Maybe

by Amber L. Johnson

  “Mace.”

  “Shh. Slow down.” His eyes reappear when he looks up at me from my chest, and he blinks away the expression on his face to replace it with a devious smile. “Let’s play a game.”

  “What?”

  He rolls into me once more, and I close my eyes, wanting, aching. “I bet you I can make you come without taking your clothes off.”

  I’m anchored to him when he turns us so I’m on top, flush with his erection. His fingers dig into my sides, and he exhales whispered words I don’t get to hear. Splaying his open hand against my spine, he rocks into me, and I sink against him, pressing my mouth shut when his shaft is between my lips, against my clit, making me shake. Pushing up my tank top, he runs soft fingertips over my hard nipples and passes callused palms up to my neck to pull my face back to his.

  We grind, and our hips roll, pulsing and pressing there. I want to feel more, so I reach between us and free him from his boxers, sitting up while I push them down, and he lifts to let me. He turns me onto my back, and I’m feeling, reaching, guiding him. He holds back and finds where I want him most, cups a palm over cotton, pressing with his fingers and palm in slow motion.

  My back arches, and I can’t find my breath when he begins to press harder, move faster, his fingers relentless, circling and sliding over and over again in a perfect succession. He’s humming, and I can’t get a good grip on him as the heat and weight builds below my belly button until I want to close my legs. He holds me open, fingers higher and pelvis pulsing against my entrance until I can’t hold back any longer, losing my breath as I come.

  He slows, his mouth on mine again before he drops his face to my ear and whispers, “I win.”

  Opening my eyes to see his, I want to laugh, but I’m liquid beneath him and still trying to grip him with my fingers. Raising a hand to my mouth, I lick my palm and reach between us again, fingers wrapped as tightly as I can manage. I want to see him like he just saw me. After a few minutes, his mouth drops open, and he lets out a breathless gasp, spilling onto my stomach while I slow and finally still.

  I want to stay there. I want him to hover over me and kiss me and let me touch him, but he shifts away, settling onto his back next to me, one arm over his stomach and the other across his eyes.

  “I’m thirsty,” I whisper, because really there’s nothing else to say right now.

  I stand at the kitchen counter and fill a glass, drinking the water slowly and feeling the gravity of what’s just occurred. The evidence is between my legs and on my stomach.

  He’s still on the bed, staring at the ceiling when I pass by and mention that I need to clean up. I don’t know if he is expecting the water to run in the shower, but I’m sure it will give him ample time to grab his clothes and slip out the door, so I brace myself to walk back into an empty room.

  Instead, he’s sitting up on my bed with his boxers on, staring at the map on the wall.

  “What’s this?” he asks like nothing just happened, and a part of me is relieved. Another part feels a little wary.

  “It’s every place I’ve been.”

  He points and squints to see. “You’ve been all over the place.”

  “Never the same place twice. My lines never overlap. Except New York, of course. I don’t have control over that.”

  “And the heart next to the peach?”

  “My favorite place.” I’m standing in a towel, staring at my past with this guy who makes me do stupid things and think bad thoughts, and I’m suddenly aware of how bad this looks for my job. I am putting on clothes from my dresser when I finally get my voice back. “This sounds really dumb after that, but I don’t do this. Not while I’m working. Not with people I’m working with. Don’t think I’m like that or anything. We can just consider it a one-off and act like it never happened, if you’d prefer.”

  I turn to look over my shoulder, and he’s sitting on the edge of the bed with his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped while he stares my way. “Come here.”

  I smile, turning to face him. “Are you telling me what to do now?”

  He motions, and I follow, stopping just shy of his feet. “If it makes you feel better, I’m not that guy.” Lifting both hands, he pulls me gently by the waist. “If you want this to only be tonight, I can do that, but I like kissing you.” His soft mouth descends on my skin where he’s raised my shirt. I lean forward, bracing myself against his shoulders. Kissing my chest, he sighs. “I like kissing you here, too. And here.” His left hand moves my hair from my neck, and he licks a line to my jaw. “But especially here.”

  He’s humming again and plants his soft lips at the corner of mine, but I turn to taste the fading cherry on his tongue and step into him, wrapping my fingers in his hair.

  “So you’re saying you want to stay?”

  “I can. If you want. I promise I’ll let you sleep.”

  When he rolls my fresh underwear down over my legs, I know I’m a lost cause, and when he lies down and slides my knees up the bed until they are next to his ears, and he is kissing my softest parts, I know he’s a liar.

  Chapter Ten

  From the Private Journal of Tyler Macy

  “Leave her alone.”

  Hollis’ exact words before we went for drinks.

  “Leave her alone.”

  I was going to. I was going to walk out and let her sleep because she looked exhausted and drunk, even though only one of those things was my fault.

  Here’s the thing. I kissed her and something happened. After these years of notes in my head that come and go in no particular order, I heard them perfectly aligned. I could have written an entire song in that bed with her, the notes were so loud. Tasting her and touching her? A symphony. That skin, those breaths—she sings when she comes.

  I left her to sleep, and for the first time in forever, I wrote. It’s some psychosomatic response or something I should call my therapist about. Whatever it is, I want more.

  But instead of taking, I used the Sharpie from her nightstand and drew a quarter rest on her shoulder. To remind myself to pause.

  Because Hollis will cut off my dick if she finds out.

  —M

  Chapter Eleven

  Waking up at 9:00 a.m. does not faze me, but the man sleeping in my bed does. I debate whether I should wake him, but he looks peaceful. I know he got up sometime in the middle of the night because I heard him across the room humming and tapping for a while until it lulled me back to sleep.

  Remembering that I have nothing to eat in the apartment, I dress quietly and slip out to get something for us. Finding a bakery, I order a couple of bialys and coffees, hoping it’s enough. Guys usually eat more, but I hardly know him and I’m not making assumptions. By the time I get back, he’s still dead to the world, and I take a few minutes to tidy my place up.

  Noticing some papers on the coffee table, I stoop to grab them and realize what he was doing in the middle of the night. He was writing music—no lyrics, but notes on staff paper in his pretty handwriting. I wonder if I was supposed to find it or if he’d just passed it to the side before he lay down to sleep. In any case, I don’t want to pry, so I stack the pages carefully and leave them in the exact spot I found them.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, I nudge his thigh with my finger. “Hey. Hey, you. Wake up.”

  His eyes open lazily and he drifts away for a second before they snap open again and he sits up in a daze. “What time is it?”

  “Almost ten. I got us some breakfast if you’re hungry. I wasn’t sure how you take your coffee, so it’s black.”

  “I take mine black.” He’s pushing his hair around and trying to focus while I get up to plate the food. After a minute or so in the bathroom, he starts dressing. I try not to stare while he pulls his shirt back on, adjusting the shoulders and reaching around in his pockets like he’s trying to locate something that’s not there.

  “Old habit?” I ask while I walk the food to the table.

  His face is tight and hi
s eyes are wide while he watches me put the food down. I’m half a foot away from his sheet music and pretend I don’t see it. Turning my back like I’m looking for something, I wait to see if he’ll grab it. When he does, I sit down and slide his plate over.

  We eat in silence, and I talk myself into believing that he’ll walk out the door and everything will go back to normal. I repeat in my head that this is exactly what should happen, but when I turn to see him sipping coffee in the late morning light, all I can think of is how his mouth felt last night.

  A knock on the door sends my hands flying, and half of my food skitters across the table. “I have no idea who that is. Sorry.”

  Behind the door, Hollis stands with her eyes peeking into the peephole. “I know you’re there,” she whispers like a creeper.

  I let her in and she does the Texas Hello with the hugs and the arms squeezes before she hands over the brown paper bag she’s delivering.

  “I figured you could keep this for your nights off.”

  Reaching in, I produce a huge glass bottle of tequila and try not to laugh, but I fail miserably. “Thanks. I don’t think I’ll be drinking this anytime soon, but it was nice of you.”

  She grins. “They had this peach wine there, but this seemed more your speed.”

  It’s at that exact moment that she notices the other person in the room. A curt nod of her head is what she gives him, but all the humor has drained from her face. “Mace. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

  I know it looks bad. I know she can tell that this is an awkward morning-after, walk-of-shame breakfast. But I’m a quick thinker and a complete bullshitter, so I wave my hand in his direction like it’s no big deal. “We came back here last night and sat around for a while talking about stuff. For the article, of course. After a bit, he asked for some paper and started writing some stuff. Music stuff. A song.” I cannot stop my mouth from spilling lies, so I turn away to put the liquor in the freezer.

  Hollis’ eyes follow my movement, and she steps behind me, pressing a finger to my shoulder. “Where did this come from?”

  I’m trying to turn to see what she’s referencing, but I can’t crane my neck that far, so I can’t answer. “What is it?”

  She eyes Tyler suspiciously. “You must have leaned against something at the bar last night.”

  He shrugs, red-faced, and gets up to throw his cup away. “I should get going. Thanks for letting me run this by you.” He holds the paper up for Hollis’ benefit, not mine.

  She’s not fooled, I can tell, but this is not the place she wants to have a confrontation. “I’ll go, too. Maybe I’ll come down to your place to hear the new stuff you wrote.” When her attention is on me again, she smiles like she means it. “See you tonight at practice?”

  The entire thing is making my stomach cramp, but I force a smile in return. “Yeah. Of course. Seven, right?”

  She slips out the door, and I know she’s waiting in the hallway for Tyler. I want to tell him good luck. I want to tell him I’m sorry. But when he brushes against me and leans toward my ear, every nerve ending in my body responds.

  “Bye, Pretty Peach.”

  I’m still in a daze when Laura walks in an hour later. She cocks her head to the side and purses her lips.

  “You look better than yesterday.”

  “No, I don’t. I’m halfway hungover and haven’t taken a shower this morning.”

  “But you’re all pink.” Her eyebrow raises like she wants to ask me a question, but I beat her to it because I can’t shut my fat mouth.

  “We didn’t have sex.”

  She leans forward and blinks. “I’m sorry. What did you say? And who did you not have sex with?”

  I fall onto the couch and clutch a yellow pillow before I whisper, “Tyler.”

  The weight of her dropping onto the cushion sends my body bouncing a little. “Oh my God. What does that mean?”

  “I mean we did other things, but we didn’t have sex.” The pillow is covering my face now while I wait for that to sink in.

  “Everything but sex?”

  “I guess everything but sex. And butt sex. Let’s just say he knows what his band name means, and there’s probably a reason why he chose it. Oh my God. I can’t believe I did this. I should ask for a transfer. Or we could switch bands. I’ve never screwed up like this before.”

  She’s quiet for a bit, thinking but not looking at me. “Does anyone else know?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure no one else knows except me, you, and Tyler?”

  “I think so. I don’t think he’d tell Hollis, but I don’t know bro-code and if that’s a thing you tell your bandmates about.” The pillow is at my stomach now, and I’m getting chest pains.

  “Here’s what you do. You forget it ever happened. Do your job, and then get the hell out of Texas. It’s a few more weeks. That’s not long.” She’s more serious than I’ve ever seen her. “If Rynn finds out . . .”

  “Rynn Thompson won’t know shit about this. I swear.”

  Laura’s hands cover her eyes again. “You’d better hope not.” She checks her phone and gets up quickly. “Ethan landed this morning, and he said he’d be by around this time.”

  When she leaves, I’m left with the sinking feeling that things are about to go terribly wrong. Leaning against my window, I stare across the street and watch smoke rise from somewhere below. My shoulders stiffen when I see a trash can go flying down the alley and hear Tyler cussing as it echoes against the bricks.

  Ethan comes with me to the practice. I know for a fact that the band has their music down to a science, but getting a slot to perform in front of industry people at South by Southwest is a huge deal. Being only one of over two thousand performers playing the largest music festival in the world is a lot of pressure. I would want to be as prepared as possible, too, in their position.

  They’re already into their set when we enter The Music Room and crack the door of their practice space. I’m a little thankful that they play here instead of Tyler’s apartment.

  The air is thick with tension, and Tyler’s posture is rigid behind the drum set. Hollis is speaking to Jonathan on the other side of the room, and Shawn is fiddling with the height of the mic stand.

  “Hey. This is Ethan, and he’s here to take some pictures of you in action for the article. Ethan Ambrose, this is Growl at the Badger.” My friend’s fingers have been linked with mine, and when I introduce him, he lets go to shake everyone’s hands. Tyler notices, but although his reception of Ethan is icy, the photog pays him no attention. When you’ve been in the business as long as he has, you start to get used to it. He just slides his sandy hair to the side and adjusts his lens.

  I sit next to Carrie, aware of how exasperated she’s become with all this and how empty her eyes are when she looks at Shawn.

  “Hey.”

  She turns to look at me like she can’t believe anyone is acknowledging her. While I’d seen Hollis standing next to her at the first gig, I realize that I didn’t see them speak. Every time she’s been in the room, it’s like she’s invisible. The only time I’ve heard her talk is when she flipped out during the preinterview and almost took Shawn’s hand off.

  “Hey.” Her voice is soft and hesitant; untrusting as she looks away again. I want to ask her if she knows that when this band gets signed and goes on tour that she’ll be the one left behind. They won’t ask her to sell merch, and Shawn won’t be faithful. I’ve seen it too many times to count. I don’t know her, but I figure she deserves better than to be the girlfriend who follows Shawn around until he gets famous. At least first wives get money in a divorce. All Carrie will get to see will be all her hard work and devotion thrown away like garbage on the side of the road.

  Before I can speak, Hollis is in my ear, asking to talk with me in the hallway. Tyler has this look on his face when we pass by that clearly insinuates that shit’s going to hit the fan. I’m bracing myself for impact when Hollis leans against the wall and brushe
s her orange bangs from her eyes.

  “I don’t know what happened because he won’t talk about it. Whatever it is, I hope it doesn’t skew your article in any way. Mace really deserves this, and we’ve worked hard to get him some recognition that will help him see that he’s talented enough to do this. On his own, if that’s what needs to happen.” She’s picking at the chipped purple nail polish on her thumb. “The story should be about him.”

  “Listen . . .”

  “No, you listen. He slept, and he wrote, which is huge. I don’t know if it’s because of you or what other reason it may be. I’m not dumb. I told him to stay away from you, but he’s kind of an asshole, if you haven’t figured that out. But he’s a talented asshole who deserves to get signed and away from Austin so he stops dwelling in the past. So please. Write the story about him.”

  My voice is small. “I will.”

  “Good.” A smile starts, but she screws up her mouth instead and looks like she’s chewing on the inside of her lip. “Whatever it was? You look like you liked it.”

  Ethan gets a few good photos, and we stay for two more songs, but Hollis’ words are ringing in my ears and I just need to go. Shawn asks if we are going to be coming over to his place to play pool, but I decline because I need rest and time to think.

  My friend walks to the apartment with me, still holding hands between us as we go. “The singer is sexy as fuck.”

  I crane my neck to see a devious smile on his face. “That was his girlfriend sitting on the couch.”

  He knows it, and I know it, but to hear the truth spoken out loud seems to make it final. “We both know that won’t last if they leave this town.”