by Cara Nelson
“I don’t worry about us losing touch. I don’t think it’ll happen,” Jessie said confidently.
“Okay, you two, this is about fun, not worrying about all that,” Trinity said. “Let’s get back and get ready for the show. Plus, I’m starving and need to eat.”
My friends and I went back to the hotel and up to our rooms. We all stood there, staring at ourselves in the long mirror that hung across the double vanity. Our hair was windblown, our cheeks had a slight rosy glow to them from the Mediterranean sun, and Jessie and I had gotten a our tropical tans on. Trinity’s complexion turned a bit more golden from the sun, accenting her Asian complexion beautifully.
“I’m thinking selfie,” I said.
I went and pulled out my camera and took a picture of all of us, our heads huddled together and big smiles on our faces. As the camera light blinked, I felt a flush of happiness that almost made me cry.
Chapter Thirteen:
The Professional
Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t stop thinking about Jessie and Trinity after they were gone. Seeing them was a hard-hitting reminder of how much I’d missed them, and I’d done a decent job of keeping that in check until the party. I was grateful for it, but it forced a small bout of homesickness on me. That had made for a melancholy evening after I’d seen them off to the airport. I had to push my feelings aside the next day and get into gear, because today was a huge day for me.
In a half hour, I would be conducting my official, on the record, interview with Gauge. I was excited and a bit nervous, too. I’d never been in a situation where the lines between my personal life and a professional project were obviously blurry. There was only one thing to do; master the situation.
Dressed nicely but not too nicely, I strolled down the hall, giving myself a mental prep talk about what I expected to happen during that interview. I even went so far as to do some visualization, an old trick for these types of situations.
“Let’s do this,” I whispered, folding my hand and wrapping my knuckles on the white lacquered hotel room door. I knocked, and the door opened a second later. Wow, that was fast!
“Hey, you ready,” I said, smiling brightly at Gauge. His hand was on the door knob to his hotel room, and he was holding his t-shirt in his other hand. Was that an intentional distraction? What a crafty bastard.
“I am,” he said. “Come on in.”
I walked in and past him, catching a slight whiff of his scent. I took in an invigorating draft that combined aftershave and sweat. He was absolutely intoxicating. Focus, I thought. I couldn’t afford to have this interview go any other way than how I chose it to.
“Feeling spritely today, I see, Brynn.”
“Well rested and ready to do this interview,” I replied, sitting down on the place I wanted to be on the couch of his suite and looking at him expectantly.
“Got it,” Gauge said, not able to hide his cheeky grin. Was he laughing at me?
“Do you need a second to get ready, or anything?” I asked.
“No, I’m ready,” he said. He sat down with his shirt off. I put my eyes down, trying to hide the fact that I was rolling them into the back of my head to get the image of his body out of my mind. Then it happened…a spark, a revelation of what I could do to be in control of this situation and essentially give myself permission to stare at his Adonis-like body. If he was going to do this to me, even unintentionally, I was going to come out of it on top.
“Great, let’s start with your tattoos, since they’re easy to get to right now,” I said. I pulled out my recorder and pressed play.
“What about them?”
“I want to know the stories behind them, what inspired them. We’ll go from there.”
“Okay,” Gauge said. “Ask away.”
I looked at him and reached over and touched his bicep with my pointer finger, lightly touching the swirling tattoo. It wasn’t elaborate but it was powerful. “Let’s start with the one everybody can see.”
“Hm, interesting,” Gauge said.
“This was the first tattoo I ever got. I was only sixteen but lied and said I was eighteen. Wow, was my mom pissed off.”
“Did you know she’d be?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t care.”
“What does it represent?”
“Well, it reminds me that you have to be a warrior for your dreams; if you don’t keep them going, no one else will. I have to fight my battles, accept my defeats alone, and my victories with grace.”
“Is it a pattern that was at a shop or one you picked out?” I asked.
“Simon actually sketched it out for me, believe it or not. He sketched it, I took it to the artist, and that’s it.”
“That’s pretty cool.”
Gauge shrugged, not seeming to particularly agree or disagree with my sentiment.
“How long before you got the next one?”
“Not until I was eighteen. I may have been rebellious, but my mom’s wrath was worse.”
“Why? What did she do?” I could feel my eyes getting wide, wondering what could be so severe.
“She made me do my own laundry until the very day I moved out of the house.”
I started laughing. I thought it was awesome, but I could completely get how it would not be if I was Gauge.
“How long after you moved out before getting the next one?”
“A week. I’d had it planned out for a long time.”
“So, was that original artwork, too?”
“Yes, they all are. Why be a copy?” Gauge looked at me intensely, his eyes simmering.
“Which one is the next tattoo?” I asked.
He pointed to the side of his abs. I leaned in. A large mermaid had an anchor in her mouth. Some of her features were exaggerated, giving her large eyes, a fierce jawline, and flared nostrils—no sweet and tender maid of the sea there. Blood was trickling down the corners of her mouth, landing in a splash of blood at the base of her tail. The design was a bit rough, but that added to the serious nature of it.
“Tell me about that one.”
Gauge didn’t talk at first, leaning back and folding his arms. I knew I had to tread cautiously, both as a professional and someone with a personal interest, too. I didn’t say a word, waiting for him to talk. It was an old sales trick that my dad had taught me when he helped me buy my first car. He said, “Brynn, the first one to talk loses the advantage, doesn’t get the best deal.”
He glanced at me. I looked at him calmly, showing my patience as he thought it through. Slowly, and in a softer voice than he typically used, he began. “When I was sixteen, just before my junior year of high school, my Grandpa James, a guy I greatly admired, was out on a deep sea fishing trip. It had been a lifelong dream of his, something he’d talked about doing ever since I could remember. Well, on that trip, there was an accident and the boat sunk. There was no chance of a rescue. It was a fluke accident, never fully explained. The anchor was in really bad shape, though, when they finally salvaged the boat and bodies the following week. There wasn’t a way to tell if the anchor was damaged before or after the accident.”
“I’m sorry,” I said softly.
“It was hard.”
“Why get a tattoo to remind you of the tragedy?”
“I’m not afraid to remember the hard times, the challenges. They’re a part of life,” Gauge said.
“So they are,” I replied. Now it was Gauge who was looking at me, and I was struggling to find my words. It was time to move on. “How many tattoos total?”
“Eight.”
“And each has a meaning, a story behind them?”
“They do,” Gauge said.
He went through and shared more stories about him than what I’d learned since meeting him. His body represented a to-date biography. I was completely wrapped up in it. It was worthy of a Shakespearean masterpiece; there was tragedy, horror, love, happiness, heartbreak, and even greed. The greed was hard for me to imagine. Gauge told me about how he’d gotten so wr
apped up in his career and his rock star status in those first few years that he’d really been a dick to some great people. When he became more aware, he wanted to get a visual reminder so he had no excuses to revert back to that version of him, one he despised. The tattoo that represented that was a bright green circle with a black Celtic symbol inside that meant greed. It was beautiful, and although greed is by and large considered a negative word, for good reason, I got such a positive, tranquil feeling from it. However, I couldn’t help but notice that it was located in the center of his back, hardly a spot where he could just look at it for a reminder. I snickered.
“What?” Gauge asked.
“You must look at your ass in the mirror a lot,” I said bluntly. His eyes widened. “You see, you can’t see that if you’re just looking down. It takes some work to be reminded of your greed, wouldn’t you say?”
“Case in point. I was running out of real estate where I’d like a tattoo, though.”
“So, are all of them visible?” I asked.
“You’re full of shocking questions when you’re in journalist-mode. Damn.”
“It’s a fair question; goes with the territory,” I justified.
“They’re all visible, aside from one.”
“Where’s that?”
“I’m not saying.” Gauge actually blushed and grew flustered with the question. I liked poking him, being sneaky and playful. It was too much fun.
“Come on. You promised to share all your tattoo stories.”
“No, I didn’t, and I’m not going to. Trust me on this one.”
I dropped it. He was defiant; no big surprise there.
The rest of our interview was nice but not as riveting. We discussed show business, his work ethic, and other things that I’d already gained an opinion on, one that wasn’t too far off from what Gauge expressed. It was nice, but I was revved up. My mind wouldn’t let go of the thoughts of what that last, secretive tattoo was or where it was located.
“Well, I should go back up. The bus leaves for Barcelona in an hour. I’m not prepared at all.”
“Okay, see you on the bus,” Gauge said. He walked me over to the door, opening it, and I walked out. I turned my head to see if he was watching, and he was. I hope my ass looked good.
Gauge slid into the seat next to me on the bus. “Hey,” I mumbled.
“All ready?” he asked.
“Obviously,” I said, breaking into a big smile.
“Any more interview questions for me?”
“Only one, but you won’t answer it.”
The bus pulled away, making our bodies jerk backward in the seat slightly.
From behind us, Hunter called out, “Damn it. I have coffee all over my fucking shirt now. Be careful.”
“Mi dispiace signore,” the driver called out from way up front. I’m sorry, sir.
I thought Hunter was a real jerk for being like that. It was obviously an accident. I looked at Gauge, and he whispered, “Meet me in the bathroom in a minute.” He got up and walked back to the bathroom. My jaw dropped, and a feral, sexy rush moved through me.
I walked back, going past Simon, who was attentively reading a book, and then Hunter, who was changing his coffee-stained shirt and swearing up a storm. So rude.
I cracked the unlocked door just enough to slide in. I turned around and locked it behind me.
Ready to say something smarmy to alleviate some of my anxiety, I looked up at Gauge. He leaned in with authority and planted a firm, desperate kiss on my lips. I pulled him close, forcing my tongue between his lips greedily.
I was leaning against the sink. The cubicle was just barely large enough for two people. Every nerve ending was buzzing. I was overwhelmed, and couldn’t get enough of him.
Gauge wrapped his arms around me to get me on the edge of the small counter. My feet pressed against the wall on the other side. He leaned in, starting to kiss my neck more aggressively, and his lips traveling down my neck and eventually to my cleavage.
Wanting to taste him, my lips went to his ear. I nibbled on it gently. He let out a soft groan, completely contrary to his animalistic actions. “Let me see that tattoo,” I whispered in his ear.
I didn’t have to ask twice that time. Gauge’s hands went down. He slid off his pants and boxers, leaving them in a bundle on the floor around his legs. His feet were still in the pant legs. I looked down, not able to resist staring at the source of a few fantasies over the past two months. I was not disappointed. Actually, my fantasies didn’t do it justice. As I saw how hard he was, I had to touch it, to feel him. I began to stroke him. He started to moan again.
His hands went up to my waist. My shorts peeled off and hit the counter, then the floor before I’d realized what had happened. All that was left between me and bliss were my lace panties, which Gauge moved to the side. He slid his fingers into me and began to move them around, hitting every sweet spot he could and finding a few I’d forgotten I had. His lips pressed against mine again. The tension was growing and growing, making me feel like I could orgasm just from his touch. Man, I loved how guitar players could use their fingers. He could play me anytime, and clearly, anywhere. I was going to let go any minute now, maybe even let out a banshee howl.
Then, it happened. Gauge lifted me up again and lowered me down on to him, pressing his back against the bathroom door. I moved back and forth, finding the rhythm despite the bumpiness that came with being on a bus. For every movement my hips made upward, I felt Gauge sliding into me more deeply. It was all-consuming. I found myself having an orgasm that almost felt convulsive, my head arching back and all my muscles tensing. As it burst through, my body burned hot and cold. I stifled my yowl by biting his shoulder. My fingernails dug into his back and I felt him shudder with release.
I threw my head back, exultant, and barked it on the cabinet behind me. I yelped, then clapped a hand over my mouth. Gauge started laughing. I looked at him, horrified only for a brief second. Then I started laughing, too.
“This is my favorite bus ride ever.”
“Agreed. Wow,” Gauge said. He set me down. We were both standing there, partially naked and so close that our bodies were still touching. “I can’t believe how long I waited for that,” he added.
“I feel your frustration,” I said. I glanced down and finally saw the last tattoo. I instantly went into preventive mode, not wanting to start laughing about it. Unfortunately, I released a tiny tremble. The more I tried to not laugh, the closer I came to laughing.
“Now you can see why I didn’t want to tell you or to have the world to know,” Gauge said. “It’s embarrassing.”
“It’s sweet,” I said. I looked at the tattoo. It wasn’t big, but it was unexpected. It was a small devil holding a pitchfork that was pointed right at his cock. It wore a suitable, familiar grin—looked just the way I imagined the devil on my shoulder would. Just maybe…
“What’s the story?”
“Off the record?”
“Definitely. I don’t know how I’d write how I discovered it without, um, revealing me, too.”
“Good point.”
“That is due to a bet I lost where someone else got to pick the tattoo out.”
“So, it’s not an original design.”
“No, they drew it.”
“What’s it a reminder of? Don’t bet.”
Gauge shook his head no. “It’s a reminder that you should never put yourself in a situation you don’t want to be in.”
The tattoo was silly, but I loved what it represented. He wanted to be in the situation we were in.
Someone pounded on the door loudly, using two fists. The entire bathroom felt like it was going to fall apart and open up. Thank goodness I was dressed again. “I got to whiz. Hurry up, already.” It was Hunter, and now I was officially embarrassed. Satisfied, but embarrassed.
“Ready?” Gauge whispered. I saw he was embarrassed, too. Well, there was no taking it back, so I might as well embrace it.
“Ready.” I
opened the door and we peeled out of the bathroom.
Hunter had an obnoxious grin on his face. He said, “About time, brother.” He slapped Gauge’s back. I noticed how Gauge shrugged away, not liking the pat on his shoulder at all.
Simon, on the other hand, was not very happy at all and it showed all over his face. “Not necessary, you two. You have two damn hotel rooms to choose from, and you pick the bathroom on the bus.” He shook his head and then buried his head back into his book.
Gauge and I looked at each other and shrugged. We sat back down and were relatively quiet after that. It was a good quiet, though. Every time I glanced at Gauge I saw that he still had a kind of smile on his face. As for me, I had no doubts that I was glowing brighter than the sun at noontime.
Chapter Fourteen:
Finding our Flow
My dad always told me that I had to finish what I started. That’s what I planned to do with both our relationship, whatever that was exactly, and the article for The Rift. I was feeling really great that I’d found a way to manage both things and thought I was doing a decent job at it, all things considered.
Our first act of intimacy had made Gauge more willing to open up to me and be more relaxed. Maybe it had to do with trust, or maybe we were just growing closer. I wasn’t sure, but the dynamics had changed. We were spending the night in each other’s hotel rooms; no more sleeping alone. Then we went about our days, me writing and interviewing, him practicing and performing for his adoring fans. I didn’t mind as long as he saved his best performances for me, something he’d done without fail.
Still, as great as things were, I had a nagging sense of unease. Were we just having sex and a fling, or was there a chance of something more?
Twice I tried to ask Gauge about it, and stopped the question from escaping my lips. I’d begin. “About us,” I’d say. Then I would get cold feet. “Are we going to have room service tonight or go out?” I never finished with what I was thinking, which was, “Are we a couple or just having a summer fling?”
