OPEN YOUR HEART: Material Girls 1

by Henry, Sophia

  “Yeah. We’ve been figuring out the final details about the Mars tour.”

  After years of working our asses off trying to do everything for ourselves, Fozzie and I hired Nelson to manage the band. When Open Your Heart started getting a ton of satellite-radio play and YouTube streams, we realized we needed some help. Nelson is a good friend of ours and he’s been in the music industry for years. He’s got a ton of connections and a great business mind. He’s taught us so much and helped us up our game.

  “Being out with them is gonna be epic,” he says during an inhale.

  “Right?” I hold my fingers out for him to pass me the joint. Nelson worked his ass off getting us set up with Walk on Mars.

  He hands it over immediately. “Shit is blowing up, homie. Did you see the Alt chart this week?”

  I nod, unable to answer because I’m holding my inhale. “Number seven,” I say in an exhale.

  “Unreal.”

  “My mom keeps texting me every time she hears it. It’s phenomenal.” I return the joint to Fozzie. “Is Tim still here?”

  “Yup. He was wasted so I let him crash in Q’s room.”

  Tim was too wasted to get home? There’s a huge surprise. I can’t think of a time where he hasn’t been wasted. Good thing our third roommate, Quinn, is rarely home. He practically lives at his girlfriend’s place. But he still pays rent, so we don’t care.

  “Why the fuck was he banging on my door last night?”

  “’Cuz he was high out of his mind,” Fozzie says. “He started talking about always wanting to fuck a Becky and then he got on this kick about having a threesome with you and Liz. Marissa jumped in and said they should knock on your door to see if you guys would have an orgy.”

  “Fuck that.”

  “I figured you wouldn’t share.”

  “Not Liz.”

  And not with them.

  Orgies aren’t even on my radar. That doesn’t get me off.

  Threesomes aren’t my thing. Years ago, I had a few encounters with two women. I wasn’t opposed to another guy in that situation; it just happens that my experiences were with two females. I barely trust Tim enough to have him in the band, so I’m not sure why he’d think I’d want to fuck someone with him.

  If I’m in a relationship, it’s just me and my girl in bed. I have zero interest in sharing. I’m not gonna hate on what gets someone else off sexually—to each their own—but I want to concentrate on one person during sex. I want to put my all into her. Nothing feels better than the connection and intimacy with one person. Being with the right girl allows me the comfort to open my mind to explore and try new things.

  “Hey! I’m sorry I jumped on your bass last night. I wasn’t thinking. Just going with the energy.”

  “It’s cool. We talked about it in New York.”

  “I know, but we didn’t talk about it beforehand and you didn’t have that bracket on it. I—”

  “Dude,” Fozzie interrupts me. “It’s all good, man. I love when you get that energy. The crowd loves it. No harm to my drum. I’ve actually been thinking about a new setup where we can incorporate that more if you want. More brackets to make an industrial look around the drums. May have to wait for a headlining tour, though, ’cuz it’ll be a bitch to take down between sets.”

  I nod.

  “We really need to talk about Tim, though,” Fozzie says. “How many times is that fucker not going to show up to soundcheck? He didn’t set up his shit and was high as fuck when he got there last night.”

  When Fozzie uses the term “high as fuck”—he doesn’t mean pot. We both know Tim does some harder shit. We just don’t know what it is. We’ve already talked to him once about it and how we don’t want that type of use in the band. He obviously doesn’t give a shit about our concerns, but if he keeps it up, he’s gonna get his ass kicked out.

  “Jimmy knows all our songs and slays the bass. He’s already been on tour with us and knows how to set everything up. We should talk to him about taking over for Tim.”

  I nod again. We have to figure it out soon, because going on tour with Walk on Mars means we’ll be playing arenas. We can’t even wrap our heads around that size crowd. The exposure is going to be ridiculous. Both Fozzie and I have been on edge, alternating between extreme excitement and extreme stress, ever since Nelson told us. Being heard by new listeners is the way to grow. That’s how this becomes a career and not just a hobby. And that’s the ultimate goal. I just hope we can get our shit together before then.

  6

  Liz

  Hey! It’s Liz! What are you up to?

  A text at 9:55 p.m. probably seems like a booty call. If I’m honest, that is on my mind, but I haven’t stopped thinking about Austin since I left his house two days ago. I wandered around work in a lust-struck daze. It wasn’t so bad that I couldn’t focus, but Austin occupied every second of non-medical thoughts I had today. Having someone completely take over my head hasn’t happened to me in years. Not since freshman year when I had a crush on my English 101 TA. Maybe I’ve always had a thing for creative men who pour out their souls through words.

  Austin: Nothing much. Just waiting for you to text me because I didn’t have your phone number.

  Me: Good thing I didn’t keep you waiting long, eh?

  Austin: Word! Now I have your digits and I can bug the shit out of you.

  Me: You don’t bug me.

  Austin: Yet. ;) What are you up to?

  Me: Lying in bed reading.

  Austin: Ooohhhh! What are you wearing?

  I glance down, convinced he wouldn’t be impressed by my button-down pajama top. Sure, it’s a silky fabric in the signature pink-and-white stripes of Victoria’s Secret, but it doesn’t scream sexy. I’ve worn the same kind of pajamas for years. Comfort over sex appeal. We’re talking about sleep, after all.

  Me: Nothing?

  Austin: Is that a question or an answer?

  I bite my lip, concealing a smile as my thumbs fly across the screen.

  Me: It could be the answer. If you want to get laid.

  Austin: Fuck yes, Miss Honey! I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind.

  The nickname is new. He’s never called me that before, but I remember hearing him sing it in the song I loved. Warmth floods my cheeks as I imagine being the girl he wrote about. I wonder who it is? Or was? Or if it’s a real person at all.

  Is this the life of dating a musician? Always wondering who the songs were written for or about? And if every time he sings that song, he’s thinking about that girl. I’m not jealous—I know everyone has a past—but it’s a bit unsettling to know that he uses the same nickname with me that he had for someone else.

  Me: What time?

  Austin: NOW

  I’m already in bed, reading the results of a study in The American Journal of Surgery for an article I’m writing—or should be writing. No offense to N.E. Anton, et al., but reading the study, titled “Mental Skills Training Effectively Minimizes Operative Performance Deterioration Under Stressful Conditions” takes a backseat to being with Austin again.

  Guilt and shame rip through me. The study is research for an article I was asked to write for a professional medical journal. Things that propel my career forward shouldn’t take a backseat to sex. I should want to tell Austin I’m not available. I should want to finish this study more than I want to kiss him. Because this study impacts my life. My dream. My future.

  But the connection Austin and I have is something I’ve never felt before. And maybe after all these years of putting education and my career first, I should let whatever this is between us happen instead of analyzing it to an early death.

  It’s not like anything in this article is going to help me right this minute. I can go back to it at any time. I flex my right hand, curling my fingers and extending them multiple times as I stare at the scar on my finger.

  You’ll be able to go back to it during all the free time you’re going to have when you finally face the future wi
th your injury.

  The thought of being with Austin is much more alluring than thinking about the study or the future. Following the flutter in my stomach, I decide to disregard my duty. I set my iPad on the bedside table and pick up my phone again.

  Me: What’s your address?

  Austin: I thought you were in bed?

  Me: I am, but I can get dressed and head to your place.

  Austin: Um, if you’re already in bed, then I’m definitely coming over there. If that’s cool?

  Me: Absolutely.

  Austin: I just got off work. I’m gonna order some food, then I’ll be over. Text me your address. Can I grab you anything?

  Me: No. I’m good. Thank you, though.

  I text Austin my address.

  He’s coming over.

  This is real.

  My heart pounds, and a million things roll through my mind as I pull back the covers and head to the bathroom. I’m in pajamas. Should I get dressed? Should I change into cuter pajamas or regular clothes? I’m not exactly sure how to proceed, but I definitely want to put on makeup. I can’t let him see me not put together.

  As I squeeze toothpaste onto my brush, I wonder why I’m doing this. It’s late. I should text him and tell him I’m too tired. The reflection looking back at me as I brush has a hint of rose in her cheeks. A glint of sparkle in her eye. I barely recognize her. I haven’t seen this sparkle since well before my accident.

  I spit into the sink and rinse the bowl with a quick splash of water. Then I open up the drawer to the vanity and pull out my new NARS CC cream. It gives my skin a soft, dewy finish. I follow it up with my favorite blush from the same company—Orgasm. The name makes me smile. I’ve been wearing it for years, because it’s a gorgeous peachy pink that complements my skin tone. Sweeping it over my cheeks makes me feel sexy and confident. I can’t contain the smile that lifts my lips as I place it in the drawer and grab a mascara.

  Once my face is complete, I run a brush and smoothing serum through my hair. It’s not perfect, but it’ll do. Before I leave my bedroom, I change into different pajamas, opting for a soft, hot-pink tank top and black shorts. Cute, comfy, casual—yet still sexy.

  It feels good to be wanted. I can honestly say I’ve never had that before. Even with the few ex-boyfriends I’ve had. My relationships were about status—not passion. Who my parents wanted me to be with—or set me up with—since Mama loves to play matchmaker. Before Austin, I’d only had one orgasm in my life with someone else. He gave me two the first night we were together. I’ve never been with someone who paid attention to what I wanted. In any previous relationship, I would have chosen to lay in bed and read The American Journal of Surgery 100% of the time.

  I can’t help but wonder if I’m making the right decision. Do I like Austin for the right reasons? Is it the allure of a musician—the sexy bad boy? No. That can’t be it. He’s not a bad boy. He’s a sweet, sensitive soul.

  Is the possibility exciting because he’s completely different than the men I’m used to? Probably, but why is that a reason not to pursue this? That may be the number one reason to continue. I’m not attracted to the guys in my social circle. Maybe stepping outside of my so-called comfort zone is a positive thing.

  The attraction is there—and it’s not just physical. I feel like I’ve known him my entire life. Which is ridiculous. I’ve never felt that way with anyone, not even people I have known my entire life—except for my sisters. With Austin it’s excitement and butterflies and passion. I’m hanging on every text. Just thinking about being around him again gives me an instant injection of happiness.

  I’m not sure how long it will take him to eat, but I know my minutes are limited before he gets here. I swirl around my house like a reverse tornado, picking up every piece of debris laying around.

  I’m scrubbing the toilet when I hear the knock. It’s go time. I fly out of the room without a thought about if I remembered to flush the bubbles out. Not that Austin should care, considering the state of his bathroom.

  “Hey!” I say as I swing the door open. It’s hard to feel sexy after scrubbing the toilet with bleach cleaner, but I push though, straightening my back and answering with confidence. “Sorry, I’m not dressed.”

  “You look absolutely amazing,” Austin says, scanning me before our eyes meet and lock. Once that happens, I’m gone. He’s got me under his spell.

  “Thanks.” Accepting compliments on my appearance isn’t easy for me. I’m used to being complimented on my work ethic or compassion, but Austin doesn’t know me in that regard so I guess him liking me for my physical appearance is acceptable. I’m not stick thin or conventionally beautiful like my sisters—who have been featured in brochures for Commons. Evidently photo-editing software can remove Emily’s tattoos, but not my love handles. I’m toned, but I have curves. Big boobs, love handles. I like myself even if I’m not the skinny, blonde, tanned, the trophy-wife kind of beauty most men in my social circle seem to want. I have no ill will toward women like that; it’s just not something I’ve ever aspired to be.

  Austin follows me to the couch and sits down.

  “Should we watch a movie?” I ask, grabbing the remote from the end table and turning on the TV.

  “We can do whatever you want,” he answers. Then reaches out and grabs me by the waist, pulling me onto his lap. A shriek escapes my lips, elated by his intimate playfulness.

  “God! I’ve missed you.” He buries his face in my neck and starts kissing me. The thought of him missing me fills me with instant happiness.

  “It’s only been two days.” I tilt my neck, giving him better access.

  “Two days felt like an eternity when I didn’t know if I’d ever hear from you.”

  “Sorry I didn’t leave my number. I—I don’t know, I was confused.”

  “By me?”

  “By the situation. I’ve never gone home with someone I just met. Or someone so—”

  “So—what?” Austin asks, pausing his sensual assault on my neck.

  “Hot. Sexy. In demand,” I finish quickly. “I didn’t think someone like you would be into me.”

  “I bet a lot of people like me want to be in you.”

  “Oh my gosh.” I slap him lightly.

  “You set me up, babe.” He tightens this grip around me and brings his lips back to my neck, kissing the spot right behind my earlobe. “Truth be told, I wouldn’t have waited much longer.”

  My entire body stiffens. “Oh.” I can’t help the disappointment in my voice. This really is just a booty call for him. We had sex the night we met and I texted him at ten o’clock tonight telling him I was in bed—naked. Why would he think anything different?

  Oh my gosh! Am I one of those delusional girls pretending there’s something more between Austin and I?

  “If I didn’t hear from you by tomorrow, I was gonna beg EmVee for your number.” He chuckles softly. “I’ve got all this band shit going on that I should be worrying about. But my thoughts were consumed with wondering why you hadn’t called me yet.”

  I lean back so I can see his face. “Really?”

  His eyes are light, clear, gentle. “Um, yeah. I told you I had a crush on you. I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. You’re quite a distraction.”

  I’m a distraction? He’s a distraction. A gorgeous, sexy, sweetheart of a distraction, but a distraction all the same. Another reminder of how similar we really are.

  The reassurance that Austin has been thinking about me is a relief. I settle onto the couch next to him and drape my legs over his lap as the tension slowly releases.

  “I’m going to tell you something about myself. Are you ready?” Austin asks.

  I nod. Eagerly anticipating whatever he’s about to reveal. I love his honesty and how easy it is for us to be open with each other.

  “I like being in a relationship. And I know you said you weren’t looking for that, you don’t have time, and you don’t want a needy dude—”

  “Well, I didn�
��t mean—” I start to protest.

  Austin continues, “I really like you, Liz. I like your drive and your vibe. I feel really comfortable around you. I’m not saying we’re in a relationship or anything; I just want to let you know that I’m not planning to fuck around with anyone else. I feel too connected to you to not give this a real chance.” As he speaks, he slides a hand up and down my thigh. It seems more like nervous energy rather than a sexual touch, but no matter his intention, it has my blood pumping. He finally looks at me. “I sound absolutely crazy, don’t I?”

  “No! It doesn’t sound crazy. It’s flattering and reassuring. I feel the same way, Austin. I want to give this a try. I’m glad to know that I’m not the only one who likes to have clear expectations of where we are and how we move forward. It’s usually frowned upon in the world of dating.”

  “This is why we’re a great match, Liz. Honesty and transparency. I’m not here to play games.”

  “Not even strip poker?” I ask.

  “I didn’t realize strip poker was on the table. I’m in if you are. But you better be good, because you’re not wearing much.”

  “We both have the same amount of clothing on. Shirt, pants, underwear.”

  “Underwear?” Austin scoffs. “Speak for yourself.” Then he unzips his jeans and shows me that he’s completely commando—and getting excited.

  “Guess you thought I was a sure thing.”

  “You’re the one who answered the door in a tank top and hot pants.”

  “These are not hot pants!” I tug the hem of my black shorts. I mean, they’re pretty short, but they cover everything.

  “Should we just skip poker and get naked?” Austin asks.

  I nod enthusiastically.

  * * *

  Austin slides his hand up and down my back, soothing me silently as we lay in my bed, basking in the afterglow of amazing sex. With my head on his chest, I’m lulled by the beat of his heart. It’s like the world stops when we’re together. My mind is calm instead of racing and thinking about all the things I have to do for work and other things I’m involved in. I’m completely content to be still in this moment with him. I haven’t felt content to be calm in years. Maybe ever.