Grease Slapped

by A. M. Jones

  “I’m Taylor Dabney.” She speaks into the microphone which only spurs on the crowd. I give her a yell myself, and by the small smile playing on her lips, she heard it. “As you know, the band behind me is Tainted District. And this is Ardent Plague.”

  Her wrist flicks as she plays in a rapid motion. Jack plays his own, not over shadowing her, but complimenting and making her shine. I can’t believe she’s doing this.

  Her eyes close and she steps back to the mic as the intro slows.

  Your invasion and persuasion, she draws the lyrics out low and sultry. Should make me feel locked in steel—tightened seal. Pride swells in my heart.

  It's not vaaague. Her eyes pop open as she pours out the emotion like I’ve never seen her do.

  It's not vague. You're my plague–Yeah, without coercion to the curse.

  Jack gets heavy with distortion, heavier than he likes, but it fits the song and molds with the lyrics. It’s not haunting, but one that sneaks up and spooks.

  She calls out, open-mouthed, You broke into my miiiiiind.

  Left me blind.

  Kevin keys with the words and syllables, and she slows her words. It’s hard not to get wrapped up in watching her but listen instead.

  Substance to my soul.

  My heart you stole.

  The lyrics come faster with the weighted beat. Waiting to strike me down.

  Someone help me before I drown.

  Without a frown.

  Been struck by your affliction.

  Feed my addiction. Her notes change as Jack takes a solo with her throwing in some notes for complementation. She struts in a circle and when she spins, my mouth fills with saliva and my fingertips tingle as if they want to touch her. I clench them in a fist as a pang shocks my system in overdrive.

  The chorus chords start again, deep and heavy. I’m smiling at the ingenuity of her lyrics and the warmth in my chest spreads. You broke into my miiiind.

  Left me blind.

  Substance to my soul… She slows down again almost to a broken whisper, raising the hair on the back of my neck.

  My heart you stole.

  We won't suffer. It won't be tougher.

  Through the madness into this vastness! She screams the last as the whole band clashes in synchronization with viscous slanted sound. Jack and Crockett both stomp pedals and Milo’s foot is lead on the bass drum. My body thrums. I feel it all in my feet, my heart, and my soul.

  My heart pounds as the audience cheers and whistles. Flashes of light blind me, but I can’t stay here any longer. Pride threatens to choke me. Sweat trickles down my back, giving me a shiver when the wind blows. Smiling, I turn to Crockett before I leave the stage. “I did it,” I scream over the crowd. He smirks, knowing all along I could do it.

  “Thank you.” I mouth, walking behind the stage setup and down the metal stairs.

  Hands wrap around my waist and I yelp, letting Eli push me against the railing and take my mouth with his. Fervency and passion pour from his kiss as his fingertips grip my sweaty back. He inhales through his nose.

  When he does, we’re breathing heavy, and he places another kiss on my top lip. His heart beats against my chest. Grasping my waist, he moves his hands until his thumbs caress the crease under my breasts, causing heat to sear me.

  He meets my gaze, beaming. “Only you can make a love song sound morbid as hell.”

  “You know me. Romanticism isn’t my thing.”

  He laughs, and his huskiness hits me between my legs. “I thought I was dreaming at first.” He trails his hands a long my arms, bringing up my hands, and he kisses my fingertips covered in superglue. Obviously, he knows how painful my fingers feel. After laughing again, he says, “Sneaky. I knew you had fret fingers.”

  I laugh and shake my head, looking into his bourbon eyes that swirl with emotion. “I love you.”

  Gasping in another breath, he swallows and licks his puffy lips. “And I love you. Dash Top’s signing me on,” he blurts with a huge smile.

  “What?”

  He nods. “Just found out before you went on stage.”

  “Eli?” Crockett prompts, although he sounds a little regretful for interrupting.

  Eli ignores him, giving me a smile. He traces my lip with a finger before brushing his lips against mine. “Don’t go anywhere,” he demands, stepping back.

  “Wait.” I remove my glasses and place them on his face.

  “You didn’t put the lenses back in.”

  “You’ve taken them over. They’re yours.”

  His smile gives my stomach the flutters. Laughing, I watch him take the steps two at a time, and the crowd goes wild when they see him. “Sorry,” he speaks into the mic as the cheers die down. “I had to get rid of a hard-on.” With that, they go under his spell.

  It takes a while for us to get ready to leave, but we decide to go out for late night eats until the cleaning crew calls us back. Eli, though, has other plans. As soon as we get in his truck, he pulls me to him, kissing me while his hands roam. When he finds my nipples already hard, he moans. “Maybe not here, there’s no room.”

  I straddle him as best as I can and wrap his hair in my hands. His heat-soaked gaze rakes me. He smiles. “All right then.” The seam on my stockings seem to have caught his attention because he traces the back of my calves before lifting my barely there top. He cups me in his hands, sucking my nipple in his mouth. The sensation spreads fire through my blood. A tap sounds on the window and we both jump as Eli jerks my top down.

  Crockett’s expression is full of mischief. “I saw a nipple,” he sings. Eli drops his head to my shoulder.

  I groan and smack the window. “Go away, cock block.”

  “Never! I want to watch.”

  Eli’s shoulders shake with laughter. “Maybe this isn’t the best idea.”

  “You’re probably right,” I say as Crockett walks away.

  “Hey, Taylor?” He raises his head to look at me and spreads his fingertips on my jaw.

  “Yes.”

  “As much as you writing and performing that song was for me, and no matter how much it meant to me, it was for you, too. And I’m proud for you.”

  “Good. Just don’t expect me to do it again.” He laughs, but his words will stick with me forever. “Thanks.”

  “What for?”

  “Everything. For being understanding, for giving me space when I ask for it, for believing in me when I don’t believe in myself, for being patient.” I wouldn’t have changed for the better if I’d never met him, so I sum it all up. “And for being my cover model.”

  A year and a half later…

  The air conditioner flutters the paper in my grip as I speed to the shop. Being eager, I have to make an extra effort not to cause a wreck. It feels like I can breathe as if there was a weight keeping me from inhaling too deep before today. It’s better than I ever imagined. Although, it hasn’t been easy. Far from it. She tried to take half the shop, half of everything, but she didn’t get it. With Taylor’s insistence, I fought for it. I won with dignity.

  When I skid into the parking lot, the shop doors are open like always. It’s been so busy, I’ve had to hire more mechanics. Since Taylor’s been working around back, things are… prettier. Of course, that could be my rose-colored glasses I never want to take off.

  When I hop out, a car rides by and honks the horn. I wave, not knowing who it is. I rarely do. It’s been a big thing since the video interview hit Nashville. Jessica Neil told everyone to honk in support whenever they drive by. The honks never get old.

  I take the path around back. She’s made a walkway from pieces of junkyard parts, buried into the ground like a stone path, but it looks like a work of art. Especially since she planted blooming bushes and honeysuckle in abundance. She even created a little patio as an outdoor break area. Sometimes we sit out here in the early morning with coffee. I love those mornings.

  I knock on the door, hoping she’s not writing. Her work-in-progress is about a rock star. A n
ovel she’s going to query to agents. Something I get to help her on. Although, that’s when she’s at her moodiest—when she’s interrupted, but that never stops me. Sometimes I barge in just to get a rise out of her, for fun. Today, though. Today is a happy day. She doesn’t answer and when I turn the knob, it doesn’t budge. Moving around to the windows, I look in. Everything is in its place. Art covers the walls with spray-painted stencil images in spots. The floors are in mosaic tiles we broke ourselves. It looks how I imagined when I gave it to her, but she’s not in it.

  A bout of heavy laughter comes from the shop, so I make my way around there. Everyone crowds the TV on the wall. Usually it’s used to highlight specials and deals going on—Taylor’s idea. She’s some kind of marketing genius, but I’ve known that for a while. I stop when I see what they’re watching—secretly satisfied.

  Mud covers Madison’s bruised and bloody body from a challenge on the reality show she was cast in last year. She’s had a rough go of it. From Dash Top dropping her, to the gossip columnists following her around, to the incriminating pictures with various men, and now this humiliation she puts herself through. I suppose she thought the show would help her gain more popularity, but it backfired. If I cared, I’d worry she’ll die alone. I haven’t heard from her, but I’m all the better for it. Sometimes, I wish her face wasn’t all over everything.

  Taylor stands back, watching. Milo bursts into more hilarity as he rewinds and plays it back in slow motion. I can’t help it. I laugh, too. Madison’s foot slips, inch by inch. She sticks out her hands, hitting the mud, and it splatters in her open mouth.

  Taylor flinches as it happens and turns to me. “I can’t watch anymore.”

  “How many times has he watched that part?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  I laugh, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the office. I shut the door. I want this to be private. I can tell the guys later.

  “I have something I need to get off my chest,” she says. I already know what she’s going to tell me. I can’t believe she’s waited this long. “I called my dad and got Madison the spot in the reality show, but she could’ve turned it down.” Her words blend like she’s been drinking.

  I grin down at her. “I know.” She frowns and opens her mouth, but I explain. “Your dad works for the same network. Timing. Plus, every time you watch her despair, it’s as if you’re right there with her. You gave yourself away.”

  “You mean you knew this whole time, and it’s been eating away at me?”

  I raise my brows. “Yes, I was waiting on you to tell me, but don’t be mad. I have good news.”

  Her brow creases, but she smiles. “What?”

  I hold up the paper. It’s all crumpled now, but who gives a fuck? “It’s official. I’m yours.”

  “You’ve always been mine.” She snatches the paper from my hand. Her breathing is heavy as her eyes scan where the judge signed off on the divorce. “Oh my God. It’s finalized.” She looks at me with her big blue eyes. “How does it feel?”

  “Free.” She laughs and throws her arms around my neck. Her fruity scent compels me to breathe it in before I pull back. I bounce on the balls of my feet. “Want to get married?”

  This has been a running joke for the past year, and we’ve discussed it and decided not to soon, but it seems like the best moment to make the joke.

  She laughs. “Shut the fuck up. No.”

  “But I mean it.”

  “No, you don’t.” Mirth clouds her eyes. I’ll wear her down, eventually.

  “Fine, let’s make a baby.”

  She looks away like she’s thinking. “Will you settle for practicing instead?” When she looks back at me, there’s heat as she pulls closer.

  “That’s what I said.” Glancing at the clock, I say, “We have two hours before Brenna calls to harass me about the show tonight. Your place or mine?”

  That look comes into her eyes, the one that says I’m about to have a good time. “Let’s see what we can lose in the cushions of the couch.”

  I laugh, loving the idea.

  Turns out we’re an hour late, but it was one hell of an hour.

  The End

  I want to thank the abundance of people who helped me with this chunk of a book. I didn’t realize the project I was undertaking when I decided to write Taylor and Eli’s story. I’m going to attempt to thank everyone who either directly had a hand in writing this book or put up with my bullshit while I was writing it.

  Gage, Ma, Audrey, Alisha, Amelia, Laurin, Lolo, Bet, Lauren, and Nate. You guys are my rocks, so yeah, you rock.

  Eden Connor. Thanks for taking this book to the next level. I’ll never forget your priceless advice.

  Larry Batts. Thanks for being my sound board and writing the sappy Ink Slapped lyrics. You’re the best.

  Ali Hymer for being an unwavering reader even when this book changed dramatically. Tammy Parks who told me to go for it. Jeremy Wells, thank you for giving me your two cents on the music aspect.

  The Unblocked Writers Group. Jennifer Wedmore. Lori Parker. Kristine Abigail Morton. Lindsay Galloway. Mandy Anderson and The Daily Pay. Liz Zee. Kathy Geiser. That badass lawyer who answered all of my questions without an eye blink. I know you don’t want to be named, but you’re awesome, anyway.

  To all of the early readers who read Ink Slapped in 2014.

  To all of the readers. Thanks for taking a chance.

  And Steveo… your unwavering love and support knows no bounds. Thank you for being inspiration for my heroes. Thank you for being you. I love you, always.

  Author A.M. Jones is a hopeless romantic with a lewd mind. She resides in Tennessee and writes about anything that strikes her inspiration and creativity. Her strength in characterization makes realistic elements of humor, angst, and drama jump from the page and into your soul. Ms. Jones’ other half, Annie Walls, publishes books in dark fantasy.

  www.authoramjones.com