by Clara Bayard
On the table in front of me, my water glass was sweating, and I absently watched a drop slide slowly down the side. Unbidden, a memory overtook me. My eyes drifted closed and my fingers curled into fists.
*
Matthew sat with his back against the wall. His shirt was damp with sweat and clung to him, highlighting every inch of lean muscle. He noticed me staring and beckoned me closer. "What are you doing all the way over there?"
I grinned. "Enjoying the view."
He arched an eyebrow and smirked. "It's even better up close."
"I know." I got up from the chair, grabbed two beers and went to sit next to him. As I held out one of the dripping bottles to him, he grabbed my hand and pulled me in for a kiss. Heat emanated from his body and I sank into it as our mouths crashed together. His tongue quested between my lips, tasting of citrus and that uniquely him sweet spiciness.
He kissed me hard until I was breathless, and then pulled back to look at me. My chest was heaving, and his eyes were dark and hooded with desire. Matthew released me long enough to whip his shirt off, wad it up, and place it on the floor. He eased me down on my back, positioning my head on the tiny pillow he'd created.
With muscles I couldn't name flexing above me, he slid one of the cold bottles over the tiny gap between my t-shirt and jeans. I shivered happily, and watched intently.
Matthew leaned down and kissed the cool, damp line he'd created across my heated flesh. "Fuck, I love your stomach. I could spend my whole life looking at it, touching it."
My fingers itched to cover me, but I grasped his head instead, pulling him up to kiss me again. This time it was sweet and slow and tender, like we were sitting in a lovely field of flowers on a warm spring day, rather than the reality – that we were groping each other in a tiny office in a club while an after-party raged around us.
These few stolen moments were everything to me. When he'd snatched a bucket of beers and grabbed my hand without saying a word, I felt like the world made sense, like I'd found my place in it.
And now, with his body resting over mine, an impossible sense of safety and danger overwhelmed me. The paradox was terrifying and invigorating.
Matthew raised up on one elbow and stared down into my eyes. His sparkled playfully. "Thirsty?"
"A little."
His gaze swept down over the rise of my chest. "I'd think so. You were dancing hard out there."
I laughed. "Yeah, I guess I was. Shame you couldn't join me."
He waggled his eyebrows. "Would've been quite a scandal, true. But I enjoyed watching. Imagining those moves in private." He tipped the beer, getting a small sip in my mouth, and more dribbling over my cheek. Quickly, he leaned down to lick it away, and then buried his face in my neck. When he spoke again, his voice was rough and quiet. "I thought about you dancing just for me. Naked, slowly. And I knew I couldn't take that. As much as I love to watch you move, I wouldn't be able to control myself. I'd grab you and touch you, kiss you, take you."
I moaned softly. "Sounds like fun."
He kissed me where my pulse was thudding under my skin. "It sure does. It can be." He pressed his lower body tight against mine, pushing the evidence of his burning desire, searing me.
My hands slid up his back, enjoying the sensation of his soft, sweat-slicked skin under my fingers. "This isn't exactly a private place, you know."
He nipped at my shoulder, pushing my shirt out of the way. "So what?"
I giggled. "For a nice guy, you're very naughty."
"That's why you love me," he murmured, sliding his lips and tongue over my collar-bone and down between my breasts.
I didn't reply, but a place in the back of my mind was screaming, terrified that it was true. That I did love him. But before that terror could consume me, Matthew's hand, chilly from holding the beer bottle, slid up the front of my shirt and under my bra. His fingers closed around my nipple and it puckered immediately.
He shifted so his body rested between my legs and he grinded against me. "I need you, Ellie. Right here. Right now."
I couldn't speak, so I answered with my body. Kissing him hard, gripping his back, undulating against him desperately.
Matthew swore, bit down on my lip briefly and then began to tear at our clothes. Buttons and zippers felt like unfair barriers, and sliding denim over skin was a daunting quest. The few seconds it took him to find a condom felt like an eternity.
When bare skin met bare skin, everything else disappeared. I groaned as Matthew's fingers slid between my thighs, spreading my wetness, finding how ready I was for him. He pushed inside, so hard, so thick. As our hips met, his gaze locked on mine and I thought I might erupt already.
"You're perfect," he whispered as he began to move inside me.
"You're crazy," I replied, teeth clenched to keep from screaming with pleasure.
"You're everything." With those words and one hard thrust, he sent me flying, and then joined me. Fused in body and mind, we were everything. Together.
*
"Here we go," a voice said, jolting me back to the real world. The waiter put down my meal and I tore into it, devouring the sandwich with one hand and writing with the other, still struggling to shake the memory that left me aching in more than one way. When I was almost finished eating, I got a text from Val, with a smiley face and a link. I clicked it and was sent to a traffic report for the HSTV site. After scanning the page, I pumped my fist and did a little dance in my seat, not caring that the two men at the table next to me were staring at me like I was nuts.
The whole world could think I was crazy and it didn't matter in that moment. The report was incredible. Engagement numbers were through the roof, and sharing on social media was ridiculous. Smiling, I finished my food, paid, and went back to my room. In the elevator, I called someone I knew I could share this success with. Someone who'd understand.
My brother picked up in the middle of the first ring.
"Well la-di-dah, if it isn't the darling of new media," Steven said.
I laughed. "Asshole."
"Such language is not fitting a celebrity of your stature."
"Shut up. I'm calling to gloat, do you mind?"
"Sorry. Please, gloat away."
I rolled my eyes. "Can't now, you ruined it."
He chuckled. "Yeah, right. I was just about to call you."
"Great minds…"
"Indeed." He paused. "I'm on the site right now, you're killing it, El."
"I know!" I rattled off some of the numbers, feeling giddy.
"That's great, especially for the company, but I'm excited about you."
"Huh?" I unlocked my door and went inside, setting everything down on the desk.
"Haven't you seen what's going on?" Steven asked
"With what?"
"The HSTV site."
I sat down and crossed my legs. "That's what I've been telling you about."
"No," he said lightly. "Have you actually looked at it, at what people are saying about you?"
"Hold on a sec." I opened my computer, pulled up the public site and checked the latest entry. The video was short, just a leftover shot of the members of Dream Defiled rehearsing from last week. I'd had the editors cut in a short bit of my interview, where Dex talked about their songwriting process. Not much of a post, but there were hundreds of comments, most of them actually interesting, and not just about the band. Surprised, I checked a few other posts and it was the same story. People were talking about me.
There were the ubiquitous assholey comments, insulting everything from my weight to my voice to my posture, and even one about the color of my shirt. But there were others, too.
"What the hell, Steven."
He laughed. "Good false-modesty. Did you see the one with your groupies?"
"Shut up."
"They're organizing. I'll send you a link to the Tumblr."
"Stop teasing me. It's nice to have something to counter the opinion that I am the ‘fattest, ugliest, stupidest monster ever born,
' but don't be ridiculous."
"I'm not. There's a bunch of girls dyeing their hair to look like yours."
"Oh my god," I muttered, feeling a tightness in my chest. "I don't understand this."
"Come on, you must. Have you watched your videos lately?"
I frowned. "Not really."
Steven sighed. "You know how much I hate saying nice things to or about you, but, you're rocking it. Not just getting good footage out of the band, either. You're on fire. Honest and open. It's coming right through the screen. Everyone can see how much you care about what you're doing. You're not just spitting snark and grubbing for gossip. You're making every viewer feel like they're in your shoes, digging deep and getting closer with a bunch of superstars." He exhaled loudly. "Shit, you're making those egomaniacs in tight pants look like real people. Read the comments. They feel like it could be them out there on the road."
I was speechless for a moment. In all the madness of the past few weeks, I hadn't spared a second to think about how I was coming across. I'd been so frantic to just keep afloat, I hadn't looked at the bigger picture for myself.
Steven cleared his throat. "Did you hang up?"
"No."
"Good. Look, kid, you've done it. You made thousands – tens of thousands – of people walk in your shoes. See what you see, feel what you feel."
I hit play on the video in front of me, and watched for a few seconds, and suddenly I could see what he was talking about. It wasn't what I asked, or how they answered. It was… a relationship. Not just Joe charming the camera or me probing for information. It looked like we were friends chatting. Like he was just explaining something so I could know him better. My body language was casual and confident. His was open and welcoming. I'd been so blinded my own worries and insecurities that I hadn't noticed the change, the growth.
"When did this happen?" I asked, not really sure if I wanted Steven or the universe to answer.
"It's been gradual. It ain't science, sis. It's magic. And you've got it."
I looked at the frozen image on my screen and smiled. "No, it was Matthew."
Steven sighed. "Oh, El. I saw the video about it being a medical issue. How's he doing?"
"I have no idea. He hates me now."
"What happened?"
I swallowed past the lump forming in my throat. "I can't talk about it. Not yet. But he's done with me."
"I'm sorry," my brother said. "I could see how much you two cared about each other."
"Yeah. But you know as well as I do, that some breaks can't be healed."
"True, but he's a good guy, right?"
"Yeah." A tear slid down my cheek. "Maybe the best I've ever met."
"If he's as good as you think, whatever happened between you, he'll give you another chance. If he could hear how you sound right now, he'd get over it. Get over anything."
"Maybe so." I wiped my face. "Maybe someday. But I don't have time to worry about that right now. It's all happening, everything we dreamed of, and I've got to focus on that."
"I can't believe I'm going to say this, but don't let yourself hide behind work. It's important, but not the only thing that matters."
I shook my head, even though he couldn't see me. "I know, but I've got to deal with what I can control right now, okay?"
"Okay," he agreed. "And hey, I know you've got a lot to do, but I just want to say two things. First, you call me if you need anything."
"I will. Probably sooner than you think."
He laughed. "That sounds like classic Ellie scheming to me, I can't wait."
"You know it. What's the second thing?"
"I'm proud of you."
Those words hurt and soothed in a way I thought impossible, and I resolved to carry them with me through whatever would come next. Steven was my family, and we'd been torn apart, but hadn't broken. That meant everything.
*
The next morning I was exhausted, inhaling coffee like it was water, as I stood in the middle of the room I'd set up. Cameras and lights were set, the white backdrop and chair perfectly placed. After a long night of actual work, it was time to make my plan a reality, and it was all on me.
What I wanted to do here was well past the surface gossip and silly stuff I'd gotten used to producing. Diving into the history and heart of this band was deep and important to get right. As much as I wanted to do it, I was still terrified to step out of my comfort zone. If I couldn't make what was in my head translate on screen, I will have wasted a lot of time, and not just my own. But it was worth the risk to do something more. To be something more.
After taking a few deep breaths, I looked down at my list of questions and went to stand behind the camera.
From the chair, Joe smiled. "We ready to get started?"
"Yes. Do you need anything before we begin?"
"Nope."
"Okay," I said, pressing to start the recording. "Joe Hawk, session one," I muttered so the mic could catch it. I sat down on the stool behind the tripod. "Joe, tell me about one of your earliest memories with the band."
He flashed a crooked grin and thought for a moment. Then he began to speak.
Three
Joe was hungry, hungover, and needed a shower. He stumbled out of the back of the van, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight that mocked him. "Where are we?"
Ryan stood with his arms crossed, frowning. "Does it matter?"
Joe rolled his eyes at the band's new manager, and shrugged. "Guess not. How much time do we have?"
"Half an hour. Get inside, clean yourself up, I'll check on the food situation."
"All right." He was about to thank Ryan, but the older man was already gone around the corner of the vehicle. Joe turned around and poked the sleeping lump still inside. "Get up, shithead."
The lump groaned and a hand appeared. "Beer. Now."
"There's beer in the club." And hopefully a shower, he added to himself.
The lump rose and Dex's face appeared, bleary-eyed. "D'you reckon?"
"Of course. That's why we're paying this guy a percentage, right? Get us gigs and keep the booze flowing."
"Indeed." He climbed down and shoved a pair of sunglasses on. "Fuck the daytime."
Joe laughed. "Come on, let's get inside before Rick drinks all the beer."
They walked into the club, let in by a girl wearing a lot of eyeliner and a very small dress.
As they passed, Dex smiled at her. "All right, darling?"
She rolled her eyes. "Don't even bother trying, asshole."
Joe dragged his friend inside and they made their way through the club. "Nice girl."
Dex nodded. "I thought being a musician was supposed to make girls fall all over us. Isn't that why we're doing this job?"
"No, we're doing it because we suck at everything else. But I told you, you gotta forget the girls who work in the clubs, man. They've seen it all."
Dex slung his arm over Joe's shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. Is an army of adoring groupies too much to ask?"
"Apparently." Joe smiled. "Besides, what does it matter? We'll be in some other city a hundred miles down the coast tomorrow."
"Even better. I'm looking for fun, not a wife, mate." Dex faked a shudder.
"One day a girl is going to knock you on your ass, turn you into her bitch, and I'm gonna love it."
"Don't hold your breath on that one," Dex said. "You're the sap, not me. There's no girl on this planet that amazing."
A guy in a t-shirt bearing the club's name pointed them to their dressing room. Inside, Rick and Matthew were tossing items from a duffel bag onto an empty table.
Rick looked up and flipped them off. "Where you been, assholes?"
"Trying to get every last minute of sleep possible," Joe said. "This schedule is brutal."
Rick grunted. "You're the one who wanted to get serious about this shit. Hope you had sweet dreams."
Joe opened the bathroom door and sighed with happiness. There was a shower, and it looked safe to be barefoot in. A small
miracle.
From behind him, Dex said, "Was dreaming about your mum, Ricky. She's a real hellcat in bed. Truly depraved."
Joe turned in time to see the empty duffel bag smack Dex in the head.
Everyone laughed.
He shook his head and stepped into the bathroom. There were even clean towels. He pulled the door almost closed and turned on the water before stripping off and stepping into the tiny stall. He'd only been in for a few second when someone entered the room.
"Sorry," Matthew called out. "Club guy said the other bathroom's busted and I really need to piss."
Joe groaned. "It's fine. Don't worry, I won't peek."
Matthew laughed. "Are you kidding? Who'd even notice? This last month I've seen your dick almost as often as my own."
"You flirting with me, Daniels?"
"We haven't been on the road that long. Yet."
Joe heard the toilet flush and the water ran ice cold. "Shit." He just stood there waiting for it to warm up again, a half smile on his face. It was nice to see Matthew clearly happy. He was so quiet and thoughtful, sometimes Joe wondered if he even liked being in the band. But between Dex's constant drunken yammering and Rick's blunt dickishness, it was refreshing to have someone around who didn't feel the need to express their every thought and emotion to the entire world.
Joe rinsed off in the now lukewarm water, wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out of the shower. He headed back into the dressing room, where Ryan was bringing in a big cardboard box.
He set the box down, and the scent of fried heaven filled the room, managing to overcome the now familiar stench of stale booze and sweat from decades of bands.
"Joseph, put some pants on and grab a burger. I need to talk to you alone."
The other guys were already digging into the food like a pack of wild animals.
"Uh-oh, you're in trouble, golden boy," Rick said, shoveling fries into his mouth.
"Shut up, you big idiot." Joe dragged his jeans from the pile of clean-ish clothes, and pulled them on. He used the towel to swipe at his head and grabbed a bag of food. "Ready when you are, Ryan."
