by Ivy M. Jones
We walked up some stairs, and then down a hall and I followed his lead, stopping in front of the only closed door. The purpose of our walk was suddenly clear.
"Tyler's room," he explained, opening the door for me. And within seconds, I understood what Justin had meant about he and I having more in common than I did with Tyler. Justin had already cleared out Tyler's apartment when I'd gotten there to deliver my news, so there hadn't been much left to use to determine Tyler's style.
Not so here.
Rap posters and football paraphernalia littered the walls. A bag full of football gear stood propped against the closet door. A mostly naked model I didn't recognize was playing with a handful of Skittles on a poster over a desk.
The room was clean and obviously hadn't been occupied in a long time, as evidenced by the textbooks piled in the corner, figuratively collecting dust. I studied some of the titles and noted that Tyler had gone to college for business.
"Did he graduate?" I asked, not looking at Justin.
"No. In fact, he wasn't planning on needing to. He got into Syracuse on a full ride but he had to take classes to qualify. He wanted to go pro. But he ended up on academic probation part way into his sophomore year and shortly after he got back onto the team, he busted his shoulder up. He was done, and since he didn't have any interest in actually getting a degree, he dropped out and went to work in construction."
Justin walked around the room, slowly, as if he was recalling memories just touching different things.
"He said he was good with his hands," I murmured, though I didn't realize I had said it loud enough to be heard until Justin came up behind me.
"What?" he asked, absently rubbing my back.
"When I met him, I asked him what he did for a living, and he said he was, quote, good with his hands." I made finger-quotes in the air and picked up a small football trophy that was all alone at the corner of the desk.
"That sounds like Tyler."
The trophy didn't have a year or name on it. It actually looked like it had been passed out with fifty or so just like it to a whole team. All it said was "Courage". And it sat all alone on the back corner of Tyler's old desk.
"Do you have any idea what this is from?" I turned slightly and held up the trophy. It wasn't any taller than my hand was wide and I wondered what it was about such a nondescript trophy that made Tyler keep it separated.
"I want to say he got this when we were in elementary school. But to be completely honest, I don't remember if that's true." Justin took the trophy from my hand and turned it about, trying to find something to jar his memory. Finally, he handed it back with a shrug. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault you don't know. But thank you for trying to remember." Without thinking, I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek in thanks.
When I saw the intense look on his face, I took a step back. "I'm sorry. I- uh, I didn't mean to do that. It just sort of happened."
Deliberately, Justin took a step forward and his hand slowly brushed the hair away from my face, letting it fall behind my shoulder and he rested his palm there a second before slowly sliding it up my neck until he had my cheek resting in his palm.
I felt the gentle touch through my whole body. I pressed my face against his warm hand, like a kitten being petted. He was always calling me pussycat... It fit. I sighed before bringing in a deep breath and closed my eyes.
When his hand tilted my head up, I opened my eyes and they locked with his. The room disappeared and my breath caught. His eyes were so intense, I found myself reaching up to brush aside his bangs for an unobstructed view. His brown-black hair was uneven across the front and I finally gave up trying to brush it aside. My finger traced the shell of his ear before tracing the circular plug in his earlobe.
I let my hand fall from his ear but it fell no more than a few inches before he caught it with his. He didn't move. One hand held mine, the other rested against the side of my face.
Our lips touched and I felt the shock of it‒ the rightness of it‒ all the way to the tips of my fingers and the bottoms of my feet. My toes curled as his tongue teased against my lower lip and I had only just opened my lips to let him in, felt him stroke against the inside of my mouth, when he jumped back, releasing me. He was breathing hard and I noticed he had to adjust himself. I perched on the edge of the desk, trying to get myself under control.
My fingertips traced my lips, still tingling from his kiss, and I heard him suck in a breath, his eyes following my fingers.
"You stopped," I said stupidly, trying to regain my sense of balance.
"Someone is coming up the stairs," he said.
"Someone forgot that here, the hallway creaks, not the stairs like at his mom's house, " Nicki said from the doorway.
I'm pretty sure I blushed hard enough to tan when I saw her lounging in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest.
"I'm trying to convince Andrea to marry me," Justin said, flustered.
"Oh yeah. She obviously needed a lot of convincing. Just how far did you have to shove your tongue down her throat to make your point?"
Trying to shield me from Nicki's judgment, Justin took a step back and to the side so I could no longer see her. It didn't matter though, I could still hear the laughter in her voice.
"Let it go, Nicolette..." he growled.
"Like a dog with a bone, cuz. Whatcha gonna give me to keep me quiet?"
A thought popped into my head and I came out from behind Justin, turning so I could see them both.
"Nicolette Who Can't Let Go?" I sang the first line to Nicolette and watched as Nicki's eyes narrowed on her cousin.
"I told you people would figure it out, you ass!" She sounded angry, but at the same time, there was laughter mingled in and I realized she might have been pissed, but she still thought it was funny.
I sang the rest of the first verse and waited for her reaction.
"Give it up, leave him alone.
It's not as though he promised you the world.
To him you're just another girl."
I'm not sure what I expected, but it certainly wasn't to have both of them jump in and start the chorus.
Let, let it go,
you know how it goes, it goes it goes,
Let, let it go,
Your angry and it shows, it shows, it shows.
Let, let it go,
see it clear, there's nothing here,
Nicolette, just let it goooooooo.
The both held the last note for a few extra seconds for effect and when they finished, I clapped my hands and shouted Bravo!
Nicki and Justin both bowed, then gave each other a high-five, further cementing my impression that, while they probably got on each other's nerves a lot, they were still family, and that meant more.
Justin
"Take good care of her, Justin." I turned from closing the car door for Andy and saw Aunt Georgie standing on the porch, watching.
My family had loaded us down with an entire paper grocery bag of pot roast leftovers. They made Andy promise to come back the following weekend. They told her that the OB visits and any meds she needed would be on them. And when it looked like Andy was going to fall asleep on the lazy-boy in the living room, they told me to pack her up and get her home to bed.
I had watched while phone numbers were swapped and teary hugs were given. And the whole time, I saw more and more life infuse itself into Andy. Sure, she'd been out of her element and terrified for the first bit, but now she seemed almost mellow. I knew nothing about the drugs she'd been given- could they be responsible?
I turned and nodded to Aunt Georgie, then took my finger and made a cross over my heart so she could see. Jumping into the driver's side, I caught a whiff of pot roast coming from the bag in the back seat and smiled. It really didn't matter if Tyler's kid only had one set of grandparents. That one pair would more than make up for any lack.
"Why are you smiling like that?" Andy asked, the look on her face still mellow and content.
"Justin," she groaned.
"Hear me out," I interrupted. "You basically said yourself that I'm a good catch. Something about great backrubs and being sexy and you were right when you said I love my family. I have a great job and I have money in the market for when that's not an option anymore. I admit I like to party, but I'm not an addict or a drunk. Why won't you let me do this?"
I heard her sigh and then the thunk of her head hitting the window. "It's not that you aren't a great catch. I mean, damn, I'd have to be crazy to turn down Justin Moreland of Dark Fire. You're great. It's me. I don't understand why you'd give up your freedom for me."
As a songwriter, being on an intimate level with words is pretty much my livelihood. And yet, with this woman, I swear I became a Neanderthal anytime she asked me a question that didn't have a yes or no answer.
Oh, and I had no idea really why I was ready to give up my romantic future for her. So I did the only thing I could think of. I turned to music. I started humming.
At first I wasn't sure what I was humming, and then Andy started sort-of-singing the lyrics and I realized I was humming You're the Inspiration by Chicago, which was about the most perfect explanation ever.
"I'm the inspiration for you?" she asked when I finally stopped humming. I guess I'm kind of lucky she didn't latch onto the lines about how it's plain to see we're so in love. Most fangirls would have. Just another reason for me to be inspired by her.
"Yeah, you really do," I answered, just as surprised as she was. I waited for her to ask me to explain, to tell her how, but when I looked over, I saw her lower lip tremble like she was going to cry. She was still resting her head against the window and I watched her shake her head.
"I'm really indebted to your family, Justin. I can't add to all of that by marrying you. Besides," she said a little too brightly, pulling away from the window to look at me, "I can go back to work now. I don't need anyone to rescue me anymore." She smiled a fake smile and went back to looking out the window.
"I'd do it anyway," I murmured. I wasn't sure if she heard me, but either way, she didn't respond, so I let it go for now. Really, it didn't make a lot of sense to be offering myself up like that. I had tours to perform and albums to record. I had swooning fans who tossed panties at me. I was making more money than I'd ever need. I had my choice of bedmates each night. I liked to party.
And in none of those things did a baby fit. Really, I should be pleased that she was letting me out of my promise. Getting married into a ready-made family was not something rockstars did. Honestly, my agent would probably kill me for ruining my image. Being single and able to sign breasts, being available for fantasies- it helped sell records to teen crushers and mid-life crisis moms.
I didn't hate the attention. But it wasn't what I wanted for the rest of my life.
As I drove over the bridge, I realized I was humming You're the Inspiration again and turned to look at Andy to see if she'd noticed. It was dark outside and the lights on the bridge illuminated the side of her face in a strobe light kind of way. I could tell she was sleeping. I was depending on her to give me directions back to her place once we got into the city, but seeing her so peaceful, I made an executive decision.
Pulling into my own parking area, I used my keycode to open the gates to the underground parking garage. Quietly, I parked, shut down the engine, then came around to lift a still-sleeping Andy into my arms. I nervously kicked the passenger side door closed and let out a held breath when my pussycat never even twitched.
Up the elevator and into my apartment and she still had barely moved, her shallow breaths the only indicator that she was alive. I carried her into the bedroom and placed her gently on my bed.
I stared at her, laying on my bed wrapped up in my hoodie. Some of her silver hair had escaped from its ponytail and had fallen against the dark brown of the pillow. For just a moment, my breath caught and I heard the lyrics to You're the Inspiration come filtering into my ears, loudly. Then she sighed and rolled over and I snapped out of it.
I very gently removed her shoes, then pulled the free side of the comforter over her. The bed being a king, the comforter probably could have wrapped around her a few extra times, but I didn't know how much she moved around at night and I didn't want her waking up and freaking out because she was stuck.
Once I was assured she was completely settled and very much asleep, I took the elevator back to the garage, loaded my body down with her bag and the mountains of leftovers and returned to my apartment. She hadn't moved while I was gone so I put the food away in the fridge, turned off the lights and tossed myself onto the couch, pulling a thick blanket down on top of me.
As I was dozing off, a thought occurred to me. You're the Inspiration was a "couples song".
I was a songwriter. I could do better. Pussycat would have her very own song.
Andy
Oh my god, where was I?
I shot up, feeling slightly dizzy and very confused, not recognizing the couture bedroom I found myself in.
The morning sun was too high in the sky. It had to be after nine. I never slept past nine.
Groggily, I made my way out of the bedroom into an equally gorgeous, very large living area complete with gas fireplace and a whole wall of windows looking out over the big apple. I wasn't too high off the ground, maybe twenty stories, but from even that high, the city looked so much smaller.
Stepping around to the front of the couch, I stared out the window before dropping down onto the cushions below. Except that the cushions were bulky and lumpy and when I looked down, I saw that they were shaped like a certain rocker I knew.
His dark brown eyes were open and he was laying with one arm under his head, the other tucked somewhere below the blanket. I had landed on his thigh and when I realized that his hand was actually covering his crotch to keep me from hurting him, I turned bright red and hopped up.
"I'm sorry! I didn't know you were there," I managed to explain.
"It's alright, calm down. No damage done. I saw you were about to sit down on me and I didn't want to freak you out. Besides, I wouldn't mind having you on top of me," he said, waggling his eyebrows at me like a perv. I laughed, then suddenly felt my stomach flip.
I must have turned green because Justin tossed the blanket away and was up in seconds, then back with a trash bin just as quickly. He helped ease me to the couch, then took off again. When he returned, he was carrying my sling bag and a glass of water. Queasiness inhibited brain function and I stared at him for a few beats before he said, "Pills," and handed me my bag. Finally understanding, I rooted through my bag until I found the nausea pills I had just gotten. A sip of water, a single pill, and fifteen minutes later I was feeling much better.
If I ever made a billion dollars, I would pay for every pregnant chick everywhere to get her hands on those little pills.
Speaking of a billion dollars...
"Is this your apartment?" I asked Justin.
"Yeah. You were completely out last night. I thought it would be cruel to wake you and ask you for directions."
"Thanks for that. Between the nausea and the stress, I haven't slept well lately. I feel great now though. A little tired still, but I could drink a whole gallon of juice I think."
"Uhh, yeah," he hedged. "I don't have any food here except that pot roast. But if you tell me what you want, I can order it."
"A mocha latte, a gallon of apple juice, two everything bagels with egg and cheddar and sausage, and a side of French toast." I realized what I'd said and stopped, horrified. But I was starving. I probably wouldn't be able to eat it all, but somehow I knew that food- that food- was what I needed more than anything in the world. "Please."
Justin laughed and wandered away. When he returned, he was ending a call on his cell phone.
"Twenty minutes?" he asked, sitting down on the co
uch.
"I sound like a pig," I muttered behind my hands.
"You sound like a starving pregnant woman," he said, pulling my hands away from my face.
I looked into his eyes and noticed how his eyes seemed to hypnotize me. They were so intense. It was like looking into someone's soul. Illogically, I worried that he might be able to see into my soul as well and I broke away, letting my gaze land on the couch. I noticed the blanket.
"You slept on the couch?" He nodded and I continued. "I didn't mean to kick you out of your room. I'm so sorry."
"I like this couch. It's really comfortable. The guys have crashed here on more than one occasion so it's not the first time I've been kicked out of my own bed."
I must have looked confused because he ran a hand through his choppy hair and sighed. "A few times, I've had parties and one of the guys ended up hooking up with some chick while he's here. If I'm not already in my bed, it gets claimed."
"And you?"
"I crash on one of the couches, or on the floor," he answered.
"No, I mean, do you get the bed if you hook up?" I watched as a bit of red colored across his cheekbones and he shrugged, looking a little anxious.
"You want one of my pills?" I ask, taunting him.
"What? Why?" He ran a hand through his hair and I tried to suppress my smile.
"You look a little queasy at my mention of hooking up."
"I wouldn't, you know," he stammered.
"Wouldn't sleep on the couch?" I asked, purposely obtuse. He was so much fun to fuck with. Now that I was feeling so much better, I could enjoy my normal sense of humor. Hell, maybe that would push him away. I have a weird sense of humor, I'd been told.
"Wouldn't hook up anymore. If we got married. I wouldn't sleep around," he explained, running his hand through his hair again. Seriously, he was going to pull it out if he did much more of that. Reaching up, I stopped him with my hands and brought his hands back down to his lap.
