by Hazel Jacobs
She hopes that their neighbors don’t complain.
She drags Tommy onto the dancefloor and closes her eyes, letting the music pour into her blood and chest. The lights are all blue and gray and they make the world look like a strange, dark, Technicolor painting. Bodies brush against her and she can feel Tommy’s hands in hers, keeping her steady, reminding her of where she is and who she’s with, but it only makes her giddier. When she opens her eyes again she sees Tommy watching her with amusement, a stream of light slashing over his face like the David Bowie lightning bolt.
Sersha starts to dance like she did on the rooftop, all those weeks ago, back when she’d been so frustrated with Tommy that she’d needed to do something to replenish her bubbles. Now she’s got so many bubbles that she doesn’t know what to do with them. She flails her arms, going into a half-jig while shaking her butt in time with the beat. Tommy throws his head back and laughs. It’s a wonderful deep belly laugh. The sort of laugh that only passes Tommy’s lips once in a blue moon. Then he joins her in her crazy, mad dance.
To their left, Mikayla and Logan are dancing too. Their dancing is a little more subdued. Mikayla has her hands around Logan’s neck and they’re slow dancing like they’re not in the middle of a club dancefloor. Slate has disappeared and even while Sersha is dancing she tells herself that she will have to make sure that he gets back to the hotel okay.
Dash is climbing the stage, introducing himself to the band while they’re still playing. They seem to know who he is. Sersha and Tommy pause in their dance to watch him shake hands with the lead singer. The lead singer doesn’t even pause in his song.
When the song comes to an end, the lead guitarist pulls his guitar off of his torso and hands it to Dash.
“Does this happen often?” Sersha asks. Now that the music has lulled, the people around her are swaying in the limbo of waiting for the next one to start.
“More often than you’d think,” Tommy replies, “but usually it’s Slate up there.”
“Slate’s made some new special friends,” Sersha tells him. She gives him a significant look. “The kind that like white powder.”
Tommy rolls his eyes. “If he isn’t back in a few hours, we’ll call him.”
Dash starts playing the opening riffs for ‘Under the Bridge’ by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers and the crowd cheers. The band’s drummer rolls in with the staccato beat on the snare, while the lead singer gets into the song. He’s good, but he’s not on Logan’s level. Sersha glances over to see that Logan and Mikayla are still dancing, oblivious to Dash’s antics.
“Can you imagine being that in love?” Sersha asks suddenly. She’s not shouting, so she doesn’t think that Tommy’s heard her until she turns to him and sees the strange look on his face. She can’t quite pinpoint the emotion in his eyes.
“I can,” he says. He stares at her as he says it and Sersha feels a swoop in her lower belly, her body reacting to his words before her mind can.
Before she can allow herself to linger over that, she pulls him into a slow dance. Sersha buries her head in the crook of Tommy’s neck and loses herself to the clean, healthy smell of him, and the warmth of his arms as he circles them around her back. They sway together as Dash plays with the total strangers on the stage, the shared language of music making up for the lack of familiarity between the players. They sway together as the song ends and the crowd cheers while Dash hands the guitar back, sheepishly climbs off the stage, and is immediately surrounded by women. Ha! Smooth move young one, she thinks. They sway together as the next song picks up where the last one left off. It’s too fast for slow-dancing but neither Sersha nor Tommy can bring themselves to care.
Tommy’s hands start roaming over her back two songs later, and Sersha doesn’t need to press against his crotch to know that he’s getting hard.
“Take me back to the hotel,” she whispers into his ear.
Tommy wraps his arms around her, turns her around, and puts his hands on her shoulders and directs her toward the door. She waves goodbye to Mikayla as she passes the other dancing couple. Mikayla smirks at them as they go.
Sersha and Tommy keep their hands to themselves as they walk past the paparazzi outside of the club. Sersha hadn’t realized that she was sweating. Apparently the vigorous, bubbly dancing had taken more out of her than she’d thought. Tommy throws his jacket over her shoulders as he calls the limo around.
“I can’t believe I’m in a limo,” Sersha says as she climbs in.
“I know, right?” Tommy replies, climbing in after her. “If fat little middle-school me could see this…”
“You weren’t fat,” she says. She remembers the childhood photos that his mother had all around their house in Jersey. “I’d call you chubby. Maybe.”
“The girls called me fat.”
The limo pulls away from the curb and Tommy pulls Sersha into his lap, kissing the top of her breast.
“Bet they’re kicking themselves now.”
Tommy slides a hand up her thigh, beneath the skirt of her dress, pushing aside her panties and sliding one finger inside of her while his thumb rubs her clitoris. No warning, no permission asked, though Sersha would never deny him. She lets her head roll back on the leather backseat. The partition between them and the driver is closed, so he can’t see them, but it’s definitely too thin to muffle her screams. She tries to keep her breathing level as Tommy works her steadily, using all the tricks he’d learned from their first night together when he’d made her touch herself while he watched.
She’s still wearing his jacket. It’s still warm from his body. It makes her feel like he’s hugging her at the same time that he’s bringing her to the brink.
The limo trundles along, the driver hopefully oblivious to the action going on in the backseat. Sersha hadn’t even thought to check if it was their driver. For all she knows, they’ve stolen someone else’s limo, and they’re heading to the wrong hotel. She never thought she would be at a party with multiple limos. She’s a lyricist for fuck’s sake. Lyricists don’t get invited to after parties at fancy LA nightclubs. Lyricists don’t writhe in the back seats of limos with famous bass players gripping their asses.
It doesn’t take long for her to start riding his fingers, grinding down so that her G-spot and clit are hit at the same time. She bites into his shoulder so that she doesn’t frighten the driver.
“You’re incredible, Sersh, I can’t tell you how good it feels to see you like this.”
She tips over the edge of her orgasm and holds her breath so that she doesn’t cry out, releasing a long groan once the initial flying feeling has subsided and she can feel her muscles contracting around Tommy’s fingers.
Tommy pulls her into a kiss. His free hand is in her hair. The kiss is hungry, determined, almost demanding, and Sersha realizes that she’s currently sitting on top of a fairly sizeable bulge.
“Oh, you need help there?” she asks.
Tommy hums and pulls out of the kiss like he’s thinking about it. “I can’t decide,” he says slowly, “whether I want you to get down on your knees right here, or whether I want to wait.”
“Why would you want to wait?” Sersha asks. She rolls her hips and he growls at her. His fingers are still buried deep within her. He pinches her clitoris and she hisses.
“Waiting makes it better,” he tells her. “Of course, it’ll be tricky to walk into the hotel with a massive boner to hide.”
Sersha runs a finger down his chest. It’s blue plaid today. It brings out the blue in his eyes, and Sersha decides that she likes it almost as much as she likes the purple.
“You can hide it under the jacket,” she says. “I’m willing to wait for it.”
“Is that a Hamilton reference?”
Sersha kisses him hard.
This man is perfect.
Sersha rolls over in bed to find Tommy pressed against her, kissing her shoulder, his naked body wrapped around her on his side. It’s been a week since the Streamys. There’s snow falling
outside. White frost has collected on her window and the city skyline looks bright and surprisingly clean in the low morning light. Sersha isn’t sure if it actually is clean, or if she’s just thinking that it’s clean because she’s in such a good mood. She’s naked but warm beneath the heavy duvet. The wet patch is on the other side of the bed, but she’ll definitely need to clean the sheets before she gives the apartment back to its owners. There’s a slight bruise on her hip from his fingers.
“Morning,” he says, reaching down to rub his hand over her stomach.
Sersha stretches and grins when she sees the steaming mug on the bedside table. “That for me?” she asks.
“Yep.” He pops the ‘p.’ His chest has scratch marks on it, and she reaches up to run a soothing finger over them. “I’ve gotta head to the studio…” he kisses her shoulder again, “…I wanna play around with some chord progressions.”
Nodding, Sersha reaches up to thread her fingers through his hair. One thing that she’s learned since she and Tommy got together is that he prefers to work on the music alone. Sersha hadn’t known that, but they’d mostly focused on the lyrics together. It turns out, Tommy actually doesn’t have much confidence when it comes to putting music to the words he writes. He does it alone and bashes it out until it’s perfect.
Sersha respects that. She’s a bit of a diva when it comes to her music as well.
“I could maybe come by later?”
“Mmm… gimme a few hours,” he replies. She nods and he gives her a sly smile. “Don’t be thinking about getting frisky, there’s security guards all over the place.”
“Sounds like a challenge.”
He dips his head down to press his forehead against her shoulder, smothering his smile. “You’re a menace.”
“I’m a fucking delight.”
He kisses her then, on the lips, slow and languid, as though they have all the time in the world to explore each other. Which they do. They have so much time.
Sersha feels the stirring of that something in the back of her mind and her lower belly. It’s not arousal. She’d be shocked if Tommy could get it up right now after the night they’d had, and she’s in a similar situation even with her biological advantage, it’s something deeper. Something warmer. A kind of rich contentment that she’s beginning to feel whenever she and Tommy are connected at the lips.
She feels like she could spend the rest of her life doing this. The sex is amazing but it would be nothing without these kisses and this feeling. Even if she strapped on a chastity belt and spent the rest of her life in a nunnery, as long as she could keep kissing Tommy she would be content.
There’s got to be a word for this feeling, she thinks as she rolls over to press her body against his, feeling his warmth seep into her and give her his energy.
She lays there and lets Tommy adore her with his lips. She adores him right back, and it’s several minutes later when Tommy finally pulls himself away with a groan.
“Temptress,” he mutters, though his smile tells her that he doesn’t mind. “I’ve got to go to work.”
“I thought the whole reason you became a musician was to avoid a real job?”
“I became a musician because Slate dragged my ass to the music room and handed me a bass,” Tommy says, kissing her nose sweetly. “Are you going to Skype your mom today?”
“Mmm… I probably should.”
“Give her my best.”
“I’m keeping your best for myself. She can have my leftovers.”
Tommy kisses her again but pulls away before they can lose themselves in the kiss. He rolls out of bed, pulls his jeans on—without underwear, Sersha notes with interest—and his shirt from the floor. Sersha wonders if she should give him a drawer or something, before remembering that she technically doesn’t live here. That the place that they’re sleeping isn’t hers.
Maybe she should get a place in New York.
“Hey… do you think Bass Note’s gonna keep giving me work?” she asks suddenly.
Tommy glances over his shoulder at her as he runs a hand through his hair, trying to make it sit properly. “Maybe,” he says, “if not with Black Lilith, then definitely with their other artists. You’ve got a lot of talent.”
Sersha preens at the praise, but there’s something niggling. “You don’t want to keep working with me when this album is over?”
Tommy frowns briefly, but then his face smooths over and he looks more comforting. He gets onto the bed and crawls over to her to kiss her forehead. “I love working with you,” he says. “But Black Lilith can’t give you the hours you need to make a real living.”
Sersha’s heart pauses when he drops the ‘L’ word, but she’s comforted. She pats him on the cheek. “Probably not,” she says. “You’re right. I should ask them about their other clients.”
“If you need a reference…” he says.
She smirks at him. “And what exactly will you be reviewing?”
“I’m okay with sharing your brain,” Tommy says, his voice dropping down to a low growl. “Everything else, well…” He dips down to nip at her shoulder, right where he’d been kissing her before. “Come find me at the studio and I’ll show you the parts I’m not willing to share.”
“You’re gonna make me wait?”
“For fuck’s sake, Sersha, give a man a chance to recuperate!”
Sersha laughs at him. She gives him one last kiss before he leaves, then rolls over on the bed and lets herself linger in the space between sleeping and waking, remembering the night they’d shared together and planning all the different ways she’d like to make him howl later on.
When Sersha opens her eyes again she glances at her phone and realizes it’s 10:30. The tea on the bedside table has gone cold. She blinks at the screen for a moment, trying to understand how she could have slept in so long, before she remembers that she and Tommy went to bed at 3:00 a.m.
“Well…” she says out loud, “…I guess I’m heading to the studio.”
So she showers, dresses in the warmest clothes she has that are also easy to remove, and grabs Tommy’s phone from the bedside table—he’s forgotten it again.
On the bus, Sersha makes eye contact with a little colored girl playing with a Barbie in the disabled seat. Usually, Sersha avoids making eye contact, but she’s in such a good mood that she smiles at the girl, and she’s rewarded with a smile in return. Ever since she and Tommy started dating, she’s been so bubbly that her mam called her a fizzy drink the last time they Skyped.
She plugs her ears with her headphones, enjoying the opening bars of ‘Crazy’ by Aerosmith as the bus crawls closer and closer to Bass Note’s studios.
Come here, baby
You know you drive me up the wall
The way you make good on all the nasty tricks you pull
Seems like we’re makin’ up more than we’re makin’ love
Sersha loves this song. She loves all of Aerosmith’s songs, but she remembers the first time she saw ‘Crazy’ on MTV and developed a major crush on Alicia Silverstone. And Liv Tyler. And the tractor driver. They totally had a three-way after that scene. Sersha had been too young when she first saw the video to make that connection, but since then she’s realized exactly where that scene had been heading. Now that she thinks about it, she thinks that Alicia and Liv sharing the hotel room was pretty suggestive. After all, Alicia had been watching Liv pretty damn close in the pole dancing competition.
She bops her head in time with the music. Someone touches her knee, and she glances down to see the little girl that she’d shared a smile with. She says something so Sersha pulls her headphones out of her ears.
“Sorry sweets, could you repeat that?”
“Are you Tommy’s girlfriend?” the little girl asks. Sersha feels a blush creeping up her cheeks. She must look confused because the girl points her Barbie doll toward the woman who is sitting next to her—probably her mother, they have the same nose.
“You’re in the magazine,” she says.
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The mother looks embarrassed, but also curious as she lifts the magazine so that Sersha can see. Inside, on a double-page spread from the Streamy Awards, she sees her own face next to Tommy’s. They’re on the red carpet, laughing at something. They look so happy that for a moment Sersha thinks she must be looking at strangers. She can’t see the caption next to the picture. She hadn’t realized that the dress was so revealing. Everything was covered, but it had been tight enough that what curves she had were on display.
“Yeah… ah, yeah, that’s me.”
“Do you know everyone in the band?” the girl asks.
“Yep.”
“If I give you a hug, will you give it to Logan for me?” she asks. “He’s my favorite.”
Sersha’s heart melts. “Of course! Logan loves hugs.”
The girl gives her the hug. She introduces herself as Reneé, and Sersha promises to pass on her hug for Logan at the next opportunity. When the bus pulls up in front of the studio, Sersha winks at Reneé and her mother as she climbs off of the bus and crosses her arms to keep herself warm. She heads into the building thinking that the world is beautiful and that she can’t wait to tell Logan the story of why he’s going to be getting a big hug the next time she sees him.
The security guard knows her by now, so she nods to him as she passes. She half-jogs up the stairs to Black Lilith’s studio door. It’s closed, but when she listens at the door she can’t hear any music. Tommy must have finished his work, or at least come to a pause. She knows that he can spend the whole day getting a song right. He could probably use a break.
She pulls his phone out of her pocket and opens the door without knocking.
At first, she doesn’t understand what she’s seeing. She sees it, but it doesn’t get through her mind right away, so she ends up staring for a moment, her eyes large and her mouth wide open.
There’s a woman in there, half naked, her long dark hair cascading down her tanned, toned back. Her back is to Sersha, but Sersha can tell from the size of her hips that she’s got ample curves everywhere. She’s straddling the chair next to the mixing board. Tommy is in that chair with his hands dangling lazily at his sides, his lips curved in a smile as he kisses the woman with the kind of passion that takes Sersha’s breath away. His eyes are covered with a fluffy sleep mask.
