Reft

by Libby Austin

  It wasn’t like I had just decided to wait for the right woman. No, I had completely shut that part of myself off and refused to acknowledge its existence. My sexual growth had stopped at the age of sixteen, and I felt woefully ignorant in this arena.

  Gathering my courage, I said, “I haven’t.” I don’t know how long it took me to make those words pass my lips. They were some of the hardest I’d said in a long time, because I was being open and honest on a level I hadn’t been in over a decade. It wasn’t that I outright lied; it was more that I lied through omission. Nobody asked, so I never told.

  “You’ve never had sex?” she repeated, sitting up a little straighter. I’m not sure if it was because she was put off by the idea or she thought I was lying.

  “I was close to doing it once, but we didn’t go all the way.” Damn, could I sound any more like a bumbling teenager? “Then some stuff happened, and as a result, I just shut that part of me off.”

  “What happened?” I’d known she was going to ask, but I wasn’t ready to talk about those events. I wasn’t sure I would ever be ready.

  “I’m not really ready to talk about that yet, if that’s okay with you,” I said quietly as I studied the back of the couch and picked at a piece of fuzz on my jeans.

  “Okay,” she agreed. I glanced at her. I was afraid I would see judgment or ridicule in her eyes, but they were filled with compassion and willingness to listen. “Can I ask how you have never taken that step, given the career you have? The overabundance of female companionship musicians have access to has been well documented for decades.”

  “That’s like saying every lawyer is a crook and every doctor is a saint. Just because someone offers doesn’t mean I have to partake. I just kept myself out of the situations that would lead to questionable outcomes.”

  “So y’all never did the backstage party thing?”

  “We’ve had parties, but they were never orgies or anything. Touch got the random one-night stands out of his system in college, and, well, Bow prefers to keep his stuff behind closed doors. Joker and Ruff had their own reasons. Once we got serious about making a go of it as a band, I think we all agreed that wasn’t what we wanted. And given how things work nowadays with the media, lack of privacy, and people willing to do anything and say anything for fifteen minutes in the spotlight, we didn’t want to risk getting caught up in something like that. I just never bothered to explain my reasons for agreeing and nobody asked.”

  “So that’s where the nickname comes from,” she surmised.

  I grimaced. “It came from the fact that they never saw me with anyone and wrongly assumed I jacked off all the time.”

  “It’s a fair assumption.” I gave her a ‘how so?’ look. “You’re a normal, functioning guy in his teens and twenties; it’s pretty much a given that you would have a sex drive. If you weren’t engaging with others, most people would think you were satisfying yourself.”

  “I don’t.”

  Her head tilted in question. “You don’t masturbate?”

  My face turned a thousand shades of red. We were discussing sex, but to have her put it so bluntly was a reminder of how abnormal my sexual history was. “No. Like I said, I haven’t indulged that side of myself.”

  “So how do you handle,” she paused as if searching for the right word, “urges?”

  “Well, uhh, I hadn’t had those kind of urges in a long time until …” The sentence trailed off as I realized what I was on the verge of admitting to her.

  “Until?” she prodded.

  I licked my lips. “Until I met this beautiful brunette with big brown eyes and a sassy, foul mouth, who refused to stay away from me,” I told her and held my breath in anticipation of what her response would be.

  “I can’t believe you called me sassy; that’s like a word old people use for someone younger than them who has a smart mouth,” she teased me with a grin. Normally, I took advantage of her attempts to keep me from getting too heavy, but not this time.

  “I guess I’m an old soul,” I said softly, and she sobered.

  “You’re a beautiful soul, Brandon.”

  My left hand, which had been moving infinitesimally closer to her hand, suddenly switched course, sliding around the back of her neck, up to cradle the back of her head as I rose to tenderly press my lips to hers.

  Using all of the willpower I could muster, I pulled back and placed a light kiss at the corner of her lips and whispered, “I know I don’t have a lot of experience, and I’m not very good at this, and there’s a large part of me that would love to practice more—” I stopped when I realized what I said and leaned back. “Damn it, I didn’t mean it like that. I was trying to tell you how much I enjoyed this with you and I want to do more and learn more with you, but I don’t want to rush this. I like just being with you without the physical stuff just as much, is what I’m trying to say, but the words just aren’t coming out right.”

  She reached up and pulled my hand from where it had tangled with her hair, kissed my palm, and entwined our fingers. “I understood what you were trying to say. I’m getting to know your little quirks. I like that you say what you think. Maybe I didn’t at first, but that was because I didn’t know you. And I like just being with you, too.”

  “So do you think we could just lie together for a little bit so I can hold you?”

  Layna thought for a second, and worry that she would say no began to creep its way into my mind, fueling the self-doubt that had been lying in wait to pounce when it sensed a moment of weakness.

  “I have a better idea.” My hand felt a little lost when she let go. “Wait right there. Don’t move; I’ll be right back.”

  I stayed put, as she’d instructed, letting my eyes follow her as she left the room. I sighed in a mixture contentment and relief.

  When Layna returned she was holding a tablet. She sat it on the ottoman positioned against the couch. Once her hands were empty, she pushed the coffee table farther away from the couch and drug the other ottoman over. I moved to help her, but she told me to stay where I was. In short order, she had the ottoman arranged and was lying back down next to me.

  “I thought we could use something to keep our minds and hands busy, so we’re going to read.”

  “Okay,” I said. There probably wasn’t much she could suggest that I would veto, simply because it was Layna suggesting it. “What are we reading?”

  “Boycotts and Barflies,” she replied as she squirmed around a little bit to get comfortable. “I’ll start.”

  After Layna read the first couple of sentences, I stopped her. “Wait. Is this one of those sex books? I thought we were trying not to think about that.”

  “No, it’s not a sex book. It’s a romance novel that happens to be very sweet.”

  “So you’ve already read it,” I said, wanting her to confirm my assumption.

  “Yes, several times.”

  “Then why are you reading it again?”

  “We,”—she stressed the ‘we’—“are reading it because it’s a cute story. Now, may I start reading again?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Lying together on the couch, we spent the rest of the day reading between meals. We switched back and forth with each of us reading a chapter. Occasionally, I would place a kiss on the top of her head, or she would kiss the inside of my arm while I read, and we did engage in a few kissing sessions that we didn’t linger over long enough to stray into the no-go zone. I wanted to say the book was corny, and it was, but I could also see what she meant by it being sweet. It also told me a little bit more about what Layna liked and wanted in a relationship.

  “I still say Grace should have been more upset with the manipulation,” I argued over the ending of the story.

  “I thought so, too, the first time I read it, but it doesn’t bother me anymore,” she said.

  We analyzed the book as if we were our own little book club of two. Overall, I loved lying there with Layna in my arms, listening to her read as her body rest
ed against mine. I looked forward to doing it again someday.

  ALMOST A FULL WEEK HAD passed since our day spent cuddling and reading on the sofa. We’d spent practically every day together. Layna’s work schedule was flexible. When I asked about her going into work, she said they were at the stage where the foundation was laid, and they just had to wait and see if her plan worked.

  I still had no idea who she was working for. When I asked, Layna explained she’d signed a very strict non-disclosure agreement due to the nature of her work. It made sense. I could understand why a company wouldn’t want the fact that they were using an outside strategist to become public knowledge. We didn’t publicize who we collaborated with until we were ready to share the information, for a variety of reasons, so Layna’s explanation didn’t raise any suspicion within me.

  During the times Layna was working, I busied myself talking to Barrett and writing. Lyrics were popping up out of the blue. My creativity was alive in a way I couldn’t remember it ever being before. Barrett and I even worked on a couple of new songs together. Layna was very supportive of my tendencies to stop in the middle of what we were doing to jot the words or melody down before they could slip away. Sometimes it took a few minutes. With others, I could become absorbed for hours and forget everything else around me.

  One night, I’d grabbed my guitar and a notebook when an idea wouldn’t leave me alone. After an hour or so, Layna spoke up. “Will you be upset if I grab my headphones and go in the other room? I love hearing you play, but you keep playing the same bit over and over again. It’s like the music on a game that plays on a loop. I know to you there are probably subtle differences, but to the musically uninclined, it sounds the same.”

  “I’m sorry. I get caught up in the music. I’ll go over to my place and work on it.” I began to gather up my pens and notebook.

  Layna put a hand on my arm. “No, I don’t want you to leave. I like having you here with me,” she said earnestly.

  “I like being here with you, but I don’t want to drive you crazy. And I want to try this out on the bass, so I need to go to my place anyway,” I explained to lessen her guilt at telling me she was tired of listening to me pluck out the same chords repeatedly.

  “Oh, okay,” she said. Her shoulders slumped forward.

  An idea emerged and I blurted it out before I lost my nerve. “How about you do whatever it is you do to get ready for bed, and then come over to my place? You can crawl into my bed and read until you fall asleep, and I can come in whenever I finish this.” It would be the first time we slept in a bed together. We routinely fell asleep on the couch, but the bed had been off limits by unspoken agreement.

  “I like that idea,” she said as her smile returned.

  “Good.” I leaned over to place a kiss on her upturned lips. “The door code is 96228. Come over whenever you’re ready.”

  I left and went straight to my studio. A couple of minutes in, I decided I wanted Barrett’s input.

  “Hey, dude,” I said in greeting.

  “Hey, man, what’s up?”

  “I wanted your help on a melody.”

  “Cool, let’s hear it.”

  I played what I had so far, and he picked up where I left off. Soon we were in sync and playing off each other like we always had. I was so intent on what we were playing, I didn’t realize Layna was standing in the doorway until I happened to glance over my shoulder as I reached for an eraser.

  “Oh, hey. How long have you been standing there?” I asked as I tried to remember if I’d said anything.

  “Not long. I was looking at the memorabilia. I didn’t want to interrupt you while you were playing. I didn’t realize this was back here. I forget how big these condos are since I only use a couple of rooms. What’s up? And who is Frank Lacey?” Layna asked as she pointed to an old poster from the band’s very beginning while she walked toward where I sat on a backless stool. Layna wrapped her arms around my shoulders and pressed the side of her face against the side of mine.

  “Nothing much. Just working with Barrett on the piece. Getting a different perspective. And Frank Lacey is Ruff’s real name.”

  I thought she stiffened at the mention of Barrett’s name, but I told myself I was just imagining it as she kissed my cheek and said, “Aww. I’ll let y’all get back to work. Tell Barrett I said hello. Don’t work too hard.” Another quick kiss and she left the room, hopefully heading to my bed.

  “Damn. That was close. I gotta keep my shit together.”

  “It’s fine, Brand,” Barrett reassured me. “It’s nice to see you getting close to someone. She seems great for you from what you’ve told me. There’s a lightness about you that’s refreshing.”

  “Being around her, it’s like I can breathe again when I hadn’t realized I hadn’t taken a full breath in …” I trailed off when I realized what I was talking about to Barrett. If anyone knew what it felt like to not be able to draw breath, it was Barrett. He didn’t need me reminding him or to listen to me whine about how bad I had things.

  “Brand, relax. It’s okay. I know what you mean. You shouldn’t feel like you aren’t entitled to your own perception of what happened. It’s not a comparison of who got the worst outcome. And we need a change of subject.” Oh, Lord, please don’t go where I think you are going. “She’s hot. How can you resist?”

  “It just hasn’t been right yet,” I defended our slower pace. Like Layna said, there was no reason we had to jump into sex. I wanted more than sex with her. It would be a lie to say I wasn’t nervous as hell. After spending years never thinking about sex, I’d thought about little else this past week.

  “Have you been walking the dog? You don’t want a repeat of—”

  “All right, asshole. I get the picture. And no, I haven’t. Just doesn’t seem right to think about her and do … well, do that.” My thinking was somewhat skewed, but my enjoyment was parallel to being with Layna. Yeah, I got hard thinking about her, but I knew I wanted to share these new sensations with her. It just wasn’t the same without her.

  “You don’t have to make a big deal out of it. It’s just sex—”

  “It’s not just sex,” I argued. “Maybe if it were with someone else, it would be just sex. With Layna, it’s more than me wanting a warm place to stick my dick so I can get off.”

  “Brand, I know I encouraged you to take a chance, but …” he stopped, and I prodded him to continue.

  “But what?”

  “Never mind, man. I’m happy for you—”

  “No, you started to say something, so finish it.”

  “I was just going to say you don’t have to go all in with the first person you try with. It’s okay to have sex without dressing it up with love and shit.”

  “That’s just it, Brett. I don’t know if what I feel for Layna is love, but I do know that I wouldn’t even be considering moving forward with her if there weren’t feelings involved. It’s not that I was ready and she just happened to be the one who was close by. I think it’s more because of her that I’m ready.” My explanation didn’t even come close to matching what was happening between Layna and me.

  “I get it, man. I do. The most important thing is that you are happy. That’s all I want for you.”

  “I wouldn’t say I’m happy, but I’m happier.”

  “Good. Now, show me what you got on this song.”

  “Okay, here’s what I have so far.” I began playing the melody.

  Leaving the dark, I thought I would see,

  But I’m blinded by the life you light inside of me.

  These feeling vines weaving and climbing,

  Reaching the darkest corners,

  Watered by the leftover tears of my sorrow.

  Heart beating in rhythm with desires unfamiliar.

  This is what you do to me.

  This is what loving you is to me.

  Can this be the truth for me?

  Can this be what living you is supposed to be?

  Can this be what living
me is supposed to be?

  “That’s all I’ve worked out,” I told Barrett when I finished. “I want to try it on the bass. Give it a mellower tone. What do you think?”

  Barrett and I spent another five hours working on it. By the time we were done, I was excited to play it for the guys the next day—that same day, actually, since it was the wee hours of the morning. Layna and I had been invited over to Bow and Danelle’s for Halloween. I’d have to figure out a way to get the guys away from the girls so I could play the song for them. I’d soon realize it would be harder to keep Layna with me because Danelle and Kaitlyn would be eager to get the scoop on the woman who’d finally caught my eye.

  When I crawled into bed beside Layna, I was looking forward to tomorrow, instead of just existing in today. I lay down behind her and wrapped an arm around her as I slid the other under the pillow where her head lay. My leg wove its way between hers.

  “Mmm,” she murmured sleepily, “you’re here.”

  “I’m here.” I fell asleep to the comforting smell of apricots.

  LAYNA WAS PRETTY RELAXED WHEN we arrived at Bow and Danelle’s house. There had been a mini-meltdown over what to bring. She’d asked me how many people were going to be there and what we were supposed to take with us to the party. I told her I didn’t know, but I figured it would just be the guys, Danelle, and Kaitlyn. Not like it was a big fancy affair.

  “Brand, you don’t just show up empty handed,” Layna told me as she waved her hands about like that was supposed to show me what the hell she was talking about.

  “We’ve always just shown up at each other’s houses. If you want something specific, you bring it. If not, it’s whatever is there. You saw them when they came here. We’ve been in and out of each other’s places since college.”

  “Oh, you just don’t get it,” she huffed, and I willingly admitted that I didn’t. “What’s Danelle’s number? I’ll ask her directly.”