“Hey there, beautiful,” I said, taking the seat next to the blonde. If I remembered correctly, her name was Brooke or something like that. “How are you doing tonight?”
She giggled. Giggling really annoyed me, but for a C cup or better, I was willing to endure a little of it—as long as she ended up putting out. I usually got a certain vibe from a girl who might be willing. This one was putting that out all over the place.
“Hi,” she said, flashing her dimples. “I’m a nervous wreck about today,” she said with another giggle, “What about you? How are you doing?”
I gave her my coolest look and said, “Nah, I got this.” Then I raked my eyes across her body and said, “I’m sure you got it too.”
“You think so?”
“Sure, baby, you’ve got a gorgeous voice. It’s hot—like the rest of you.”
Another round of giggling ensued. I honestly had no idea what her voice sounded like. I did my best to tune the rest of them out; if you started worrying about the competition, it just fucked with your head.
“I like your voice, too,” she said. “Everybody does. My older sister told me she used to be in love with you when she was in middle school.”
I gave her the once over again and said, “If your big sister looks anything like you, then I hope she’s still in love with me.”
She blushed a little, but then she said, “She’s pretty, but kind of old. She turned thirty last week.”
“I’ve always liked the little sisters best, anyways,” I told her. As we talked more, she put out all of the signs that said she was ready, willing, and able to fuck. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and made a point to sit up straighter so her tits pointed up at me. She got up at one point to get something to drink and she had a little extra wiggle in her hips.
As I watched her delicious ass walk across the room, I caught Elly’s eye. She was watching me watch Brooke, and she didn’t look happy about it. Good. Let her fucking sweat. It’s the least she deserves for walking out on me in the middle of a fucking blow job. Who does that? There was no way she was going to leave me with blue balls and get another chance. It’s true what they say about there being plenty of fish in the sea, and I had got the perfect bait.
When Brooke came back, I turned my body towards hers as we talked so that my back was to Elly. I wanted to make a point to her that I didn’t care if she was watching me or not. I did what I wanted to do, and no woman was going to tell me different.
“So, Brooke…you have a boyfriend?”
“No, no boyfriend,” she said, leaning into me.
I tried to look as sincere as possible as I said, “That’s hard to imagine. There’s something wrong with a world where girls who look like you are single. You have to be single by choice. Most guys probably just don’t measure up.”
She batted her long eyelashes at me and said, “That’s sweet. You’re pretty nice to look at yourself. I like being single, I like to be able to do what I want.” Score! “Do you have a girlfriend?”
I could see Elly out of the corner of my eye all of a sudden. She’d stepped over to the refreshment table. She was pretending to get something to drink, but I knew she was just trying to see what was going on with Brooke and me. Her obvious jealousy was really pathetic. I reached up and slid my finger slowly down the curve of Brooke’s cheek and whispered, “Thanks. I don’t have a girlfriend. I like to do who—I mean what—I want too.” I grinned.
She blushed then and licked her lips. I really thought they were just dry, but it was sexy. She had nice, full lips. That night at the bar, it had been what I’d noticed first about Elly. I was picturing Elly’s lips suddenly…remembering the way she tasted….
“What are you thinking?” she asked. I realized that I’d phased out. It was unlike me to think about another woman when I had a prime one on the hook.
“I was just thinking about how lucky I was to be sitting here talking to you. I think you’re hot and you said I’m not so bad looking either. You look good, I look good, I was just thinking about how good we’d look together.” I traced a line down her cheek again with my finger. She leaned into it. Oh yea, she wanted me….bad. I could still see Elly looking. I don’t think she could hear what we were saying, but I’m sure she got the basic idea that we were working on hooking up.
A few minutes later, Elly’s little partner called those of us left in the room to line up. We got in our places and, to my eyes delight, Brooke’s sweet ass was right in front of me. As Elly walked up, I made sure to give it another appreciative glance.
I waited until she was standing right next to us and I said to Brooke, “So, are we going to hook up and hang out sometime outside of this place? Somewhere more private, where we can really get to know each other.”
She flipped her blonde head around to look me in the eye and she said, “I’d like that.”
“Gimme your phone,” I told her. She handed it to me; I looked at Elly and gave her a little half smile before putting my number in Brooke’s phone. She turned her head and walked away, but not before I made sure that she heard me say, “Call me anytime you’re up for some fun. I’ll show you how friendly our city can be.”
If looks could kill, Elly would have set me on fire with the one she gave me.
Chapter Three
Elly
Tristan was being an ass; not sure why that surprised me. He seemed to purposely look right at me while he was hitting on that Brooke girl. I turned my head as quickly as I could, but I think he probably saw the look on my face when I heard him tell her they’d ‘have some fun’; it wasn’t a pleasant look. I had long ago discovered that I’d been cursed with a face that belied my every thought.
I was supposed to be working the front of the line, sending them out on stage when it was their turn. I took my place and as I stood there, I watched Molly rearrange the line according to her list. She had Tristan go in front of Brooke. He must be performing first. That was good; at least I wouldn’t have to watch him stare at her butt. He wasn’t the least bit subtle about it. Of course I wonder if he was trying not to be. I’m sure he was pretty pissed off at me for walking out the way I did, before he’d had a chance to get any relief. That night, I’d honestly not even considered it.
He flirted with the blonde bombshell until it was finally his turn. I was glad that he had to go out on the stage. They were making me nauseated. They called his name into my headset and I said, “Tristan, you’re up.” I felt my voice quake a little and I was relieved that it sounded steadier than it felt.
Tristan looked at Brooke and, just like he had said to me that first day, he said, “How about a kiss for luck?” She was happy to oblige. It was a closed mouth kiss, but it was a kiss nonetheless. Afterwards, he turned back towards me and, with a smile, he walked right past me like I was invisible, strutting onto the stage like he owned it.
As disgusted as I was with him, I had to admit that he looked like he owned it. He was born to be a performer. Some people just had that star quality. I really believed that if he would stay sober, he could end up being a superstar. I wondered why he couldn’t see that.
I looked back over at Brooke as the sound of Tristan’s voice began to waft through the speakers. He was nailing it…again. It was a beautiful song that I’d never heard before. I wondered if he had written it. It was a love song with an upbeat tempo, something similar to Van Morris’s Brown Eyed Girl but still completely original. Brooke was watching him like I knew that I did when he sings, with a reverent expression on her face. She turned to the girl behind her, a contestant named Hayley, and in an almost breathless voice she said, “Oh my God, he’s amazing.”
The other girl smiled and nodded; Brooke looked back out at Tristan. She looked like she was having a hard time catching her breath. I knew that she was going to call him, and before the night was over, she’d very likely be in his bed. I really wished it didn’t bother me so badly.
I felt sick to my stomach. I tried to deny since day one that I felt any
thing for him other than lust, but it was suddenly apparent that I was feeding myself a line of bullshit. I wasn’t just pissed that he was using drugs—I cared that he was. I cared that every time he used, he took a chance on accidentally killing himself like my late boyfriend did. I wasn’t just pissed that he was hitting on other girls—I hurt because of it. I really hated the thought of him being with anyone but me. I had feelings for him, and while I was telling myself that I didn’t, they were getting stronger.
The thing that didn’t make any sense at all was that, on my list of things I didn’t want when it came to a relationship; a druggie was right up there at the top. Of all the men I could have gotten myself involved with, I picked one that has a drug problem. A psychologist would have had a field day with me.
I looked out towards the stage. He was so comfortable up there, and his voice was spot-on, pitch perfect. Even angry and disgusted with him, my heart swelled when I looked at him. My mother was right: I felt myself wanting to save him. I also wanted to tell myself that there was definitely something there worth saving. How could the world not be a better place with Tristan singing his beautiful songs? The big question that I needed to ask myself was whether he’d let me try to save him or if he’d just tell me to fuck off.
He hit the last note of his song high and hard, and when he finished and looked towards the judges, I could see that he didn’t just think he had nothing to worry about—he knew it. They were all three on their feet, applauding him. They rarely got on their feet for a contestant—especially the grumpy record producer.
When the applause finally ceased, the country star told him, “Just so you know man, the only reason we’re going to stop clapping right now and sit down is because we have to move on. You blew that out of the water and, if you made a record today, I’d go out and buy it. I think you’re finally starting to believe that you’re as talented as we keep telling you.”
Tristan smiled and actually looked somewhat humbled as he said, “Thank you. I appreciate that.” Humble was definitely not a look he used often, if ever.
Diva went next. She wiped the tears from her perfectly made up face and, after a dramatically long pause, she actually yelled out, “You burnt down that stage, baby! I loved it so much; I want to hear it again—right now!”
“Thank you,” Tristan said. That time he had an amused look on his face.
The grumpy guy was always the one everyone worried about. Tristan never seemed intimidated by him, but who knew what he was really feeling inside. He had stood and clapped with the other two judges, but he was now leaning back in his chair giving Tristan a look that was impossible to interpret. When Diva stopped gushing and sat down, he finally said, “First of all, Tristan, you look like a million bucks tonight, congratulations on that. Second of all, you better get used to seven figure numbers, because you’re going to be counting them someday. Whether America has enough sense to crown you the winner of this competition or not, you’re going to be a star.”
I didn’t pretend to ever know what went on in Tristan’s head, but at that moment, everyone in the room could read the joy and the pride on his face. That comment meant more to him than any of the rest of them. That guy was known for his brutal honesty, he was a successful producer that knew music, and if he said someone would be a star, it was practically a guarantee. Tristan stood up a little straighter and taller as he thanked him, and I wondered if the hope of a second chance doing what he so obviously loved might be enough to make him re-think the way he’d been living his life. He had only been a kid the last time around. Maybe he would realize it was time to grow up on his own.
Tristan stuck around until the show was over that night, flirting more with Brooke and actually getting to his feet and clapping for her performance. It was the first time I’d seen him show any interest in the other contestants at all. I knew it was all part of his flirtation with her, but she looked like it meant the world to her. He left—alone, thank goodness—when it was over, without as much as a glace in my direction. I wondered if he was finished with me for good. I looked back over at Brooke, who was gathering her things to go, and I wondered if I was a fool to care.
******
I had chorus the next morning. I loved to sing. Since I was a little girl, my parents had both told me how good I was and how I should go into the music business. My elementary school, middle school, and high school teachers said so as well. My parents enrolled me in voice lessons and paid for me to have piano and violin lessons as well. They were always my biggest fans. Neither of them ever said they were disappointed in me for going into production instead of singing, although maybe they were…just a little. That was the great thing about my parents: they were supportive of me no matter what, as long as I was happy and healthy. They did what good parents were supposed to do: they loved me, taught me, and encouraged me, and then they’d set me free to do with it what I may. I couldn’t imagine the kind of parents that Molly said she’d read Tristan had. It was no wonder he had issues.
My problem with singing had always been with being the center of attention. I’d had this problem most of my life: I just wasn’t a girl who liked to be in the spotlight. On the days I had to give a speech in front of my public speaking class, I would get physically ill. I didn’t have a problem with groups of people, as long as I wasn’t the singular one standing up in front of them. Chorus let me keep singing without having to be center stage. The production thing gave me the chance to still be in on making the music without having to be the one that was being judged. It was the best of both worlds. I’d take my spot in the middle during chorus and sing my heart out and then I’d set the stage for those people who thrived on the attention to do what they loved as well.
I walked into the music room about fifteen minutes early. There were only about five students milling around. I said hello to a guy named Steve and I started to go take my place when Miss Bitzah, our music professor said, “Elly, can I see you for a moment?”
Miss Bitzah knew about my issues with stage fright. She was always trying to give me tips and advice on how to get over it. She also always gave me the lead in any of the female lead songs we did. It used to make me a nervous wreck, but she had been kind enough to arrange us so that I could stay in my spot and my back-up was positioned mostly in front of me. I still felt comfortable enough to manage it that way. She was gently easing me more towards the front, but she wasn’t sneaky about it at all; she’d told me her goal was to relieve me of my silly concerns about being on stage. She told me at least once a week that it was a crime to keep a voice like mine in the shadows.
When she called me over, my stomach twisted in knots. I knew it wasn’t about what we were singing at the Dean of Student’s retirement party the next week. Miss Bitzah wasn’t pushy, but she was relentless. Each time the university was putting on a musical production, we had this talk. She tried to talk me into trying out for every production, telling me which parts she thought would be perfect for me. I kept saying no every time, and eventually she would find someone else. She was persistent, however.
“Sure,” I said. What choice did I have? I made my way up to her podium and said, “Hi, Miss Bitzah, how are you today?”
“I am dandy,” she said. She always said that. I wondered if she’d ever not been dandy in her life. It was possible. If you read her bio in the teachers and professors section of the university website, you would get the impression that life for her had definitely been dandy. She’d gone to UCSF and then she had transferred to Julliard. After she graduated magna cum laude from there, she got a job teaching music at Ohio State. She was there for a few years before she was offered the job at my college. She was very good at what she did, and I for one was glad they’d wooed her away from OSU.
“That’s good,” I said, taking her at her word that she was dandy. “What can I do for you?” I asked her.
“It’s not what you can do for me,” she said in her strong, Austrian accent. “It’s what you can do for yourself.” She ha
nded me the flyer that I’d been expecting. I looked at it to be polite. I’d already seen them hanging all throughout the campus. It was an advertisement for tryouts for the universities rendition of My Fair Lady.
“Miss Bitzah, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your confidence in me, because I really do. It’s just that I’ve told you…I have this fear of performing in front of an audience…I don’t think I could do it. I’d choke and ruin it for everyone else that worked so hard.”
“Oh pish posh. You perform for an audience of forty every time you come into this room. Your voice is center stage in every performance we do. Last week when we performed in the student union, your voice was ninety-percent of what your fellow students heard, and they loved it. I have people asking me all the time who my soprano is. Most importantly, you have done it, Elly, and nothing bad has ever come of it, right? You just have to learn a way to cope with the audience. We all do when we perform, in our own way.”
I sighed. “I know, but I’m stuck in the middle of all of the other people when I perform with the chorus and it makes me feel more secure. If you take away all of those people…”
She closed my hand over the flyer and said, “If you take away all of those people, you could carry the performance on your own. Will you please just think about it? You have such an incredible talent. It would be such a waste not to share it.”
I smiled at her. She was one of those people that, no matter how annoyed you might be with her tactics, you at least knew that she truly had your best interests at heart. I could never really get mad at her. After all, she only wanted me to succeed.
“Okay, I’ll think about it,” I told her. I didn’t intend to. I knew what my limitations were, but I didn’t have the heart to refuse her outright.
Dirty Stepbrother - A Firefighter Romance (The Maxwell Family) Page 36
