The Best Laid Plans

by Mataya, Tamara

  He passively let her strip the torn shirt from him, while he undid his pants with fumbling fingers. His dark eyes sparkled in the lamp light. His body was decent, flat belly, lean but toned arms, though his legs ran a bit to the scrawny side.

  She smiled at the silk boxers tented out. “Well hello.” she licked her lips, and slid the boxers down his hips, letting the smooth material slowly rub against him on the way to the floor. He sucked in air through his teeth and led her to the bed, stopping at the edge, finally kissing her like he meant it. She arched her back and sighed with pleasure as he pressed himself against her, grasped her ass in his hands, and squeezed. He looped his thumbs under the elastic of her panties, and slid them down, letting gravity pull them to the floor when they got past her hips. Jayne kicked her shoes off and threw her top and bra to the floor.

  Victor’s hands roamed around her hips. Mmm. Maybe she’d been wrong about him. He sat on the edge of the bed, his breath tickling her belly. She spread her legs, waiting for the mouth that never made contact. Instead, he slid back on the bed, rolled a condom over his dick.

  “Climb on, baby.” He held out his arms to her.

  She should have known his passive ass would want to be on the bottom. They all wanted to watch the show while she fucked them. She was too tired to dominate tonight. Too disappointed to make him lick and suck at her until she was wet and screaming.

  Jayne straddled him, angled her hips so he slid into her with one fluid motion, and rocked up and down, back and forth. She put his hands on her breasts and circled her hips faster.

  “Yes,” he moaned, hands falling to his sides on the bed. Jayne picked his hand up, and led it to her clit, but he let it fall again, his eyes closing, head thrashing weakly from side to side. “Don’t stop, you feel so good I can’t take it, can’t move.”

  They’d just started and already she overwhelmed him.

  So disappointing. He was a millionaire, in charge of a large company, in charge of hundreds of millions of dollars. He was supposed to be powerful.

  But he was just like the rest: powerless beneath her. It made her feel strong, in charge.

  “God, Jayne, you’re too - you feel so - how are you doing that? I can’t, please—”

  She smiled and moved faster. Ten seconds later, he came. She didn’t. When she rolled off of him, he was too busy marveling at how awesome the sex had been to notice her disinterest.

  They gave up their power to her, and she no longer wanted them. What had been so attractive wilted like their spent dicks.

  It made her feel powerful, but not satisfied.

  When he’d fallen asleep, she dressed, then tiptoed out. She never stayed the night. One round of mediocre sex was enough. No sense doing it all again in the morning.

  Malcolm flexed his fingers and snapped his guitar case closed.

  “Malcolm, if you wouldn’t mind hanging around until Dana hears your tracks?”

  “Sure.”

  Alvin, Dana’s producer, ducked his head a bit. “Your reputation for,” he paused, “pulling a song together, is why we hired you.”

  What Alvin was really saying, was that Dana needed some major help, and they’d wanted Malcolm because he could make a vocalist shine and help a track sound tighter than it was. Alvin couldn’t say it outright in respect to his client, but Malcolm appreciated the admission and the compliment. He’d had to finesse the guitar tracks quite a bit. It would be fine, as long as the singer didn’t get it into her head that the guitar was overlapping too much, and that her voice needed to be right, left, and center of attention.

  Malcolm hated working with divas, male and female. Knowing he was doing them a favour, and having them feel like he was just some guitar player trying to showboat on their album was a piss off and it made for an unbearably long recording session. He was glad he’d been able to record without Dana being there to throw in her opinion, objecting to this or that because it didn’t “jive” with her “artistic vision.” He’d had that experience one too many times. It was one of the only things he didn’t enjoy about his work.

  He understood why the managers and producers didn’t want to broadcast their clients’ shortcomings to their faces. The industry fostered talent, nurtured egos, and built stars. Managers blew smoke up their own clients’ asses, and tore down their competition. Build their people up, then the public tore them down – or worshipped them. It had always been that way. Didn’t make it right, but Malcolm thought it better than being outright rude. He was more than happy to help make other people shine. Knowing he’d made an album sound even better was a great feeling, whether or not the general public knew it.

  Malcolm loved performing live, but he was content doing it on a smaller scale. The spotlight could turn scalding hot and burn a musician’s career to ashes before it even really began. He’d seen it happen with friends far too many times. Guys who had been happy playing the local scene moved to LA, and got snagged in the snares of fame, and what other people thought they should be doing. Chasing their happiness, trying to find it in the bottom of a bottle, or at the business end of a needle until there was nothing left of who they used to be.

  Some were dead, some in rehab. None of them were happy anymore. Malcolm didn’t ever want that to be his path. No, better to define his own happiness and stick to working towards that. Letting other people dictate what will make him happy was the perfect design for failure. Rocking the local scene and letting session work pay the bills took the pressure off him to “make it.” He was already doing what he loved for a living. And he loved his life. Mostly.

  He flicked his eyes at the wall clock. Nine-thirty-seven. Dana should have been there over half an hour ago. That, combined with knowing he’d been hired to cover up her mistakes, made him sure he was dealing with a diva. Never good musically, but she would probably flirt with him, maybe more. It happened often enough. Malcolm hadn’t played with the singer; her tracks were complete when he arrived at five-thirty that afternoon to lay his.

  He’d finished by seven, and they had been waiting for her since eight. It was more a nod of respect to invite her along and get her input during the final mixing. A nod of respect, and a clause in her contract. Malcolm was surprised to hear of it. It certainly wasn’t common. She had to know someone in a high place.

  Or be the world’s biggest diva to keep them waiting all evening.

  Dana’s manager, Curt, sat opposite the door. His sharp features and constant fidgeting reminded Malcolm of a ferret, or another weasel-like creature.

  “Ah!” Curt rose, smiling through the open door. “Here she is!”

  A tanned, leggy woman shuffled into the studio, black and blonde hair twisted into a messy bun. She clutched an almost comically large Starbucks cup in her manicured hand. Huge round sunglasses covered most of her face, and the rest was scrunched into a disinterested pout.

  “Can we reschedule this for later? I have some … ” Her voice trailed off as her face turned toward Malcolm. Sliding the shades down her pert nose, she blatantly checked him out with her dark green eyes. He saw the cataloguing, and noted his features as he followed her eyes.

  Dark eyes that were equally green and brown.

  Straight nose above generous lips.

  Slight dimple in his chin.

  Well-built body, and … yup, there it was. The flick of the eyes to his hair. Thick, dark brown, and medium length.

  Evidently she liked what she saw, because she was standing in front of him in seconds.

  “Hey. You must be Marcus.”

  “Malcolm.”

  “Right.” Her shy grin would have been believable if her eyes weren’t so predatory. “So you’re my guitar guy.”

  “Yes.”

  Curt stepped in. “Malcolm has been kind enough to wait for you so we can all go over your tracks together.”

  “Good.” Dana sipped from her coffee and licked a drop of foam from her upper lip. “Makes it more convenient if I want any changes. And I like to get to know the peopl
e who play with my,” she paused, sliding the sunglasses back from her face, “record.”

  Dana had been more than up for it, but Malcolm had gone home alone. He couldn’t even muster the attraction for a quick fling before his gig, not with Jayne on his mind. Just another way she was ruining his life. Again.

  As if summoned by thinking about her too hard, she walked into the bar with a sexy friend. Unfuckingbelievable. The bar didn’t blast the stage with lights, instead focusing the light on the lit plexi dance floor. It should have looked tacky, but somehow it seemed expensive and fit into the ultra-modern design. He was glad for it now, if it had been another venue with regular stage lighting, he probably wouldn’t have been able to see her at all.

  Malcolm hoped he wasn’t staring at her too much, but seeing her had thrown him off. He couldn’t get over her presence. Fate seemed to be flaunting this chance to lay the past to rest, and he would seize it with both hands.

  Malcolm felt relief that they’d met again here at a fairly prestigious cocktail bar. He couldn’t have chosen a better way to get her to notice him; in the spotlight, most of the single women in the place had their eyes glued to his hands – and other parts of his body. He finessed the last notes, injecting a little something extra into the song in the hopes Jayne would look at him.

  Oh, she was going home with him.

  He just had to figure out the right angle to approach her.

  ***

  The bar was a total sausage-fest. Jayne figured there were maybe three men for every woman, which would have been awesome for selection – if she’d been interested in choosing anyone. But she wasn’t planning on taking anyone home at the end of the night. Despite her protestations, she’d done another hot yoga class with Amber this week. While she no longer felt like a used teabag, the relaxation felt suspiciously like exhaustion. She might skip the bath when she got home, and crawl straight into bed. Jayne appreciated the music, mostly alternative rock, but mostly just wanted sleep, and to avoid the guys hitting on her.

  But she also wanted to get to know Amber outside of the office, and their lunches. Amber was effortlessly cool in ways Jayne never had been, and her warmth and sparkling personality drew Jayne in. Jayne had always known she’d had a deficit of girlfriends, but until she met Amber, she hadn’t felt like changing that. Old habits made her want to run home alone to a hot bath – a good book never rejected her. I’m not the same awkward person.

  Inside or out. Only fifteen minutes at the bar, and already the amount of unwanted attention had been stifling. Man after man crowded their table, trying to pull, batting zero. They friendly declined invitations to dance, and offers to join them at other tables, instead focusing on each other, and the drinks and shots on the table.

  Jayne fiddled with the back of her earring. “I’ve never ... slept with a co-worker.”

  Amber grinned and took a shot.

  “Wait, in the last three weeks?”

  Amber sipped her Screwdriver and avoided eye contact.

  “Oh my god, who was it?”

  “No way! You got two! My turn. I’ve never ... had a threesome.”

  Jayne didn’t sip. “My turn again. So, who at work –”

  “New rule,” Amber held her hand up. “Questions can no longer be about sex. Or work.”

  “Damn.” Jayne bit her lip. “I’m not an only child.”

  Amber didn’t drink.

  “You are?”

  Amber nodded. “Most people I know have at least one brother or sister.”

  “Were you lonely growing up?”

  Amber downed another shot in response. “Were you?”

  Jayne clinked her shot against Amber’s, and slammed it back, relishing the burn.

  “But you have siblings?”

  Jayne nodded. “One sister.”

  “Do you get along?”

  “No. I tried. I think she wishes she were an only child.” It hurt to think, never mind say out loud, and Jayne was surprised she’d let that slip. Curse you, Vodka!

  Amber leaned closer. “Do you see her much?”

  “Not for a couple years. We had a falling out.” Jayne suddenly didn’t feel very chatty anymore. Amber must have picked up on the mood shift.

  “Screw her! She doesn’t deserve you.”

  “Thanks. I’m going to run to the washroom.”

  She needed to get away, so she walked across the bar to the ladies room, not making eye contact with anyone along the way lest someone mistake it for an invitation to chat. She noticed a few looks and a wave, but ignored them and pushed through the door.

  Sometimes Jayne wished that there was a visual cue, like color coded t-shirts or something to let people know when you were interested in hooking up with someone that night or not. Maybe in keeping with traffic light colors. Bright green t-shirt means yes come and wow me. Yellow for not actively looking, but open to the possibility if the right person came along. Red for stay the hell away from me.

  No tiresome ambiguity. No guys pressing the issue like it was a debate they could win if they were persistent enough and presented the right argument. Every one of them thinking he could be her Mister Right Now. Maybe she was rejecting Mister Right, but Jayne was willing to risk it.

  She chose a stall, locked the door, hiked her skirt up, and panties down. After a quick check to make sure the seat was pee-free, she lowered herself. Now that her weight was off them, and she wasn’t focused on the guys hitting on her, she was reminded of just how badly her feet ached. She kicked a heel off and brought her foot up to her knee, massaging it, nearly moaning.

  Feet weren’t made for fourteen-hour days in four-inch heels. She almost wished she had a pair of those disposable ballerina shoes that fit in her purse, but at this point her feet would hurt more walking around in flats. Sort of like when her hair was up in a tight ponytail for too long before taking it out. Better to wait until she was home.

  Jayne put her heel back on, finished her business, and flushed. The music got louder as the ladies room door opened. The stall doors on either side of hers slammed shut, effectively thrusting Jayne into the middle of a conversation.

  “Oh my god, did you see him?”

  “Hard to miss him, he’s on stage.”

  “Jill, don’t be an ass. What did you think?”

  Jayne exited the stall and headed to the sink.

  “He’s hot.”

  “Fuck yeah he is. Mandy said he’s the best lay she’s ever had.”

  Jayne’s ears perked up, and she took a little extra time to wash her hands. Clean, clean hands. The better to hear you with.

  “Mandy said that?”

  “Yes! It’s all she’s talked about for weeks. Someone finally dethroned Dean. She’s going to be so pissed she didn’t come tonight.”

  “Are you gonna try to pick him up?”

  “Mandy’s guitar god? Are you nuts – she’ll cut a bitch!”

  “It’s not like they’re dating.”

  “You are so bad!”

  Their giggles were cut off from Jayne’s back as the door closed behind her. When she got back to the bar, there was an unfamiliar guy sitting at the table. Amber’s crossed arms, pursed lips, and cocked eyebrow said it all. He was not welcome, and didn’t get it. Amber was way nicer than Jayne when it came to rejecting men. Amber liked to keep doors open, never wanting to be a bitch. Jayne was fine with slamming them shut, sometimes bumping the clinger on the ass on his way out before twice dead-bolting the door.

  She sidled over to their table and slid onto her high stool. Her smile was like an open season sign. He shifted his smarmy grin from Amber to Jayne.

  “Well. I didn’t know there were two of you. Must be my lucky night.”

  Yeah right. She kept her voice throaty and sensual. “Do you like sex?”

  He leered at her mouth. “Yes.”

  She leaned closer. “Do you like to travel?”

  He nodded.

  “Then fuck off.” She said coldly. It took a second for her word
s to sink in past the beer buzz. He huffed and stalked off. Mission accomplished.

  Amber sipped her screwdriver. “Do you want to take off?”

  Jayne debated it for a second. “No. I’m not going to let some guys too desperate to get their dicks wet chase me away from my night out. I just wish they’d get the hint.”

  “Too bad there’s no one here you can get to pretend to be your boyfriend to keep the assholes away.”

  “Why would we have to pretend he’s my boyfriend?”

  Amber’s eyes twinkled. “Because you don’t want to hook up with anyone tonight. I don’t want anyone to think I have a boyfriend here.”

  “You’ve got me there.”

  Ah, the fake boyfriend shtick. It never failed. She scoped out the guys standing nearby to determine a likely candidate. Wasn’t there anyone who would suit the purpose? Jayne thought about the conversation in the ladies room about the guitar player, looked at him on stage. He was hot, but there was something about him. Something almost familiar about him, which was impossible. There’s no way she’d forget someone who looked like he did.

  Did he just look right at her? Interesting. Then again, that was what good performers did; made every woman in the room think he was playing only for her. Jayne liked the look of his mouth as he licked his lips and leaned forward to sing backup vocals on the final refrain of the song. He was good.

  “We’ll be taking a short break, but we’ll be back in a few minutes!”

  Everyone cheered the lead singer’s announcement. Perfect.

  She ran her hands through her hair. “Hold that thought, Amber.”

  “Are you—”

  “I’ve found someone perfect. High profile enough to be convincing even if he’s not sitting with us.” And also sexy enough to make this pleasant. And he was in demand – most of the women in the place were focused on the stage. Maybe some were looking at the other members of the band. Either way, it would be nice to prance in and walk away with him. She needed to get The Guy in the room to want her, go along with her plan, and also give her ego a boost. Especially after the mention of her sister, Charlene.