by T Gephart
“Eric.” My hand tightened around his, my stomach doing some weird acrobatics I was sure was going to make me puke. “I can’t do this.”
“You can, I know you can.” He squeezed my hand back with so much blind faith I wanted to cry. “You’ve got this.”
I stood there with the spotlight in my eyes, people looking at me expecting to be entertained and I had literally no idea what I was supposed to do. Which is when the speakers popped either side of me, and the strains of a big band number started pouring out.
Dear Lord.
It was Frank Sinatra.
No guesses as to which song.
Yep, “New York, New York.”
Eric took the mic off the stand, his sexy voice wrapping around the opening iconic lines like he’d been born to sing. My mouth dropped open as he moved around the stage like he owned it.
The crowd loved it, clapping enthusiastically as he crooned about the city that was just beyond the bridge. And all of that would have been fine. He could have serenaded both me and the crowd and I would have applauded the loudest. But it didn’t end there. The situation took a turn for worse as he stuck the microphone in front of me, expecting me to contribute.
Oh.
Hell.
No.
Seriously, what the actual fuck?
If it had been a dream, I would have opened my mouth and the voice of an angel would have come out. Perfect pitch with perfect timing, owning the lyrics Old Blue Eyes made famous. But ladies and gentlemen, it was not a dream.
So, instead of wowing everyone with my vocal prowess, I hit every key except the one I was supposed to be in, sounding more like a wounded animal than a human trying to sing.
And instead of laughing at me—like any reasonable person would have—Eric twirled me around and ballroom danced with me as we both sang into the microphone together. Fred and Ginger style, except in color, and only one of us had talent.
It was terrible. There was no way anyone with two eyes and ears could have thought any different. But as the song finished, he twirled me again, kissing me on the lips for everyone to see, and the applause erupted around us.
“That was so bad,” I laughed, wiping the tears from my eyes.
“So bad.” He nodded throwing his head in a laugh. “Your sister told me you could sing.”
I hid my head against his chest, unable to stop from giggling. “I’m going to kill her.”
With his arms still around me, we walked down the wooden steps to where my soon-to-be-deceased sister was sitting, tears streaming down her face. “That was the best thing I’ve ever seen.” She clutched her chest as she struggled to breathe. “Will, did you record it?”
“Sure did.” My brother-in-law—who also needed to pick out a headstone—smirked. “Got it all on my phone.”
“I hate you both.” I took a seat, giving them both my death stare as the next act climbed onto the stage.
“New York, you should never sing again.” Ryan laughed, his arm casually draped around the back of Lila’s chair.
“It wasn’t that bad.” Lila tried to stifle her grin. “I’ve seen way worse.”
“Where?” Ryan laughed. “Babe, if you think that was good, you have got to get out more.”
“She did awesome.” Eric kissed my cheek. “But next time we’ll pick a scene from something. That had been my initial plan.”
“I told him a musical number was more appropriate.” Judith grinned.
“And that’s why I love you.” Will pulled her in for a kiss.
“You’re both on my shit list.” I pointed at them accusingly. “Eric, I know you’ve met my sister Judith before, but this is her husband, Will. He plays with boobs for a living.” I smiled sweetly as I gestured to my brother-in-law.
“Whoa, I want that job.” Ryan’s hand shot out in Will’s direction. “I’m Ryan, Eric’s right hand man though by the sounds of things I’d rather be yours.”
“Will, and I’m a cosmetic surgeon. It’s not all boobs.” He shook Ryan’s hand before turning to Eric. “Unfortunately I can’t do anything about Tia being tone deaf. I’m a brilliant surgeon, but I don’t perform miracles.”
“That’s fine.” Eric exchanged a handshake. “Tone deaf works for me.”
“You are a sick individual.” I playfully elbowed him. “But that was the one and only time I’m ever singing in public, so I hope you enjoyed it.”
“I’ll make you a copy in case you want to relive it.” Will leaned in and whispered, “Or blackmail, I know that’s what I’m using mine for.”
“No one is getting a copy.” I help up my hands, glaring at Will. “I will cut you.”
“You should have picked West Side Story, man.” Ryan tipped his head toward me. “Your girl is itching for a knife fight.”
Everyone laughed except me.
Not because I was mad, couldn’t care less they were poking fun at me. No, my silence was because it was the first time I’d been referred to as Eric’s girl. Hell, I had only ever whispered girlfriend to myself, never saying it out loud.
Eric turned his head, noticing I was quiet and smiled and I lost my breath. It felt like we were the only two people in the room.
Judith, Will, Lila, Ryan, everyone sitting around tables—they all disappeared. Not even the woman on stage doing a depressing spoken word existed. Just me, and him, and this feeling that my heart would break if I ever had to say goodbye.
“Did I get some of that magic back for you?” His hand interwove into mine as he pressed a kiss to my forehead.
“No,” I shook my head. “You gave me an entirely different brand of magic.”
“COME WITH ME.” ERIC’S HANDS cupped my breasts, his hard-on pressed against my back. “Back to L.A.”
“I can’t think when you touch me.” My body arched into his, loving the sweep of his hand against my skin.
“Why do you think I’m asking you now?” He nipped my shoulder with his teeth. “I’m not stupid.”
“I can’t just up and leave.” I tried to argue as his hand slid lower, gliding down my body. “I have—” I couldn’t finish the sentence, my words getting lost as his fingers circled my clit.
“You were saying?” he breathed in my ear, one of his fingers pushing into me.
“Yes.” My eyes closed as he inserted another. “Oh, that feels so good.”
“So you’ll come to L.A?” His thumb got in on the action, my hips rocking against his hand.
“I don’t know,” I moaned, needing more friction. “Yes.” No idea what I was agreeing to.
“I knew you’d see it my way.” His hand continued to pump. “I’m very persuasive.”
“You can’t . . . make me . . . come . . . while . . . discussing.” Nope, I tried but the words were too much, not when he was doing wonderful things with his hands.
“I want to make you come as often and as much as I can.” His tongue traveled up the side of my neck. “Right now is a good start.”
It was futile trying to resist; my traitorous body didn’t care that I was trying to form a proper thought. Instead, it “please sir, can I have some more’d” itself at his every command. We needed to make sure important discussions happened while dressed in the future.
“I don’t want to come on your hand,” I was able to manage, every single part of me on fire. “I want you in me.”
“Maybe later, I like what I’m doing.” He ignored me completely, his fingers buried inside of me as my legs started to shake.
I wasn’t sure why I was fighting, but I wanted what I wanted and that was his cock.
With the iron will of a warrior princess, I pulled my body away, rolling on top of him before he’d had a chance to react.
“New York, is this a power play?” He laughed as he grabbed my hands and pulled me down on him. “Because I like you aggressive. Massive turn on.”
“I need a condom.” I tried to free my hands from the vice-like grip he had on them. “I’m going to fuck you.” I sucked against his
neck, rubbing my tits against him.
“Massive turn on,” he whispered as he let my hands go, his eyes following me as I grabbed a condom from the nightstand.
“See how much better this is?” My hips twisted against the ridge of his cock as I tore open the packet. “This is how I want to come.”
My fingers stretched the latex to cover the head of his cock, my hands traveling slowly down his large hard length and then back up. His eyes widened as I continued to stroke, slow and deliberate, watching him lengthen further in my hands.
I had intended to tease him a little, jerk him off and make him beg, but I wanted him too much, guiding him to my entrance as I straddled him.
“Tia,” he moaned as my hips rose and slammed down hard against him, his cock filling me. “Yes, this is better.” His stare locked onto mine.
I didn’t speak, my hands pressing against his chest as I twisted my hips, loving the slide of him going in and out of my pussy. The control, the feeling of being so full of him turning me on so much I wasn’t sure I could hold out.
“God, you feel good.” His hands wrapped around my hips. “So. Fucking. Good.”
My nipples hardened, the cool air hitting them as I rocked above him. I wanted it to be slow, to grind against him and make him beg. But my body had other ideas, the slow steady movement of my hips getting quicker.
“Yes.” He met each one of my thrusts with one of his own as I rode him, my tempo trying hard to keep up with his.
“I’m going to come, Tia,” he gritted out, his fingertips gripping my hips tight.
“I’m right there with you.”
My body collapsed onto his chest as the wave of euphoria rippled through me, his cock pulsed against me as his hips continued to pump. I loved being on top, covering him in a blanket of my naked body while we came together.
“This is why you have to come with me to L.A.” He brushed the hair away from my face. “So I can make you come.”
“I would argue it was me who made you come.”
“We’ll split the difference.” His chest shook, my lips pressed against it. “But you still need to come back with me.”
“You’re on the fucking internet.” I’d barely gotten inside Lila’s apartment when she almost threw her iPad at me. “Photos of you around town and a few from the other night at the Brooklyn Barn. I did a search for videos and couldn’t find any, but you know I’m not as good a stalker as you are.”
It was true, since Eric and I had been seeing each other, my time performing online searches had been minimal. Time was a factor. Hot boyfriend, hot sex, working on my column and my double life pretending to be unemployed—I barely managed to eat.
“Damn it.” I scrolled through the candid pics, in all of which Eric had somehow managed to look gorgeous and me—not so much. “I didn’t even see cameras.”
They were vultures, their lenses capturing private moments between us and then plastering them all over the internet for everyone to see. How was it even legal? And damn it, why did they have to get me from my bad side?
“Am I the only one who finds it ironic?” Lila tapped her foot, grinning at me above the screen. “That now you are in the pictures you once would have been Googling?”
“Save your irony.” I waved my hand in the air. Pfft, I wasn’t in the mood for logic. “You think my folks have seen these?” A photo of Eric kissing me on the lawn in Central Park filled the screen. Damn, it looked kind of hot. “Shit, what about my editor? Is my name in any of them?”
“I very much doubt your folks frequent these kinds of sites, T.” She shook her head, thankfully being the voice of reason. Lord knows I was beyond it at this point. “As for your editor, who knows? I’d doubt he’d care. And as for your name, not that I can see.”
I furiously clicked on each thumbnail trying to gain as many details as possible. No names. Mystery girl, female friend or companion was my current online moniker. Thank the Lord for small mercies.
“So what’s the plan?” Lila pushed me toward her kitchen table, the iPad still glued to my face as I scanned more pictures. “You seriously going to go to L.A?”
It had been an agreement made under duress—I couldn’t be held responsible for stuff I agreed to in post-Eric bliss—but one I hadn’t been all that sad about. It might be cool to get away for a couple of weeks. Take a peek inside his world. That he’d even asked, floored me.
It wasn’t an invitation to move in and I completely understood the difference, but deep down I wanted to go. I wanted to be with him.
“Well, I was . . . I’m just . . . I really like him, Lila.” I sunk into a chair. I hadn’t said the other L word but that was only because it was insanity to even think it this soon. Insanity. But even though the word hadn’t been said, it didn’t mean I hadn’t felt it.
I shook my head, trying to convince myself otherwise. “I know it’s crazy.”
“You do redefine the term.” Lila laughed.
“But I can’t help feeling the way I do.” I gently banged my head against her kitchen table, hoping to knock some sense into myself. “Worst part is.” I curtailed the head banging for a few minutes to look up at her. “I know how insane this is, and I’m still freaking doing it. I’m out of control.”
Like the Zika virus, or worse still, Ebola—my own pandemic ready to rival the Black Death.
“Babe, you’ve always been out of control.” Lila squeezed my hand, her attempt to reassure me falling a little short. “Anyone else I would have totally called the cops and had on a seventy-two hour psych hold. But you, it’s kind of your thing.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Maybe I needed that seventy-two hour psych hold. Twenty-four at the very least. “Lila, am I setting myself up for the most epic crash of all mankind? He’s a fucking movie star, I mean what the hell am I doing?”
It had been a pendulum since I’d gotten on this ride. Alternating between feeling like I was owning it like a boss and screaming wildly out of control. Both had their moments. Currently I was experiencing mad panic, and that had nothing to do with those photos on the internet. My issue was in my chest cavity and whether or not his blood pumper felt the same way I did.
“You’re doing what you’ve always done.” Lila eased back into her seat, displaying all the calm I didn’t have. “Living your crazy life the only way you know how.”
She was right. What else was I going to do? Trade in my oil burning Buick LaCrosse and buy a reliable car. Get a regular job in an office, sectioned off like cattle in cubicles. We all know I’d snap and be a headline. Writer at The Times goes postal, full story at seven.
“Just tell your folks, they will understand.” Her stern look reminding me I still had to do that. “And then go to LaLa land and see if you can’t find that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.”
“I can always come back, right?” I rationalized. I wasn’t selling all my worldly possessions and joining a cult. Any time I changed my mind, I could be on a plane and back in Brooklyn. “And I can write from anywhere.”
“Right.” Lila nodded even though we both knew I had already made my decision.
“And I think once we’re there.” My mind started projecting. “And things are going well.” That would be my hope at least. “And I tell him about my tiny omission at the start, he will be so in love with me he won’t care. Right?”
It wouldn’t matter. He would love me for who I was, not what I had pretended to be.
“Well, not the way I would have done it, but I guess you could do that.” Her grimace told me she wasn’t convinced.
“He’s not going to throw me out, not for something like that.” That would be ridiculous. I wasn’t an alien life form masquerading as a human or a Russian spy stealing national secrets. “I’m sure we’ll laugh about it, he’ll call me a moron and we’ll move on.”
“T, you know him better than I do.”
She was right, I knew him.
I knew him to be kind and compassionate and so thought
ful. All those little things he had done for me. Trying to help me find my lost acting mojo, willing to introduce me to his agent friend to help me get better representation, volunteering to run lines or help me with auditions. He was amazing, and in the whole time I’d been with him I’d never seen him lose his temper. Actually I’d never even read about him losing his temper. No beating up reporters, no tantrums on set. Nada. So he either had the best PR team known to man or he had the temperament of a saint. All of which would come in handy if he was dating me.
I would get to L.A., settle in and tell him the whole truth.
And we’d laugh.
Because I’m an idiot.
“Just remember you’re a New Yorker.” Lila gave me a pointed look. “Don’t turn into a weed-smoking vegan who gets freaked out by the snow.”
“It will never happen.”
“Good, because I don’t want to have to drag your ass back.”
Lila pulled out a prized pack of Milano’s and I stayed to hang out. It felt like it had been ages since we just talked about regular stuff. While sharing the delicious chocolate-filled vanilla cookies, she told me about work and the guy who’d been attempting to ask her out for the past week. He was a sports journalist, so we both knew that wouldn’t have worked out.
Neither of us said it but we knew it would be at least a few weeks before we did this again. Sure, we could talk on the phone, Skype and all of that. But sitting in each other’s kitchens, eating cookies straight from the pack and gossiping about life was going to be put on hold for a while.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Lila took a bite of her cookie, her eyes closing as she enjoyed its decadent yumminess. “That we won’t be able to do this next week.”
“I hate it when you read my mind.” Just another reason why Lila adult’d better than I did. The mindreading abilities not possessed by yours truly.
“I’m not a mind reader.” She smiled. “But I have known you long enough to figure it out.”
“You’ll visit. I’ll visit.” I said it to her as much as I did to myself. Anything else was inconceivable to me. This wouldn’t be the last time.
