by Penny Wylder
It’s by no means an unpleasant dream.
A few weeks later, I’m holed up in my Washington cabin, trying to work out lyrics for a song that’s been haunting me for the last few months. It’s about Lucy—not sex with her, but about who she is. It’s good, but not quite right, and I find myself wishing she were here so I can soak up inspiration from her, so I can make it everything she deserves.
I make do with a phone call.
“Oh, hi Drew. I was just getting ready for a working lunch." Her voice has an uptick, like she's excited to hear from me. "What do you need?”
“You,” I say, keeping my voice low and husky, just the way I know makes her hot.
Her tone drops; I'm getting to her. “Well, you know I have a lot of work to do.”
“I know exactly the kind of work I need you to do,” I chuckle. My cock is already raging, I grab it and sink into the couch. "You sure you can’t make it down this weekend? I’d make it worth your while.”
“I wish. I really do."
"Guess what I'm doing right now?" I growl, rubbing myself harder. The short inhale she makes on the line tells me she's figured me out. "Can you picture it? Me jerking myself off, thinking of you?"
She whimpers; I hear her settling in her chair, fidgeting. “Another time, Drew, I promise, I just have a lot to do. I’m having some problems with a couple of the venues for the next leg. They don’t want to let us in as early as we need, and negotiating that has been a headache.”
I'm frustrated with how professional she keeps things, steering our conversations away from what we both know we want—each other.
“So if not this weekend, when are you coming to visit? You’re my manager. I need to be managed.”
“I’m not sure, Drew.” The soft way she breathes my name is addicting. “We just got settled in our new offices here and I have so much to do, I really wish I didn't. I think hanging out with you would be better, honestly.”
That comforts me, but it doesn't make my dick any less rock hard. "Next time I see you, I'm sticking those excuse making lips on my cock. Got it?"
She's speaking high and tight, excited. "Okay. Yeah. That's—dammit!"
I sit up straight. "What's wrong?"
"Call on the other line. I have to take this, I—I'm sorry! I'll see you soon, Drew!" The click of the line dying is heavy.
I can’t wait to see her again, to get things back to how they were. It had been great and I miss it. I miss her. Fuck.
Loneliness creeps up like a plague.
I can’t work on my music, need distraction. My erection isn't going away, so I slide my pants down and jerk myself off to the fantasy of Lucy bouncing up and down on my cock right here, right now.
The relief is brief and stale.
I ache for the real thing.
Chapter 8
Lucy
I am, in every possible sense of the word, completely and utterly fucked.
Of course, it’s not like I haven’t been fucked for a while now, not like it didn’t all start months ago when I'd gotten completely and utterly fucked by Drew Avery.
At the time, I couldn't have cared less about the condom breaking because just being with him seemed more important. After Drew cornered me a few nights later and dragged me back to his suite for round two, I figured I should probably start on the pill just in case. It really felt too good not to partake, and I’m an odds girl; the odds anything would come of one broken condom were pretty damn low.
It just kept happening, too. Drew would flirt and smirk and press close, and I was lost, so many times over I was lost.
Fortunately, the tour had been about to go on hiatus, so I just had to bide my time, and then, maybe then, I could regain my head. Sex with Drew was good, but we needed to stop, I knew that. I had let him cross the line, had begged him to cross it in the end. It was so bad that we had even fucked in a utility closet near the end of the West Coast leg of the tour.
It was during the encore break, short and dirty against the wall. The moment he came, just after me, he’d put me down, then tucked and zipped, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he strutted out of the closet to finish the show, leaving both of our juices dripping down my thighs. I couldn’t even clean it up, had to go do my damn job and oversee the rest of the show, and the stickiness between my legs was a reminder for the next hour of how far gone I was.
I had lost my head, lost my damn mind I was so wrapped up in him, and I knew it was a mistake even then, but he was like a drug and I couldn't stop. He cornered me every chance he got. I'm supposed to be his manager, but somehow, I'd become his favorite new toy, and the worst part was, I wanted to be.
After weeks of constant sex, the break finally came. The East Coast leg of the tour would kick off after a three-month hiatus, a gap built in to allow Drew time to work on new material, and I wouldn't really have to see him during that period.
I figured I could take the time to regain the professional distance that had been shoved aside for weeks. Weeks I wouldn’t trade, but still, it couldn’t last. Drew will get bored of me eventually, and good as it was with him, I need to reestablish boundaries if we’re going to be able to work together in the long term.
Then I realized I missed my period.
I'd thought maybe it was a side effect of going on birth control, but no such luck. A long overdue physical later, and my doctor congratulated me on impending motherhood.
“What?” I'd asked, incredulous.
“You're going to be a mother,” Dr. Abler had repeated. “As in you're pregnant.”
Drew Avery’s baby. Because it can only be his.
Apparently, I played the odds and . . . lost. Was this losing? Yes, I told myself firmly. A baby was not in my cards! But—well, here I was. Am. Fuck.
I'm tied to Drew for life now, like it or not. I'm his babymama, as they say. But I'm also his manager, and I'm trying to launch my own firm. This can only ruin my reputation, ruin my prospects of landing other clients, and hell, Drew will probably fire me to get me out of his sight, maybe thinking I was trying to trap him and milk him for all he’s worth. I’m sure he wants a baby about as much as he wants a hole in the head.
I know it’s not fair. I know it takes two to tango but it’s not my fault the damn condom broke. If he lets me go, no one will blame him, and I'll become the greedy, grasping whore who tried to trap beloved rock sensation Drew Avery.
Like I said, I'm completely and utterly fucked.
To myself, I can admit that as much as this frightens me, it thrills me, too. When I really allow myself to think about it, I want this. A baby. A baby with Drew. Yeah, it’s going to be hell on my career, yeah, the timing could be better, but I can’t think of the child I carry with anything but love. Our baby.
As stupid as it is, as worried as I am, I want this, I do. I only wish Drew wanted it, too, but I really can’t see it. Drew is too much of a party boy; he’s not ready to settle down and I have to face the likely possibility that Drew will want nothing to do with either of us.
The worst part is, months in, I still haven’t told him about the baby. Part of me wonders if I should ever tell him at all, but I don’t think this is something I can keep from him in the long term. Drew isn’t stupid. He’s going to be able to figure out, when I end up with a kid, that he’s very likely the father. But even if I could somehow conceal it, it wouldn’t be right. Maybe he won’t want anything to do with the baby, but he deserves the chance to get to know his daughter if he wants it.
It helps that I haven’t seen Drew since we parted, haven’t let him near me.
He’s tried, of course, asking me to come visit. I told him I’m busy, which wasn’t really a lie, and then when he insisted that he needed me in an official capacity two weeks ago, I had to get creative.
I’d claimed a family emergency would keep me in Ohio indefinitely, probably until the tour resumes next month. Strictly speaking, that also isn’t a lie. I do have a family emergency of sorts, and I am in Ohio with my pare
nts, but the whole truth is I couldn’t see him, that I’m not ready to see him. I need time to think.
Weeks later, I’m still thinking.
Drew had been so sweet, too, telling me that he could cut his sabbatical short and come to me if I needed him. God had it been hard to tell him no. I miss the closeness, hell, I even miss his scent. And a huge part of me wanted to say yes. I want to see him, to be with him again, but I’m afraid, so damn afraid, that the moment he realizes the truth it’ll all be over.
As long as he doesn’t know, there’s at least this sliver of hope that he’ll want both me and our baby. Stupid, stupid daydream, but I’ve been terrified of crushing that hope entirely.
Falling for the rock star you work for is damn foolish and I know it, but it’s not like I can change it. Fuck.
At this point, I’m out of time. I fly out to New York to meet Drew tomorrow and finalize details for the East Coast tour that starts the day after. While I can still manage to mask my growing belly to some extent, the moment he touches me, he’ll know.
I need air so I go out into my old neighborhood, walking my parents’ corgi. It’s still as quaint as I remember, true suburbia with the wood siding and picket fences, looks straight out of some cheesy family comedy. I wonder how Drew would like it here, what he would think of living in a place like this. I can’t imagine raising a kid in the middle of L.A., though really, it’s not like it matters what Drew thinks when I don’t even know that he’ll want anything to do with us. I’m so, so afraid he’ll want nothing to do with us.
My mom calls me into the living room when I get home, and by the way she’s frowning, I can tell she’s concerned. Mom and Dad have been supportive, but I haven’t told them everything, just that I’m pregnant and I don’t think the father will be involved. It hurt to say that, but I couldn’t lie, couldn’t feed them some delusion that the mystery father might care when I don’t believe it myself, when I’ve feared the worst for months. And while they’re happy with the prospect of becoming grandparents, I also know they worry.
After luring me into a false sense of security with a plate of cookies, Mom finally opens the long dormant can of worms. “You still haven’t spoken with the father?” she prods gently from across the couch. Sitting there in worn jeans and a sweater ensconced in the fading floral furniture of my youth, she looks so sympathetic, so much like home, that I can’t bring myself to deflect.
“I—no.” I shake my head with a sigh, then glance ruefully to my belly. “But you know I fly to New York tomorrow, and it’s not like I can keep it from him for long.”
“So you’re meeting him in New York, then?” she keeps pushing. “You work together?”
Another sigh. “Yeaah. He’s sort of my client. And I know, Mom, I know it was stupid, but—”
Mom raises a placating hand and I quiet, eager for wisdom, for answers, for something. “Love is never stupid, sweetie.”
“It’s not—” I sputter. “I mean, I don’t—”
“You don’t?” her raised eyebrows scream skepticism.
I shrug. “I don’t know. But it hardly matters. Drew Avery really isn’t the romantic type.”
“I suppose you’ll never know if you don’t talk to him,” she chides, and I know she’s right. Drew Avery might not be the romantic type, but he also might be. I haven’t even given him a chance to prove me wrong. I’ve been far too frightened for that, too afraid to be proven right.
Well, I suppose he’ll get that chance soon enough, whether I will or not, but I really don’t think it matters. Fondest dreams aside, I really can’t picture a man like Drew settling for one woman, let alone settling into family life.
Taking another cookie from the plate in front of her, Mom chews thoughtfully but backs off, and I’m left with my thoughts, my own fears as I have been for a while now.
The next afternoon, I’m on a plane to New York. The flight is hell, even in First Class, my need to pee every half hour humiliating. But when I think about her, this little girl that is me and Drew, this mystery child I will meet in a few short months, my heart swells.
I find myself wondering if she’ll look like me, or maybe like Drew, wondering what she’ll feel like in my arms. I may not be sure how I feel about Drew, but I love our daughter.
After a few hours of hell, we finally land in Buffalo. I can’t help my relief. Later, I’ll have to face Drew, but as the limo arrives at the hotel, I know I have a few hours to myself. To rest. To recuperate. To figure out what the hell to say. To brace myself for losing my job, for losing Drew.
I’m being led into the hotel lobby when I hear my name and turn around, confused. I don’t recognize the voice, but maybe it’s a hotel employee.
I spot a woman with long, dark hair in a grey pantsuit, cellphone held aloft. There’s a flash, and then she’s gone, moving off into a waiting taxi and away. Well, that was odd. Still, she’d had a cell phone, she can’t be paparazzi, so I really have no clue what that was all about. If the media really were onto the fact Drew Avery’s manager is pregnant with his child, the hotel would be a zoo and my life would become a shitshow of epic proportions.
As I get to my room, exhaustion sets in and I let it, setting my phone alarm for an hour later and letting sleep come.
It isn’t restful, not in the slightest, my nerves eating me alive. I dream of being devoured by cell phone cameras, flash flash flash as they consume me, and want nothing more to do with sleep as my alarm goes off.
Only it’s not my alarm. My phone is ringing, and the number isn’t one I recognize. The number is local. Someone from the venue, then.
“Hello, this is Lucy Westmore,” I answer, and a warm laugh greets me. I don’t recognize the voice, not really, though it tickles faintly at my memory.
“Perfect,” the woman on the other line breathes. “Exactly who I was hoping to reach. I’m Veronica Ashton-Evans.”
“It’s—nice to speak with you, Veronica,” I say cautiously. I have no idea who this is or what this is about, but the fact she hasn’t identified her purpose is odd. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Oh, no no, I’m calling to help you.” Her laugh is high and false and puts me immediately on edge.
“Go on,” I manage, not sure how else to respond.
“You really don’t know who I am, do you?” Her false mirth has faded, leaving only incredulity.
“I—no?”
“I figured Drew would have told his little whore about me since I was his first love. Maybe you mean less to him than I thought.” The dismissiveness in her voice sours my stomach. “Well, it hardly matters. I’m just calling to give you a heads up, anyway.”
“About?” My voice is cautious.
“You might want to check out the news tomorrow. A story is about to break and you’re the star.”
My heart drops into my feet. "What do you mean?"
“Surely you didn’t think you could hide the fact that you’re carrying Drew Avery’s baby forever, did you?” This time, her laugh isn’t false but cruel, and I feel sticky with dread.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask in a panic. Everything around me is crumbling; I'm not prepared.
“Because I can?” she says airily. “Anyway,” she continues, “I really have to go, but it’s been lovely. Enjoy the show.”
She hangs up before I can say more, I'm so stunned. The woman with the cell phone. She’d only said my name before, but the tone is right. It has to be her. She’d introduced herself as Veronica Ashton-Evans, but I know I haven’t heard the name. Clearly, she's someone from Drew’s past.
And now, she’s trying to hurt him again, trying to hurt us both.
Shit. Shit. I have to tell Drew before it’s everywhere, have to.
The text from him two hours later hits hard. There’s some freakish weather out in Seattle and all flights are delayed. He won’t be in until tomorrow morning. I try to calm myself, calm my ragged breathing. Tomorrow morning means he’ll be here in time for the concert,
he has to be, which means I’ll get my chance to tell him. It’ll be okay. Breathe, breathe, breathe.
The next day, I can’t breathe. I’m at the concert hall, pacing in his dressing room. Drew is still not here and he’s set to go on in mere minutes. His texts have indicated further delay, have leaked frustration that he won’t have time to see me before the concert, that there’s no time for sound checks or any checks.
I’ve made sure Ezra and the boys go through everything, made sure it’s all in order, but Drew should already be on stage and he’s still not here.
Unable to take just waiting anymore, I open the door, moving towards the stage. I need to do something, anything. The anxiety is killing me.
The last thing I expect is to run into Drew, coming from the cross hall as I reach the corner. We nearly collide, and then he’s there before me for the first time in months, a bare few feet away, standing in ratty jeans and a band t-shirt, looking much like the day we first met. I can already hear the impatient murmuring of the crowd and I know I have seconds. The way he breathes my name before he scoops me into his arms sends a shiver down my spine. He breathes my name again into my ear as he holds me, and I melt.
“Drew,” I breathe back, and his proximity is so overwhelming, thoughts scatter, words scatter as I bask in his embrace. But there are words that must be spoken, and there’s no time to speak them, not really, so I pull away to meet his eyes. “There’s something—there’s something I have to tell you.”
He pulls me closer to stroke my hair. It feels nice. “That you’re pregnant? Yeah, I saw. Was all over the news on the ride here. Probably gonna be a zoo outside later. It’s mine, right?”
“I—” He knows. That’s not how I wanted him to find out. He must hate me for keeping this from him. I silently curse Veronica Ashton-Evans as I murmur against his chest, “Yeah, it’s yours.”
“That’s what they’re saying, and I figured it has to be, but I wanted to hear it from you.” Drew lets go, steps back. “I need to go, I’m late as fuck, but we can talk later, okay? Just—stay.” Backing away, he puts up his hands placatingly, like he’s dealing with a skittish animal. “Stay,” he repeats, and then turns to walk onto the stage.
