by Jaye Ripley
My lips brush against his knuckles. “I love you.” The words come out softer than a whisper.
His singing doesn’t falter, but his body shifts closer to mine. I repeat the words again, forcing my voice louder. “I love you.”
He stills and stops singing. I roll over, and find his face in the dark with my hand. My lips find his, and I brush against them.
“I love you, Hunter.”
His lips crush mine, and our bodies connect one more time. My tears flow, a baptism to new life. We exchange the same words back and forth to each other in between caresses and kisses. Hearts open and entangle with the truth. Pleasure and pain—I know they won’t destroy me. I’ll survive both, trying to live somewhere in the middle.
I hold him, want him, need him, and love him deep into the night and for as long as he’ll let me.
30
Mel
I don’t cry. I’m not a crier. That’s the one aspect of my mother’s lessons I still believe in. But what happened between Hunter and me the night and into the morning he left has opened the floodgates. It’s taken me almost a week to stop swallowing tears when I think about him.
My life’s schedule that used to fit my needs frustrates the hell out of me now. Hunter’s texts wake me up too early because he and the guys have to work as hard as possible to get songs written and recorded. He texts me as much as possible, his way of showing me he’s still got me.
He likes to send me random pictures of his life. Coffee drips down EJ’s coffee mug that has the black letters “UNT” on its side with the handle painted a black “C”. A used notebook with lines written on it surrounded by balled up, discarded paper. His boots at the foot of his bed. The Nashville skyline from their balcony at night. A half-eaten burger with an almost-finished pint of beer at some joint. I tell him he should create an Instagram account and post them there. He protests and says that they’re just for us. My heart melts a bit knowing our intimate bubble stretches all the way there.
During the day, I catch his phone calls and answer him immediately. I hate the early morning ones after a late night working.
Our version of “Wind Blows West” plays, and his face flashes on my phone from a selfie he took in bed our last morning together.
“Hey,” I answer with a yawn, my voice full of morning sleep.
“Late night, sexy?”
“Ladies night. Bitches crawling all over the place for cheap drinks. Shane’s favorite night. I hate them.” I clear my throat. “What are you guys up to?”
“Same as every day. Mac and I are writing. Hart, EJ, and Levi are trying to nail down the rhythm chart for the song we laid down yesterday to see if they can improve a couple of transitions.” The noises in the background fade, and his voice changes to a husky tone. “Hey, do you know of a rhyme that works with ‘nipple’?”
My own stand up in attention. “You’re writing a song that includes ‘nipple’? What the hell kind of band are they changing you guys into?”
He laughs. “Hey, can you video chat for a few minutes?”
We hang up, and I wait for him to send me the invitation for the chat. His face pops up and fills my phone’s screen. Fuck, he’s sexy as hell. Looking at his stubble reminds me of the feel of it scratching the skin between my legs. If it would do any good, I’d shove my phone down there to ease some of my instant ache.
His fuckable mouth grins. “What just went through your mind? Must’ve been filthy. You’ve got this look on your face.”
“Nothing that my fingers can’t take care of, Cowboy.”
He groans, his eyes closed. “Damn, I wish I could be there in person to wake you up with my head between your legs and my tongue buried deep inside you.”
I squeeze my legs together and shift underneath my sheet. “So it’s gonna be one of those calls?”
“I actually did want to simply see you while I could get a moment alone.”
“How much of me?” I wiggle my eyebrows at him.
He groans and rubs his face. “Fuck, I’m hard as rock in these jeans.”
“So take them off.”
His face strains. “I can’t. We’ve got to head to the studio in 20 minutes.”
“Then you best be quick about things. Here, let me help you out.” I flip the camera so it shows the length of my body. My hand pulls down my loose tank and cups my bare breast. “Now what do you want me to do?”
He takes charge and tells me what to do with my hand to my body. The camera stays focused on his face the entire time, but seeing how my pleasure affects him turns me the fuck on. I don’t need proof of his own climax to make it to my own. We both come fast and hot.
“Well, that’s a hell of a wake-up call.” I lick off my fingers just to make him groan.
“Holy Hell, that’s hot. When are you coming here?”
A shiver runs down my body. He keeps asking me the same question. A part of me wants to get in my car and drive as fast as possible. But sensibility wins over my libido.
“I told you, settle in and figure out what your new life is like first. In no way am I going to come there and fuck things up for you.”
His brow furrows. “You wouldn’t fuck things up. Stop saying dumb shit like that.”
I sigh. “You know what I mean. Give it time, and then we’ll see. Now put your jeans on and go sing your ass off.”
Someone bangs loud on his door, and Hunter’s eyes shift away from the screen. EJ’s voice yells in the background, “Stop having phone sex and get your ass in gear. Unless I can come in there and pay your sexy girlfriend to get me off as well.”
Hunter rolls his eyes. “Fucking EJ.”
My heartbeat dips a bit to let him go. “Yeah. Tell him that I charge $5 for the first minute, and $50 for each additional one.”
He chuckles. “Won’t do any good. Pretty sure he’d pony up the money. I really do have to go, baby.”
I grin. “I know.” Without making him wait, I add the most important thing. “Love you, Hunter.”
His eyes sparkle, and a huge smile spreads on his face. “I love you, too.”
* * *
Work’s shit. We’re getting close to wedding season, so the bachelorette parties keep piling up on us. Whoever the bitch was that had the first great party and told all these other women about it, may she get a rash or something very uncomfortable for about a week.
Shane makes me their personal bartender as punishment for ditching work so much to be with Hunter. Why do women in these groups always order colorful, sickeningly sweet girlie drinks? And why must they all wear stupid ass shit that gives the rest of womanhood a bad reputation. Nobody should walk around in tiaras with feather boas flying behind them. The clean-up of those cheap tacky feathers is enough to solidify my desire never to be one of those types of idiots. Ever.
The month I’d told Hunter to take to get settled in ends soon. But he hasn’t asked me about going there in over a week. In fact, his texts and phone calls happen with less frequency as each day passes. No more video chats at all. And forget about trying to get each other off. We’re struggling to even talk to each other.
The label keeps pushing them harder. The songs they’d written under great duress when they got there aren’t exactly getting accolades. When I do manage to grab him on the phone, he sounds so pissed off, we don’t talk for long. Apology texts follow soon after those short conversations.
I check my phone for any messages about our late night video chat. We’ve promised each other to schedule in firm not-allowed-to-cancel communications. If I’m going to make the time, I’ll have to leave Shane with the bulk of tonight’s clean up.
“Hey, put away your phone. They ordered a round of Evil Angels.” Shane yells above the loud music.
“Why don’t you do it? Things have slowed down enough, and I’m betting they’ll enjoy your manhandling of your candy.” My eyes drift down to his crotch.
Shane walks the length of the bar and snatches my phone from my hands. “A deal’s a deal. You s
aid that you would be the personal slave to three bachelorette parties to make things up to me. This is the first. And no way in hell am I bringing my ass anywhere near them. You know how handsy bachelorette parties get. A little liquor, and they think that all men are their personal strippers. Fucking Magic Mike!”
I knock his body back with my shoulder. “Fine. I’m on it. Now, give me back my phone, asshole.”
As I slip the phone in my secret cubbyhole behind the bar, it vibrates. Checking it, the text message pulls up.
“Sorry. Can’t make our video date. Late night in studio. Rain check. Don’t hate me.”
Guess I’m here for the long haul. Might as well get the girls as drunk as I wish I could get to avoid the crushing ache inside me. Mixing up their shots that turn out almost neon green, I double their order with complimentary Blow Jobs. What the hell, someone should have fun tonight.
31
Hunter
“What the hell kind of contract did we sign?” I bust into our house, making as much noise as possible. My head hurts. As tired as we all are, none of us get much sleep from the constant pressure and long hours.
Mac walks into the living room and picks up the stupid decorative piece I knocked over when I flopped onto the couch and threw my bag off my shoulder. The rest join me after they grab things out of the kitchen. EJ hands me a fresh bottle of water and crashes next to me.
“Man, I’m so fucking exhausted. And my callouses are growing callouses, they’re making me repeat my licks so damn much.”
Hart twirls his sticks. They’ve become permanently attached to his hands over the past couple of weeks. “What time are we going in tomorrow?”
Mac checks his phone. “They’ve got the studio booked at 9am.” He receives groans, whines, and an empty bottle thrown at his head. “Hey, I’m just telling you the time. Not the one who made the booking.”
I throw off my baseball cap and run my fingers through my sweat-soaked hair. “Shit, that means you and I have to get up by 7am to go through the song.”
Mac shakes his head. “Not this time. According to Aislynn, they don’t want to use the time to do another Ford & Summers song. She has something the studio wants us to try.”
All of us sit up with the fresh piece of news. We lean forward and stare at him. I’m the first to break the silence. “What do you mean, something the studio wants us to try? We’ve been busting our ass writing and recording our shit for them.”
Mac swipes his phone, refusing to look at us. “She said that, based on the image they want to launch us with, there are better songs for us to perform.”
“Like what?” asks Levi.
Mac sighs and holds up his phone for us to hear a demo. The drum line at the top sets a high pace, but the choppy chords and simple bass line sound unimaginative. Cookie cutter. When the lyrics drop, all of us cringe. We stay silent, listening to the song all the way through. At the end, we look around at each other, mouths open and eyebrows furrowed.
“Well, I could have farted that out in my sleep. What the hell kind of crap is that?” EJ voices what we’re all thinking in his signature way.
“Is that rock? Country? Pop?” Hart asks.
“Exactly,” I say. “It can hit in several of those genres. No wonder Lyric Ridge sees dollar signs with it. But it’s not for us. Tell me you can talk to her, Mac.”
“Yeah, tell us you can handle Ass-lynn for us,” EJ chimes in.
Mac slumps a bit in his chair. “It’s Aislynn. Sounds like Ash-lin. You’re gonna get us in trouble if you keep saying her name wrong, douchebag.”
I rub my temples to counter the throbbing behind my eyes. “Whatever. Is there any room for negotiations on this?”
Mac shakes his head. “Not that I can tell. She’s pushing this one on us. I think we should do the one to earn her favor, show her we can handle anything but that it’s not really us, and go back to our own stuff. If we fight, then we might lose the label’s backing. Right now, they’re footing a pretty big bill for us.” He gestures around him.
The sticks in Hart’s hands still. “What about telling her no? I mean from all of us. I won’t play it unless all of you agree.”
EJ sides with Hart. Mac and Levi vote to placate the heads at Lyric. My vote breaks the tie. All eyes rest on me as I debate both sides.
“Fuck. I can’t find a way to say no without potentially pissing off somebody at the label. But let’s make it clear that this is one and done. I don’t want to waste time recording meaningless party anthems.”
I stretch my neck back and forth. We’re all sore and tired from long days. It’ll only get harder from here on out. Playing concerts. Touring. Doing PR. We’ve signed on to this life, and there will be some growing pains to get through.
I sigh, feeling cornered and pissed off about it. “Okay, let’s all try and get some rest. See y’all in the morning.”
The room clears as the guys complain to each other. My body can’t seem to move off the couch. The Nashville night stretches out in front of me outside the large windows. We’ve achieved so much together. Surely, we can survive a tiny, annoying A&R rep and a bad song.
Mac taps me on the shoulder. He hands me a couple of ibuprofen to take. “You’re not gonna like the rest.”
I roll my eyes. “What fucking else? They want us to wear 10-gallons, plaid shirts, bandanas, and huge belt buckles? No offense to the grand ol’ traditions here, but the only cowboy hat I’m wearing is my own.”
He turns off the light closest to him. The remaining dim light shines from the hallway that heads to the bedrooms. “Doubt she wants to go that traditional. But she did mention something about a stylist and presentation. Wants to talk to you personally tomorrow.”
He holds out his hand to help me up. Once on my feet, all energy drains from me. I’ve got no fight left in me.
“That’s Future Hunter’s problem. Right now, this man’s gonna go crash in bed.”
Mac tells me he’ll see me in the morning. He stops at the door to his room. “Call Mel. She might make you feel better.”
Mel. Thinking about her is a double-edged sword. Her spoken name alone gives me a thrill one second, but the guilt follows heavy after. I’ve broken too many promises to her, saying that she’s my most important priority. My actions tell her something else. The next time we talk, she deserves Happy Hunter, not “Go-Fuck-Yourself” Hunter.
My phone pings as my head hits the pillow.
“I hate bachelorette parties, but they do come with benefits.”
A picture of her follows. She wears absolutely nothing but a bright pink feather boa that covers her nipples.
My finger hovers over the phone to respond. No time to flirt. No time for sexting. No time to really talk.
“LOL XO <3”
Tonight’s the first time in weeks that I admit to myself the one thing I have no right to say. My life sucks.
* * *
“Put it on.” Her tiny hands shake the shirt at me.
“No way. Give me a regular black T-shirt.”
She takes something else off the rack. “Fine. Then wear this one.”
Aislynn has no idea who she’s fucking with. “Look, if it doesn’t have sleeves, then it’s not a T-shirt. It’s a T-shirt when it has sleeves and looks like the letter ’T’. Otherwise, it’s a muscle shirt. I’m not wearing a muscle shirt.”
“Then we’re back to the first choice.” She holds up a button down shirt with no sleeves. A theme emerges from her style options. “Just try it on.”
Withholding a major grumble, I tear off the T-shirt I’m wearing. Aislynn’s eyes take in my naked torso with greedy sweeps. I button up the shirt, but she stops me almost half way up.
“Leave these open.” Her fingers brush against my chest as she undoes a button or two. “There. Now you’re ready for the Showcase. And remember—smile.” She fixes the shirt until it drapes as far open as possible. Turning around and pushing her body against mine, she whips out her phone and takes a couple of p
hotos. On the last one, she twists and kisses my cheek.
“What the hell was that?” My hand wipes off any lipstick left behind.
“Oh, relax.” Her fingers fly over her phone. “I tweeted out the pics with hashtags. #TailgateDown and #HuntersHot.” She shows me. In less than a second, my face graces her Twitter feed. She changes apps and shows the same pictures posted on Facebook.
Grabbing my bottle of water, I prepare to go join the rest of the band in the Green Room. “Isn’t taking pictures with me a conflict of interest?” She needs to keep her hands off me or warn me next time. Fuck me if those pictures go viral. Especially that kiss. Mel’s deal with me does make me smile for a second.
“Whatever. Lyric Ridge Records pays me to work with your image. And you are the sexy single lead singer for the hottest new band with a smoking hot body. The masses of girls out there will pay good money to see you.”
“I’m not single.”
She scoffs. “You are as far as anyone else knows.” Her eyes never leave her phone.
“What’re you doing now?”
Aislynn types more. “Sending out the message to my Pussy Posse.”
The swallow of water in my throat almost chokes me. “Your what?”
She smiles up at me, her perfect white teeth shining a bit too bright behind her dark, shiny lips. “Don’t worry. They’re my friends here who will help us make you a success. After tonight, I don’t think you’ll be able to walk down any street in Nashville without screaming girls running after you.”
We join the rest of the band. They’re all gussied up in new clothes, but theirs doesn’t look that different from what they normally wear. I’m the only sucker.
EJ whistles. “Well, check you out, almighty leader. Ain’t you pretty as a picture.”
“Speaking of.” Aislynn has us pose together to tweet out to the masses. More than once, I notice her hone in on me. But the time crunch doesn’t allow me to check.
