her sexy smile was torture. “You’re just gonna sit there and tease me the entire meal, aren’t you?”

  “You better believe it.”

  When it was time for dessert, her eyelids were blinking heavy with desire, and I had a massive hard-on that needed immediate birthday attention.

  After I refused dessert, she asked, “No cake for you? It’s your special day.”

  I raised my hand and snapped for the check. “It’s also my Jeep’s special day. Because I’m about to christen it with a quickie.”

  In the parking garage, we slipped into the back seat. Thank you, tinted windows. We kissed hard, she had my pants unbuttoned and me inside her within sixty seconds. She bounced up and down on top of me, doing the best she could with our confined space. I eventually took over, laying her on her back with her hands pushed into the handle, which prevented her from banging her head against the door. It wasn’t our most eloquent encounter, but the spontaneity of it kept it hot.

  When I dropped her off at work, she stole her panties back and slipped them on. She sent me off with a kiss and promised to see me later at the bash Phil was throwing me at the Chateau Marmont.

  12

  LOUANA

  * * *

  In a suite above Sunset Boulevard, everyone who had anything to do with The Spades cluttered the couches and beds. John was flanked with Hollywood starlets who’d come along as his dates. One of them happened to be the redhead from backstage at the Greek Theatre, and she made her way right up to my boyfriend the minute I left his side to get a drink. I didn’t want to fall into the jealousy hole, but that woman understood zero girl code.

  “You know, once we get back on tour, I’ll have him more than you will.” Shane’s words slithered up my spine.

  I should have known he had only been biding time the last few months.

  “If he hasn’t cheated on me yet, I don’t see why he’d start.” Trust, I had to trust. But that adorable American sweetheart actress and her sugary giggle were making it damn near impossible.

  Shane shifted on his feet and offered me a joint which I refused. He probably would have placed it on his shrine to my lips. “Six months on the road is a really long time. At least Gina will fly out to see Sam. She doesn’t put her work before her relationship.”

  I took a long pull off my beer and turned to him. “Do you have a real point, or are you just here to annoy me?”

  His eyes raked my body, and I shivered at the potential thoughts that went with them. He said, “Why don’t you give him his freedom? You know he’ll be a lot happier if he doesn’t have to worry about you. Besides, is he really giving you everything you need?”

  Ignore. Deflect. Abort. “That would work out well for you, wouldn’t it?”

  Shane leaned closer. He smelled like crisp bergamot and endless sex. “Actually, this time I’m thinking of him. I know when he’s happiest. And spending nights locked in his hotel room while everyone else has the time of their lives is pretty fucking depressing. If you really loved him, you would set him free. At least for the tour. Either way, I sing the song he wrote about me every night.”

  My eyes flicked from Jake to Shane.

  “‘Faster’ had to be about someone.” He sauntered off and hung his arm around Gina’s shoulders.

  Shane probably thought he’d hit me with some kind of final blow. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I even believed him. But finding the inspiration for a song that was written long before Jake walked into my life was a road I would not turn down. The song was about sex with someone other than me. That was enough.

  I studied Jake with the young actress. She blinked up at him and touched his arm when she laughed. Again. I knew him well enough to know he wasn’t flirting back, but he wasn’t frowning from her attention, either. Jake caught and held my gaze, excused himself, and went to talk to Phil.

  Take that, Red.

  I leaned into the wall behind me. Maybe Shane had a point. Maybe I was standing in the way of Jake having the total rock experience. I had heard the new album; it was good. Better than the first, in fact. Shane’s song “Fifty Fifty” was their first single, and it was a great ride. It would be a hit, there was no doubt. And Jake’s dark, slow song would follow it.

  The success they’d had with “Faster” would snowball into a certified rock presence with the next album and tour. And six months was a long time, no matter how I sliced it. The idea of being apart when sometimes we were still shaky, sometimes together, cut deep. I wanted to believe we could survive it. The last two weeks had been a blast, but they were also proof of one thing: We worked as long as his schedule was light.

  After having Jake in my bed almost every night for the last five months, I didn’t like the idea of him being out on the road. And I hated the idea of long distance. And excess. The road came with parties. And chemicals that normally didn’t make their way into Jake’s body. My conscience ping-ponged between feeling massively selfish for wanting him home and playing the martyr who would sacrifice her love for his career.

  Then there were the logistics. Mario and I weren’t sure if we would ever see Bob again, and we had another film coming up with a director he had never worked with before. It would take up all our energy for the first three months of the year. I already had travel plans to go to New York twice, but for the most part, I needed to stick around Los Angeles and nurture our new relationship and project. Especially after the Vincent issue. And that meant I wouldn’t see Jake for the first three months of his tour. I hadn’t officially told him I wouldn’t come to gigs on weekends, but he knew the possibility was floating out there because I refused to commit to travel with Phil.

  Shane suggesting I break up with Jake was nothing new, but as the days approached the start of the tour, the thought that our relationship would be a casualty of it was growing. I knew I was avoiding, even running in some respects, and I wished every day that I had the confidence we could survive the fucking tour. And maybe that was what cut me the deepest—the splinter of doubt that we wouldn’t.

  Jake was usually a happy drunk, but the night of his birthday party, he was very much a sloppy one. He wanted to be the last one to leave and was succeeding wildly at being the most intoxicated. I sat patiently chitchatting with hangers-on, waiting for him to have his fill, and was aware of his frequent trips to the bathroom with John to maintain his endurance. I’d never done cocaine or been around it, but Jake’s red nostrils, which he constantly rubbed, made his use pretty damn obvious. Apparently, he didn’t have to be on tour to find excess after all.

  Even in San Diego, I had never seen Jake party this hard, and I wasn’t sure how to respond. Was it the stress of the album? Was he letting off steam? Maybe it was an odd form of punishment for my not committing to the tour or
proof of what could happen to him without me. Any which way, it was far from enticing. But it was his party, his day. I let him have his fun.

  People filtered out and coupled off, and the party drew to a close around 5 a.m. We took a car back to our place, and Jake stumbled inside.

  The next day was when he and I were meant to be celebrating his birthday alone, and I had hoped to go to the beach, even if it was chilly. But Jake stayed in bed the entire afternoon and instead, I brought him a revolving supply of aspirin and water.

  Hoping he would eventually get motivated, I roasted a duck and planned on serving it with a sweet-and-sour sauce. I busied myself in the kitchen, praying each task would blow away what I’d seen the night before. But there was only so much to do. Eventually, I slumped down on the couch and played stupid games on my phone. I didn’t even have the urge to read.

  When Jake finally stumbled out of bed fourteen hours after getting home, he was greener than the snow peas I had just washed. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes with the palms of his hands and looked to me from the doorway leading into the kitchen.

  “Did I at least have fun?” he asked in a scratchy voice.

  “You don’t remember?”

  “Not a lot.” He scratched his stubble and the back of his neck.

  “Well, I think you did your best to find new boundaries for excess.” It was my small nod to the drugs. I wasn’t going to bring it up and ruin our night, but I wouldn’t forget it, either. I knew there was occasional drug use in the band, but his lack of shame from the night before didn’t sit well.

  “I’m gonna hit the shower.” He obviously didn’t want to talk about it, either.