by Tracey Ward
“I have seen it,” I reply. “Never been lucky enough to be in it.”
“Can you sing any of the songs?”
“Not a single one. I can do Let it Go. The one from Frozen. Different show but still Idina Menzel.”
“If things get too dull, we might ask you to do that.”
“Anything you need.”
Jace takes my hand in his, running his thumb over the back of my knuckles. “Pro Tip – never promise anyone that. You won’t like what people start asking you to do.”
“Whatever you say.”
He chuckles, bringing my hand up to his lips to kiss it softly. “You’re in trouble now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Jace
Greer doesn’t sing for the Mayor. He sings for us.
It’s not good.
Greer, Grant, and I listen with carefully blank faces as the large, bearded dude takes us through his favorite numbers from Wicked. I almost lose my shit when he sings Popular. The diner is silent. The cooks watch from the kitchen with surprised, confused faces. My eggs grow cold, the waitresses unmoving. You can read it through the room; we’re all wondering what the hell is happening. And when will it be over?
Grant brings the performance to a close when he tells him we have to leave for the fair grounds to check on the venue. The Mayor, or Rowdy Rudy as he insists we call him, is flustered, but he understands. He offers to go with us.
We unanimously decline.
The rest of the day is spent sightseeing and mingling with the people in town. It’s a short day. There’s not much to Emerson, and what there is, I’m not that interested in. It all reminds me of my mom and it hurts, something I don’t feel like dealing with. It would be a fucking nightmare if it weren’t for Greer. Everything is new to her. Every building, every face, every street corner. I can look at it through her eyes, seeing it for the first time, and it doesn’t kill me like it wants to. She’s my five-foot-two-inch guardian against the world.
We do a photo-op at the local library. Reporters from newspapers in Tacoma and Seattle have shown up in town and they follow us everywhere we go. Greer will be in every picture. It throws her a little, being photographed. I can see it in her eyes that she’s getting wiggy. I used to be that way. It’s a thrill at first but then it gets old. Then it starts to suck. For some people it gets fun again, once they get used to it. Not for me. I’ve always kind of hated it. It’s the act. The lie. I never got into it, not like I was supposed to. I’ve always been about creating, not performing. Once an album was done, I was looking toward the next one, but before I could get going they’d all drag me out on tour. A year or more later I’d finally get to write again, but after a while even that lost its luster. Now I’m not interested in any of it. I wonder if I ever will be again.
We take a run past the local high school. We make it just in time for the start of a baseball game. I sing the national anthem for them. They ask me to throw out the first pitch, like it’s MLB. I feel like an idiot doing it but I pretend I’m honored. They give me the ball when I leave the field, showered in applause. I quickly hand it to Grant, but Greer surprises me when she asks for it.
“I barely cleared the mound,” I laugh. “Why do you want it?”
She takes the ball from Grant, rolling the dirty sphere around in her hand. “It’s a souvenir from today. You didn’t have fun, but I did. I want to remember it.”
I blink, surprised. I didn’t think she noticed what a drag all of this is for me. I thought I was pretty good at hiding it. It makes me feel kind of shitty. Like I’m ruining her day.
I hold out my hand to her. “Give me that.”
She pulls the ball back protectively. “You’re not going to throw it away, are you?”
“No.” I take it from her, pulling a Sharpie from Grant’s jacket pocket where I know he always has them. I pull the cap off with my teeth. “I’m signing it.”
“Keep it clean. I want to show my grandchildren someday.”
“For Greer,” I say slowly, scribbling across the ball. “Who never let me get past third base.”
“Stop!” she laughs, grabbing at the ball.
I’m too fast for her. And too tall. I hold it up high out of her reach.
She glares up at me, smiling. “You did not write that.”
“Aren’t you happy your grandchildren will know you had the self-control to keep a rock star from sliding into home?”
“No! Because now they’ll know I let him get to third.”
“I wish I wasn’t hearing this,” Grant laments.
“Give me the ball!” Greer demands.
I grin, parroting her, “You’re not going to throw it away, are you?”
“That depends. Did you really write that?”
I lower my hand. “Where would I have found the space?”
She snatches the ball from me greedily, immediately rolling it over to read it. “’Holy shit. Jace Ryker’. Oh my God,” she laughs. “You can’t let anything go.”
“I can’t help that you’re funny.”
“At least one of us is.”
I laugh, throwing my arm over her shoulders. The paparazzi get plenty of pictures as we walk back to the car. This moment will be all over the internet in the next hour, and it annoys me more than usual. Not because I’ve got a problem being seen with Greer, but because I have a problem with sharing her. I used to love it when they’d catch me with a hot girl. I’d look for the photos the next day, collecting gorgeous women like trading cards. But I don’t want this one. I want the girl, not the body or the ego boost of being seen with her. I want her smile and her laugh, her talent, her glow. Her warmth like sunshine on my skin. You can’t catch that in a picture. People will see me with her and think she’s just another girl I’m fucking for fun. They won’t see the way she makes me feel. They won’t know that I’m happy for the first time in years.
We’re heading back to the hotel for dinner when Grant gets a message that the stage is finished and they want me to come out for final approval. I think about telling him to drop me at the hotel, let him deal with it, but then I look at Greer. She’s spinning that ball in her hands, a faint smile on her lips, and I change my mind. I decide to go see the stupid fucking stage.
The gates are closed when we get there. Grant tells the guys manning them not to let the press through behind us. They nod seriously, their eyes excited. They’re probably pumped to wield a little power for once. I doubt there’s a lot of action at the Emerson Fairgrounds.
Our driver pulls us right up to the stage, bypassing the parking lot entirely. The setup isn’t much to look at. It’s your typical pop-up. Black floor, black canopy, steel frame, heavy, gray speakers on either end, spotlights hanging from the ceiling. It’s smaller than I’m used to but the right size for the dances we’ve been practicing. I knew this was going to be a downgrade. That was the whole point, right?
“The bus will pick you up from the hotel tomorrow,” Grant explains as we spill out of the car. “It’ll park back there, behind the stage. That’s where you’ll make your entrance. We’ll do a dry run tomorrow morning with you and your crew. We’ll have a quick rehearsal to make sure everyone is comfortable and the sound system is set up right.” He gestures behind Greer and I to the empty asphalt. “They’re going to gate this off tomorrow and add some risers. The vendors are coming in tomorrow too. They’ll be at the main gate. The food vendors will be here closer to the audience.”
“Who are the other vendors?” Greer asks curiously.
“Merchandising. Jace Ryker T-shirts. CDs. DVDs.”
“Underwear?”
Grant grins. “That’s a Japanese import, but I can get you some if you want them.”
“I’m good. Thanks.”
Grant’s phone rings in his pocket. He grimaces at the screen. “It’s Sarah. This can’t be good.” He holds up his finger, already answering the phone. He walks off the stage where we can’t hear him.
I nod to the stairs. “You wanna check it out?”
/>
“Is that okay?” Greer asks eagerly.
“Yeah, go for it. Tear it apart if you want to.”
She chuckles, taking the steps two at a time. “If I didn’t know any better, Jace Ryker, I’d think you weren’t looking forward to this.”
“I think you know plenty.”
She stops in the center of the platform to look out over the non-existent audience. Her face is light, her eyes burning with excitement. “How can you not be happy? This is all for you.”
“That’s what people always say and it’s never true. No one does anything completely for someone else. They do it because they’re getting something out of it.”
She looks down at me with solemn, sad eyes. “Another Pro Tip?”
“I’ve got a million of them,” I assure her, crossing my arms over my chest. “I could write a book.”
“Maybe you should.”
I tap my head with a smirk. “Writer’s block.”
“I heard.”
“Yeah, everyone has.”
“So, if you don’t want to write a book and you don’t want to do this concert, what do you want to do?”
I smirk, kicking the toe of my black boot against a support beam. “That’s the million dollar question.”
“What’s the answer?”
I shrug silently, my eyes on the ground.
She thinks about that, about my nothing, before taking a deep breath of the cool evening air. Her eyes drift over the stage, up to the lights hanging above her. “I don’t get it.”
“Don’t get what?”
“How you aren’t excited about this.”
I untangle my arms, running my hand over my mouth. “Are you excited about putting on deodorant every morning?”
Greer looks at me quizzically, shaking her head. “No.”
“That’s because you’ve done it a million times. It’s a chore.”
“You can’t compare deodorant,” she spreads her arms wide, “to this.”
“I just did.”
“It’s not the same thing, Jace.”
“It is to me. I’m sick of it.”
She stares at me in amazement, my words, my truth, hanging in the air between us. I’ve never said that out loud before. I’ve thought it a million times but I’ve never bothered saying it because what’s the point? This is my job. My life. I’m sure people who work at Taco Bell aren’t excited to go in every day, but they do it because it’s what pays the bills. But I’ve never loved it. I can’t imagine how anyone could.
My dad can. He loves it too much. He loves the lights and the excitement more than he loves anything else in the world. Probably more than he loved my mom. Definitely more than he loves me.
Greer loves it too. Not like a lunatic the way Alan does, but she can understand it. She loves being on stage six nights a week, giving a faceless throng everything she’s got. It’s what she lives for. And it’s fading. Her show is failing and I could save it, but do I want to? I’d have to trade one chore for another, and hers might be worse than the shit I’m putting up with now. Is it worth it to me to give it a shot? Do I want to risk my happiness for hers?
I honest to God don’t know.
“I’m hungry,” I tell her briskly. “You hungry?”
“That depends. What kind of hungry?”
I hesitate, wondering if I’m reading her right. Or am I being influenced by the boner I’ve been sporting for her for the last month?
“I’m all kinds of hungry,” I tell her seriously. “Starving in some ways.”
Her eyes burn down into mine, bright with the last embers of the setting sun. “Me too.”
“Back to the hotel?”
She smiles faintly, nodding her head.
I step up to the edge of the stage, my arms stretched out to her. She doesn’t hesitate to drop down into them. She knows I’ll catch her, and it isn’t until we’re walking back to the car together that I realize what just happened.
She trusted me.
***
When we get back to the hotel, I don’t hide it from Grant that she’s in my room. We say our goodbyes in the hallway, and when he asks me if we’re on for dinner, I close my door in response.
No. We’re not on for dinner. But Greer and I, that’s on. Finally.
She knows it, too. When I turn around, she’s already lifting her shirt up over her head. It tangles in her hair, pulling it high and dropping it from the neck in a cascade of amber light. It looks like whiskey, cold and smooth rolling over her shoulders. Her breasts pinned down by a black lace bra. She smiles as I watch her. She drinks up the attention like a pro and I imagine her on stage like this. Just her and I in a dark auditorium, a spotlight on her alabaster body as she unveils one silky section at a time.
She’s good at making the moment last. At taking off one piece of clothing at a time, her eyes always on mine. We’re connected even though we’re not touching. That pull that’s been between us since the day we met is turned up to eleven, undeniable and irresistible. Armageddon could come tonight and I wouldn’t leave this room. I wouldn’t leave her. I’ve waited too long to love her. I can’t handle that look in her eyes without having her tonight. I’ll burn to ash and blow away in the wind at the end of the world before I walk away from her willingly.
Her eyes hold mine as she unbuttons her jeans slowly, pushing them down her hips. She’s wearing a black thong that matches her bra, the lace like icing on a cake that I want to lick from her body, her sweet taste lingering on my tongue. She shimmies out of the tight denim until she can kick them away from her. Her shoes are off, her small feet bare on the carpet. She looks innocent as an angel looking at me there in nothing but her underwear, and I feel like the fucking Devil thinking of all the things I want to do to her. All the angles I want to take her from.
But tonight I’m taking it slow and simple. It’s what I promised her and myself, and I’m getting pretty good at keeping that shit. I’m getting better at knowing what I want.
She waits patiently, watching me. Letting me know it’s my turn.
I kick my shoes off slowly, pacing myself. I’m not as patient as she is. I can’t move as slowly, but I try. I pull my shirt up off my back. Unbutton my jeans and kick them aside the way she did. I watch her watch me undress, her eyes taking in every inch of me, and I feel my control slip when her pulse starts to throb in her neck. She’s breathing deeper, the rise and fall of her breasts mesmerizing. Too enticing to avoid. I close on her, telling myself to go slow but racing inside. She lifts her arms to my neck as I wrap mine around her waist, pulling her against me.
For such a small thing, it feels like there’s a lot of her. So much soft skin to explore, so many curves to lose myself in. I hardly know where to start, but she does it for me. She lifts up on her toes, pulling me down to kiss me chastely. No tongue. Just her sugar coated lips against mine, her breath warm and soft. It’s a sweet kind of torture kissing her like this. Holding her half-dressed. I’m in that in-between where I’ve lived for too long. I want her to get me all the way there. All the way to Heaven or Hell, I don’t fucking care which at this point.
I swing her up into my arms in one smooth motion, never breaking her lips from mine. She gasps in surprise, but she holds tighter to my neck. She kisses me deeper, her tongue parting my lips. Taking what they want. When I lay her down on the bed, I stand up straight so I can look down at her. So I can savor her, memorize her. I feel like I’ve wanted this for a long time and now that it’s finally here, I’m gonna make it last. I’m gonna make her glad she made me wait.
I reach down to trail my fingers along her stomach. It flinches under the tickle of my skin on hers, her chest heaving with a sharp breath. Her lips are parted, waiting. Her eyes watching me as I trace the curve of her sides, the bow of her hips. As I tease my finger along the edge of her underwear. She’s barely breathing as I bring my touch back up slowly, over the coarse material of her bra to the smooth cream of her skin. The round of her breasts. Up her long neck to th
e sharp cut of her jaw. To the pouting pink of her lips. She turns into my touch, her eyes closing. Her lips reaching for my finger, pulling me inside her mouth. I can’t breathe as she sucks my fingertip, her tongue swirling around it the way she worked my dick this morning. I’m instantly hard, dying to dive inside her, but I hold back. I lay down over her, propping myself up on my elbows so I’m barely touching her.
“Jace,” she whispers. Her hands go to the back of my neck, her fingers tugging at my hair.
I kiss her as I lower myself onto her. I’m honestly worried I’m going to hurt her, she’s so small underneath me, but she moans in delight as I let my weight come down on her. Her legs open, letting me nestle myself against her heat. Her underwear are damp. She’s wet for me.
“Jesus, Greer,” I grunt, biting back on my self-control.
“I’m ready.”
“I can feel that.”
She kisses me gently. “I want you.”
I look down at her, searching for something more. Something subtle that I think I know, but I want to hear it. I want to feel it.
She grins, her gorgeous eyes half-closed in a dreamy kind of way. “I trust you,” she promises.
That’s all I need. Those three words are better than any others in the world and any restraint I had is thrown out the window when I hear her say them.
I reach down between us, pulling myself out of my underwear. Hers I pull to the side, opening her to me. Every last barrier between us lost and forgotten.
“I can get a condom,” I offer halfheartedly.
She shakes her head. “I’m on the pill. I’m clean.”
“Me too.”
“Okay.”
“You trust me that much?”
She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling at me. Pushing my tip into her. Her eyes flutter closed. “Yes,” she moans.
I fall into her after that. I disappear inside her softness, fucking her slow.
My fist balls up in the pillow under her head. “Shit, you’re tiny,” I bite out. “You’re so tight, baby. I’m gonna hurt you.”
“You won’t,” she promises.
“I’m scared to move.”
