Gisele Vs. Guitar Hero

by Mona Cox

  My heart doesn’t stop racing the entire drive home. Erotic flashbacks taunt my every movement. How can my body feel so sensitive and so numb at once? When I get inside my apartment, I head to the kitchen for a glass of water. I feel a tinge of sadness. All the cum I drank today was so much more satisfying than a glass of water. But as hard as I came? I need to make sure that I don’t get dehydrated.

  I get into the shower, despite being tired. If I’m being honest, I feel shitty about not just passing out in his arms after the fuck fest we had. I wanted to. But I didn’t want to let my ambitious reporter self take over and start observing the scene for if he told the truth or lied. I didn’t think I wanted him to have forgotten our night, either. I’m in the shower for a long time, buried in a lot of thoughts that don’t completely follow through, or come to a head. When I finally notice that the water has gone cold, I get out, dry off, and climb into my own bed. It feels lonelier than I’d like to admit.

  8

  Gisele

  At the Irish Exit, I sit at the table with Ashley and Kathy, sipping a bourbon, my fav drink. Which, I’ll admit, is a little strange. In the middle of Stone’s explanation of his alcoholism and experimental drug use, it didn’t seem like the appropriate time to pop in with, “Bourbon is my favorite drink too!” even if it's true. I’ll be honest, the coincidence seems … well, a little coincidental. I didn’t want him to think I was some sort of weird groupie who just claims to love something ‘cause he does, know what I mean?

  But seriously, bourbon is the best. I can’t imagine taking a pill that would make me not want to drink it. That’d just be tragic. Giving up drinking would be tragic.

  I stare down at my bourbon, ignoring the conversation around me. Some awful band is up on the stage, wailing about lost love, and I ignore them too, even when they hit a particularly bad note. Okay, so maybe I hear those, despite my best intentions. But seriously, is it weird for me to be mooning over some guy who I only fucked once? And, who doesn’t even remember it happening? I need to get over it already but …

  I don’t want to. And that’s really weird for me. I’m the queen of fuck ‘em and leave ‘em. But this time? I don’t want to leave.

  I let out a gusty sigh that can probably be heard in China. God, I’m a mess.

  “You seem really upset,” Kathy says, patting my hand consolingly. “Are you okay? You’ve hardly said a word tonight.”

  So much for suffering in silence. Let’s be honest here—I’ve never been good at that one. “It’s Stone,” I admit. Ashley’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline at that. I haven’t turned in my article on our interview yet, and we haven’t had a chance to chat. And, quite frankly, Ashley likes being in the know so I’m pretty sure she’s been dying to ask me all night what happened in the interview.

  There’s a reason she works at a gossip magazine …

  “What happened?” she asks breathlessly, leaning forward with anticipation.

  Have I mentioned yet that she likes to be in the know? ‘Cause she does.

  I open up my mouth to respond to her when I notice that the band is finally packing up and moving off stage. Thank God, I can finally think again, without their off-key wailing reverberating in my ears. I remind myself to give the bartender an extra-large tip. To put up with these shitty bands coming through has got to be a hellacious job. I thought my job at Blush was tough sometimes, but at least I don’t have anyone caterwauling in my ears all day long.

  My eyes flick back to Ashley’s. Truth time.

  “Well, it-turns-out-that-I-had-sleep-sex-with-him,” I blurt out.

  “You what?!” they say in unison, eyes as big as saucers.

  Are they practicing this in the mirror or something? It’s kinda creepy, really.

  “He’s on this experimental drug,” I say miserably, “and it means that he sometimes does shit without remembering it afterward. Like, fucking me.”

  “Oooohhhhh …” Ashley says, “I thought you meant that you were asleep for it, but he was? Kinky.” She grins an unrepentantly sexy grin, and I roll my eyes. I just know that tonight, Ashley is going to ask Apollo to role-play being asleep while she gives him a blowjob.

  Not that Apollo is going to mind…

  “Are you sure he doesn’t remember it?” Kathy asks skeptically.

  I shrug. “I haven’t seen or talked to him since then, so I guess I don’t know for sure, but when I was there, it was believable to me. He took this pill and then got all weird on me. I don’t know. I guess I need to talk to him again and really test him. See if I can trip him up. I could ask him, ‘So, have you fucked any hot chicks named Gisele lately?’ See if he gets all weird on me.” I laugh. Quite frankly, the more I drink, the funnier I am … to me.

  But hey, I’m the only one who matters, right?

  “Well, now you have your chance,” Kathy says, jerking her head toward the door.

  My laughter abruptly stops and I swivel toward the door.

  Stone Slayer is walking through the door right now.

  I jerk back around and just stare at Ashley and Kathy. I know that like, five minutes ago, I was whining about wanting to see him again, but that was in the hypothetical sense. Of course I want to see him again sometime soon.

  But … but this is real, and suddenly? Seeing Stone Slayer in person is turning me into a ball of nerves.

  Have I mentioned that I don’t do second dates? Second fucks? Second chances? Because I don’t. Seeing a guy again after I’ve ridden his cock seven ways to Sunday just isn’t something I do.

  But now, looking at him as he makes his way to the now-empty stage, I realize that I just might want to with this one.

  And that’s the most terrifying thing I’ve thought all year.

  9

  Stone

  So I asked the owner of the Irish Exit if he’d allow me to play at his bar tonight because I need to get back into the public arena and not pull my cock out of my pants as I do it. I have to show people that I can play a set and act like a decent, grown-up human being as I do so.

  Of course, the owner was all over this idea, ‘cause people want to watch me in action, if only in the hopes that I’ll pull a repeat performance and start cock-waving again. No way. I’ve asked my doctor if I can move the pill-popping to after my shows each night, so that by the time I’m supposed to be up on stage, I’m fully with it again, and he regretfully agreed. Apparently, these pills work best if taken at seven o’clock at night, but let’s be honest—if I don’t quit pulling a Slayer, I won’t have a career anymore and I might as well go back to drinking all the time. If they aren’t quite as potent if taken at one in the morning, then I’ll just have to rely on self control to make up the difference.

  As we make our way through the crowd, my band and back-up singers helping me lug equipment up to the stage, I see something out of the corner of my eye. Or rather, someone.

  I don’t know why she caught my eye because there’s a stupid amount of people in here—if the fire marshal gets called, we’ll get shut down so fast, my band is gonna get whiplash from it—and so I really shouldn’t have seen her. She shouldn’t have stood out to me.

  But, it’s Gisele. Apparently, I now have a Gisele sensor that goes off every time she’s in my general vicinity. I can see the flash of her blonde hair in the spotlights skimming over the crowd, and then I hear her laugh tinkle out, over the crowd.

  Which, to be honest, I also shouldn’t have heard. It’s so damn noisy in here, I’m not sure if I’d be able to hear fireworks go off.

  But I can hear her laughter.

  Dammit, I have it bad.

  As we set up our equipment, the crowd grows restless, the cheers and heckling getting louder, and more people push their way into the already overcrowded bar. I think back to the interview, where I’d shoved two pills into my mouth in front of her. I know that I was thinking about her amazing rack as I was starting to go under, but just because I thought about it doesn’t mean I actually did anything about it. It does m
ean that I would’ve been willing if she’d wanted to try something, though.

  But let’s be honest: If I died, Gisele would still give me a boner. A rock star ghost boner—I can just imagine that hitting the tabloids …

  Finally, with the equipment ready to go, I grab the mic and we start jamming. Except, when we get to our one and only love ballad in our set, I substitute “Gisele” in for “Jamie,” the original chick I wrote the song for … who I later discovered fucking a technician backstage during a concert. I’ve hated this song ever since ‘cause damn is it hard to be romantic about a chick you despise, but tonight? I suddenly found it real easy to let the words roll off my tongue. It's hard to tell in the darkness of the bar, but I think I can detect a blush on Gisele's cheeks, which of course just means that I belt the words out even louder, staring straight at her while I do it.

  Oh yeah, she’s blushing hardcore right now. All of her friends are jabbing her in the ribs and she’s just sitting there with a stupidly happy grin on her face and I’m grinning back and I swear to God, we’re the only two people in that room.

  Okay, so the fire marshal probably wouldn’t agree with that assessment, but we’re the only two people in the room who matter.

  Finally, the long song ends and after two more fast-paced dance songs, our set is done. We wrap up, but I don’t head out the back with the rest of my band. People are drifting out of the bar and back into the streets, so there’s a little more elbow room in the place, which is nice for those of us who like to breathe along with getting drunk.

  I slip into the bathroom for a minute, and check my phone. Dammit, it’s almost one in the morning. I have to take my pill now; I can’t push it any further than I already have. With a sigh, I pop one back. Oh the irony; if a reporter caught me popping pills in the bathroom, no doubt that picture would be on the front page of every gossip rag in the country, below a screaming headline about an out-of-control rock star.

  I wait for a minute longer to let the fervor in the main bar die down, and then head back out … toward Gisele. I make my way through the crowd, careful not to make eye contact with anyone or draw attention to myself in any way. The best camouflage is to just pretend that you belong there. Most people don’t look twice.

  I pop up next to her elbow. “Hey, Gisele,” I whisper in her very yummy-looking ear.

  “Oh my God!” she yells, spinning in a circle and spilling her drink in the process. Hmmm … is that a bourbon? Surely Gisele doesn’t drink bourbon. No one drinks bourbon, other than me. Well, I used to.

  God, that smells good. I hope my pill kicks in soon because my willpower is starting to wane.

  “Hi,” I say, grinning. She’s panting, her hand over her magnificent chest, and then she starts laughing.

  “How are you here and not mobbed by a bazillion fans?” she asks once she stops laughing, looking around the crowd milling about. No one seems to be paying the slightest bit of attention to me.

  I just shrug. “No one expects me to come out here in the crowd. For some reason, when you’re a celebrity, everyone thinks that you no longer want to just hang out with people and chill. They expect me to run out the back door as soon as the set is over.”

  “The rest of your band did,” she points out, logically.

  “Yeah, that’s true,” I admit cheerfully. “Which just made it even easier for me to come hang out with you. No one was expecting it.”

  She looks at me skeptically and I can tell she’s trying to do the math in her head—am I really interested in her?

  Yeah. I am. I don’t want to freak her out though.

  I really, really wish I could remember what happened the other day. That tantalizing question plays around the edges of my mind. Did we fuck? Did she run her gorgeous mouth up and down my cock? Did I pull her hair as I fucked her from behind?

  I don’t know.

  And that is slowly driving me insane.

  “Hold on, you’re in a bar,” Gisele says, looking at me, wide-eyed with fear. “Aren’t you tempted to drink? Should we leave? I don’t want you to fall off the wagon just because of me!”

  I shrug. “With the pills, it’s not hard to keep it under control. I can tell you’re drinking a bourbon—nice choice by the way—and so yeah, the urge is there, but I’m fine. I can deal with a little temptat—”

  10

  Gisele

  “It’s kinda creepy,” Kathy says, staring at him. He grins vacantly back at her.

  “Don’t be like that,” he says cajolingly. “I can’t help staring at cute girls.”

  Kathy giggles, and my hackles on the back of my neck rise. Hold on, why is he flirting with my best friend? He should be flirting with me!

  I grab his arm possessively. “You looked really good up there on stage tonight,” I say. Which is the truth, but I’ll admit it – I am telling him because I want him paying attention to me.

  He looks up at me with soulful eyes and whispers, “You look good every night.” I try not to roll my eyes. It’s a pretty OTT thing to say and I know that he doesn’t mean it, his drugged-up mind is saying it, but a tiny part of me gets a little shiver of delight at his words.

  I didn’t realize I was such a sucker for cheesy lines until now. Or maybe it’s just cheesy lines being said by Stone, I don’t know.

  “Well, we should get going,” Ashley says loudly, pulling on Kathy’s arm, yanking her into an upright position. “Good to meet you, Stone.” She drags Kathy off over Kathy’s protestations, and I silently thank Ashley for that. I’ll have to do something amazing for her as a thank-you gift later.

  “Where are they going in such a hurry?” Stone asks, staring at their retreating forms, Kathy turning back and waving at him as Ashley drags her away. She, on the other hand, is going to get coal in her Christmas stocking this year, if I have to track down a coal distributor myself.

  “Oh, just had to head home,” I say lightly, waving my hand in the air dismissively. “So your pill – did you take it after the show?”

  “I did!” he exclaims, surprised. “How did you know?”

  “Just a guess,” I say with a naughty grin. “So Stone, whaddya say about visiting those bathrooms again tonight?”

  “You have to go pee?” he asks.

  “Nope, but I think you’re going to like what I do have in mind. C’mon.”

  I’m still reeling from that performance. Stone, live, singing like that? I mean, I like music. I like music a lot and I’ve been to a lot of gigs. Huge concerts, intimate little performances at Chateau Marmont. But this? Stone? Singing that song, and putting my name in it, and looking at me. In a really obvious way looking at me so that everyone in that room knew that he was talking about me. Singing those lyrics to me? My heart hasn’t stopped racing since. This all feels so surreal. It's almost like I’m in a very strange, foggy dream instead of really present in this club. The dark mood lighting and eerie feel that all clubs have, it really doesn’t help with that, you know?

  But after that performance Stone just gave, I’m feeling emboldened. I want to take a risk, take a chance, and take a leap down the rabbit hole and see where it leads. Doubts weren't what got me anywhere with Stone in that hotel room. That was pure going with the flow, something I almost never do because I'm a control freak in just about every aspect of my life. But being with Stone forced me to let go ... and it wasn't that bad at all.

  Who am I kidding? It's the most exhilarating feeling in the world.

  I couldn’t help but get coy with him for just a moment. Like, how does he not know what I’m up to right now when I tell him we’re going to the bathroom? He’s following me and his hand is in mine and I look at him … holy shit I've never seen a man so good looking. Stone's body takes my breath away. What he does to my body makes my heart beat so damn fast, I could be having a heart attack. I take his hand and pull him back to the bathrooms. I feel like there's a rising tide of fire in my veins. I'm a pretty intense gal but this feels like the boldest, most confident move I've made. I c
an't help but go crazy for Stone. I guess I'm letting that Guitar God thing go to my brain because I'm having a total slut moment. I drag him back to the bathrooms.

  That's right, I'm going to fuck a rock star in a club bathroom. I'm thinking about the wild things we did the other night at his room at the W. I'm thinking about how he sang with every drop of soul he could in his voice, he even looked at me, sang my name ... of course my panties are so fucking wet. I need him, now, and something as simple as going somewhere else is too much to be concerned with. How could I think about anything else? I give his hand a little squeeze in mine as we work through the crowd and get to the bathrooms. I'm a little surprised that people don't seem to immediately recognize him. They aren't paying close attention or they would—but he was right. People don't expect him to be out here. I certainly didn't. I didn't expect anything about how he sang to me. I didn't expect to feel the way that I do right now, or to be able to act on it.

  But we're at the bathrooms.