by Imani King
Trailing her fingers along the stone wall, she followed the narrow alleyway, forcing her mind to change focus to the music they'd be playing tomorrow night at their next concert. She carved the melodies in her head to their utmost perfection, doing the best she could to ignore the intrusive thoughts that threatened to derail her at any moment.
Did he want a blowjob...
She wished it were she who was with him, who was beside him, clutched to him. She who was undoing his jeans, sliding them off his thin hips, revealing his cock, bouncing out from the confines of his boxers. Taking him in her hand, feeling the springy hardness of his shaft, as she tasted the glistening tip. Looking up at him, his dark hair falling in his eyes as she wrapped her lips around him, running her tongue across the knotted skin on the underside, then taking him in as far as she could, and then slickly pulling away before plunging again, swallowing him.
She felt an irrational anger flare toward the random woman who had offered him this – something that she should do. She and only she – as her center flared with lust.
If that was the kind of girl he wanted, was that the kind of girl she should become? Could she even become like that?
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Leo…and the new “What’s-her-name”
Leaning back in his chair, Leo regarded this girl who had ended up in his dressing room. He stared at her. One might say leered at her. Every curve she had, he practically memorized its degrees, its prominence, and every detail.
But it took work. And his dick wouldn’t move.
“Bloody useless thing,” he muttered. “Who needs it?”
“Excuse me?” Said the blonde, looking puzzled, her eyebrows knitting together. “What are you talking about?” Her voice wasn’t exactly a radio announcer’s or anything, but it shouldn’t have irritated Leo in the way that it did. It felt like nails on a chalkboard to listen to her speak, but he knew it was the classic, ‘it’s not you it’s me’ scenario. He watched her perfect lips form words, but nothing came to him but repulsion. Expertly done makeup enhancing flawless features, set off with the best of clothes, and he had absolutely no interest. Just contempt.
The problem was, he just couldn’t help but compare her.
Jasmine.
She’d never say that, he’d think. She’d never move her hand that way, or pronounce words in that specific inflection. And those tits! They were nothing in comparison to… Glorious, full, latte-colored orbs, that he had had his hands clutching once – just once. God dammit. Damn it all to hell.
Oh shit, she’d asked him a question. “Nothing dear,” he mumbled. “Nothing you’d be interested in.” Interested in. Why couldn’t he be interested in those legs. Her gams were long and lean, curving in just the right places, set off by a clearly expensive pair of high heels. Probably Jimmy Choo, or Louboutins. Whatever they were made a perfect picture – two dimensional and flat.
The absolute opposite of Jasmine. Her warmth, her curves… Her tits. Her pussy. He’d never seen it, never touched it, never felt its wetness. Ah, there it was. Finally. His dick was finally moving. He could feel the flickers and tingles, then the pressure as it strained against his jeans.
He could see that what’s-her-name was looking. Wouldn’t it be nice if he gave a shit at all?
“Look, I’m enjoying this small talk,” she said sweeping a stray tendril out of her eye, “but I can see you’re ready for me now.” Her hand moved toward his fly in what he supposed was meant to be a seductive gesture. Before he knew it he had slapped her hand away. “What the hell!?” She recoiled in apparent disgust. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Her fists went to her hips, and she commenced a full verbal assault.
This made it even easier to tune her out. He sunk back into his chair, and watched, detached, as she screamed at him. In his mind, he went back to his childhood, his parents screaming, ignoring him, seemingly forgetting he was there, as they fought tooth and nail. All manner of obscenities would fly through the thick air as he would clutch a pillow to himself and attempt to shrink – to disappear into the sofa.
He was fucked.
Somehow, he felt a tear coming to his eye, as he remembered the way his mother would storm out of the room, and his father would grab a bottle and glass, pouring it full and drinking it straight down, before wiping his mouth and leaving as well, little Leo left alone, abandoned in the posh living room, no one but himself to tuck him in.
At first he would watch TV quietly, looking for something he wouldn’t be allowed to watch, and then he would sneak little sips of the bottle, always refilling the glass his father used, just a little, and taking little burning drops in his mouth until he felt woozy. When he finally was caught, that’s when they’d sent him to private school.
“Are you listening to me?” The blonde snapped, face right in his, finger waggling.
He grabbed her arm, so thin and weak he could snap it if he liked, but he was still barely under control.
“Get the fuck out of here,” he hissed, “you goddamned bitch!”
And with that he fell back in his chair, grabbed his drink and drained it, as she grabbed her fancy beaded purse and stormed out. She had lost a shoe in the debacle, so he almost laughed as she ran over to it with a strange loping gait.
Then she slammed the door behind him. “I’m going to sue you!” were her parting words.
Let her try, thought Leo. Let her fucking try. All of the English lawyers on her arse, she won’t know what hit her.
He curled up on the couch in the dressing room, clutching the one throw pillow to himself, and willing sleep to take him over, but not until he texted Jasmine.
“Are u up? Miss u. Thinking of U xo”
Then his eyes shut and he fell into a dreamless, remorseless sleep. That would come later.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Jasmine
“Your phone’s doing something,” Kerry said absentmindedly, handing Jasmine the offending device, as she read her book.
“Thanks.” She looked to see a text from Leo. What was he doing, texting her again? Did he want a blowjob? She wondered wryly. She scanned the words. Wow, he wasn’t letting up. I wonder if he’s realized that he butt-dialed me?
“Anything important?” Kerry asked, her nose still buried in her book.
Jasmine looked at the message again, then turned off the screen. “No, nothing important. Nothing important at all. You want coffee?”
“No thanks,” Kerry said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Origin of Species minus Leo, the Quartet plus Leo
The next few days were a whirlwind. Press junket, tour bus, rehearsal, radio, setup, breakdown, after parties.
Leo was losing steam.
“I never thought I’d say this, but I’m fucking sick of this country,” he said. After all everyone’s accent reminded him of Jasmine, and since she hadn’t bothered to take even a moment to return his text, he figured she was trying to forget him. He might as well do the same. “It’s ridiculous.” He held up the burger they had picked up. Its bun opened away soggily from the patty like a dullard’s mouth. “Is this supposed to be food?”
They laughed, and then turned their attention to teasing him.
“You’ve had a lot of babes on tour, but… What did you do to that blonde opening night, Kerr?” said Riff, laughing. “When she left she went like a bat out of hell! Did you stick it up the wrong hole or somefing?”
“Har har,” Leo answered drily. “I’d answer, but I know it’s best not to encourage ruffians such as yourselves.”
"Well whatever you did, teach me," Nigel piped up. He was laying down, sunglasses on, in the top sleeping compartment of the sleek tour bus. Only his feet were visible from the main “room” where they sat, Scarface playing silently on the TV, the sound off. "I couldn't get rid of mine. She hung about til the wee hours, when all I wanted to do was fuck and sleep. Alone,” he emphasized.
"Good point," said Riff. "Perhaps Leo could teach us his
masterful ways to get rid of women. He's apparently an expert."
Leo's anger flared. "Nigel's quite good at chasing off women," he said. "As long as he's not the one who invited them around."
“Now now,” Riff said mildly as Nigel hung his slender torso off the upper bunk to get a better look at Leo – his sinewy arm muscles bulging.
“You still mad, mate? Look, if you really like her what have you done about it? You haven’t done anything, have you. A few measly texts, I imagine? You’re a bloody billionaire, mate. You have all the power in the world. If you’re sick of this country, we have a few days between concerts. Fly home for a day or two. Go see her. Take her out again. How long has it been since you really liked someone anyway? Have you completely forgotten what you’re bloody doing when it comes to women? Christ on a bike, Leo. You can whine all you want about our misunderstanding but if you cock this up it’s on you.” He leaned back up into the compartment. “Pass me one of those burgers, would you?”
Riff got up and passed him a crinkled bag of fast food. “You know, the lunatic makes a good point,” he said finally, gently. “Leo Wellington-Kerr should be able to get any woman he wants. Especially right now. You’re part of a, dare I say it, top-notch rock band. You’ve just written a hit single. You’re on top of the world, mate.”
Leo pretended to ignore them but the first chance he had, he put a call into the family private jet, and made a reservation. Nigel was right. He had resources others didn’t. If he didn’t bother, it would be entirely his fault.
Later that day he made the announcement.
“Well, I’ve decided to take the advice of my esteemed colleague, Nigel Gwillimbury, and go back to the UK for a short jaunt,” He said coolly, running his hand through his hair in studied nonchalance. “I’ll meet you guys in the Bay area in two days. I trust you can make it through the next while without me?”
Only one of them looked up. “Sure thang,” drawled Riff, with a clumsy attempt at an American accent. Nigel smirked.
“When do you leave?” he said.
“I’ll catch up with the plane in the next city,” he said. “Which is,” he looked at his phone, “just a couple hours away from here.” He grabbed his guitar, and strode back to the sofa bed at the rear of the bus.
***
Leo grabbed a satchel and jumped off the bus, the lads raising a glass to him. They had moved on to the drinking portion of the day/evening, but after he’d played a bit of guitar and checked the Quartet’s website for dates, instead of joining them he’d packed his things and waited, thinking about Jasmine.
What would she do when she saw him? Did she even care? Didn’t matter, he’d have to make her care. And he could do it too. He was freaking Leo Wellington-Kerr. He would make her love him, if she didn’t already.
Hello, old friend, he thought. We’re going to go see your favorite person. He leaned back into the soft leather cushions of the private jet seat, buckled in, and looked out the window as the plane taxied to the runway and took off.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Jasmine and the quartet…and Leo?
The applause was getting louder and more enthusiastic each piece that they played. They were winning over the crowd in London. It was like a dream. Jasmine was breathless in her excitement. Everything was working. Everything they had discussed in rehearsal was actually coming through even more clearly and beautifully than they could have imagined.
Kerry had just brought her bow to her strings to start the last piece when there was a bit of a commotion in the back of the hall.
"Excuse me," said a very posh, very familiar voice seemingly quietly but in the acoustics of the hall, it carried. "Pardon me," it said again. Jasmine froze. Her eyes wide in desperation, she stared at Kerry, who studiously avoided meeting hers. When the sound died down, Kerry did a sharp intake of breath that indicated they should start.
Holy shit, thought Jasmine. I have to keep it together. Keep it together. She forced herself not to look up. Not to see if it was him or not. Goddamn it Leo don't play with me she thought, Her bow becoming fast and furious, the notes in her solo part ringing out with aching precision, the fear in her spurring her on somehow to perfection. Every feeling she had toward him she spat out in her melodies, pushing the tempo and the intensity, which the quartet responded to instinctively. The piece got more and more wild, until it culminated in a killer coda, leaving the quartet breathless and laughing as the audience got to their feet, cheering.
They stood up to bow, and Jasmine scanned the amassed crowd for his face. His beautiful, high-cheekboned, dark eyed and gorgeous face. And she wasn't disappointed. Or was, she wasn't sure. In any case he was there, applauding, standing for them, the look in his eyes unreadable. She did her best to ignore him, instead of her initial urges to run off the stage or throw her cello down and tear into the crowd toward him. As she smiled, or pretended to, she thought about what she would do if she were directly in front of him. Would she grab him and kiss him, or slap him? She wasn't sure, so on cue, she just bowed again and swept off the stage, the other members following closely behind.
"Holy shit Jasmine, was that Leo who came in?" said Kerry into her ear. "I think that was Leo!"
"Yes, it was," she said, lips tight, face grim. "I don't know what he's doing here. He nearly wrecked the last piece, bumbling in like that."
"Yes that did seem awfully clumsy," said Jessa. "But yeah, he came, that's a good thing, is it not? I mean, that's kind of huge, Jasmine."
"Well maybe. I don't know what to make of that guy," she said. "He seems like an asshole, a player, a complete dickhead."
"Well you better be quiet about it for the moment because it looks like we are about to meet our public," said Kerry. It was true, the presenter was coming in, hand outstretched to usher them out into the lobby, where they would sign CDs and mingle with the public.
"Wonderful job, ladies!" he said. "Everyone is anxious to meet you!"
They followed him out the door to see a large crowd queued up and waiting at the small table, which was piled with CDs. The group erupted into spontaneous applause at seeing them, which they acknowledged with smiles before sitting down to meet the public.
Jasmine wasn't sure how she would deal with them. She had plastered a smile on her face, and kept her attention solely on the person in front of her, or the CD she was signing before she looked up at all, or searched the crowd. She wanted to disappear, if she were honest with herself. And it was a horrible feeling, at the most successful concert they had ever had, to feel like she needed to be somewhere else. If there was any moment she should be able to enjoy after all this hard work, it was this, the night of their triumph in London. Still she feared that the next person in line would be him, Leo, with his beautiful eyes meeting hers. She pushed away the idea of being with him on his chesterfield, his hand reaching up to cup her breast, to thumb her nipple.
Finally, hand aching, she signed the last available CD and the crowd was mostly dispersed. When the last of the line was finally gone, she saw him. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes on her. She wasn't sure what to do. He pushed himself off the wall and walked over to the table. The other quartet members were silently watching, full of adrenaline.
"Hello, Jasmine," he said.
She burned inside. For him. Against him.
Saying nothing, she stood up and walked out, through the doors into the green room.
She heard him following her. "Jasmine, please wait," he said. Then his fingers closed around her arm. "Jasmine, please!"
She whirled around. "What do you want from me?" She asked, tears in her eyes. "Don’t you have enough girls on tour?" She struggled away from his grip but he took her in his arms.
"Please, Jasmine, let's talk," he said, holding her. His body felt so good against her cheek. To be held by someone again was wonderful, but to be held by him. She didn't know how to feel.
"Look I am really sorry about Nigel," he started. "I didn't mean to just be quiet when he in
sulted you," he said.
"It's not that," she said, her voice muffled, buried in his chest. "Why do you bother with me if you don't love me?"
He pulled away from her, tipping her chin up to him, her tearstained eyes reluctantly meeting his. "What makes you think I don't?" He said, and kissed each tear from her face, as she melted into his arms. His lips finally met hers, his tongue pushing her mouth open as her hand moved up and tangled into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. He pushed her against the wall softly, the length of his body against hers. Finally she pulled away.
"I can't do this here," she said. "This isn't the right place, the right time."
