by Amelia Mae
I lean back, let the enormous bed swallow me up, and fall asleep.
19
Shawn
I meet the guys downstairs in one of the hotel’s conference rooms. Ian is wide awake, but seriously cranky after spending the night by himself. Dylan and Jack are both a little bleary-eyed and Dylan complains about having to get some strange girl out of his hotel room.
Christian strides into the room looking pleased as punch.
“Morning, gentlemen,” he says with a creepy smile.
We all grunt in acknowledgement.
“Come on,” he taunts, “Is that any way to greet the man who’s about to make your day?”
“Cut to the chase, Christian,” Ian snips, clearly not in the mood for teasing.
Our manager looks at him, amused. “Well, now maybe I’ll keep this little nugget to myself since you guys don’t seem to care that you’ll be headlining your next tour.”
We immediately snap to attention.
“Headlining?” I ask, “No shit?”
Christian nods. “Well,” he admits, “Co-headlining. With My Hero, but both bands receive top billing and you guys won the coin toss, so you’re closing the show opening night.”
“I can’t fucking believe it,” I say.
The guys are starting to flip out. Jack thumps my back. “Believe it, Shawnie Boy,” he practically yells, “We’re gonna be rock stars.”
“We’re already rock stars, motherfucker,” Dylan reminds him.
“Big deal fucking rock stars,” Jack clarifies. No amount of success is ever enough for Jack. He won’t be satisfied until we’re the damn Beatles.
Ian looks dumbstruck, but a smile spreads across his face. Shit, it’s usually him that asks the practical questions, but I guess today it’ll be me.
“Isn’t My Hero kind of hitting the skids?” I ask, knowing that the band we’d be touring with is known for being a little volatile. They tend to make headlines for their relationship drama and hard partying ways as often as they do for their music.
“They booted Mick after he turned down a second stint in rehab and replaced him with some new guy. And Kat and Liam seem to have figured their shit out. For now, all’s pretty quiet with My Hero,” Christian tells me, “You guys should be fine.”
“Don’t ask stupid questions, bro,” Jack says, “This is the dream.”
“You’re announcing it at the show tonight. The fans are gonna go apeshit,” Christian says, “Twenty-one cities across the US and Canada and you’re expected to sell out pretty much everywhere.”
They guys continue to congratulate themselves, but something doesn’t sit right with me.
“I’m proud of you guys,” Christian tells us, getting uncharacteristically paternal for a second. “I know I don’t always tell you, but I have a lot of faith in Say Yes.”
I smile tentatively. It’s a compliment, sure, but I always wait for the other shoe to drop with Christian.
Ian clears his throat. Oh no. I know what he’s about to do and I try to stop him, but…
“In that spirit, Christian,” he starts, “Are you free tomorrow afternoon?”
Christian shrugs.
“I want to invite you to my wedding.”
The word wedding is barely out of Ian’s mouth when Christian practically spits out, “Are you a fucking idiot, Brooks?”
And…there it is.
One look at Ian and I know he regrets opening his mouth.
“I just told you that you’re headlining your first major tour, which is going to land you more pussy than you ever imagined and you decide to tie yourself down to one woman for the rest of your life?” Christian snaps.
Ian throws his hands up in the air. “Fine. Don’t come.”
“Why do you even care so much about how many women we fuck?” I ask bluntly.
“Can’t I live vicariously through you guys for once. You’re living every guy’s dream. Don’t tell me that you’ve never been balls-deep inside a woman whose name you’re gonna forget in an hour and thought about how many guys want to be you right now,” Christian explains.
Sometimes, I’m reminded of how sad Christian really is.
“If I’m balls-deep inside a woman thinking about another guy, I’m pretty sure I’m doing it wrong,” Jack replies.
We all laugh. Well, except Christian.
“I wish you the best of luck, Brooks,” he says, gathering his briefcase and putting on his jacket. “But when you’re dying of blue balls on tour, don’t come crying to me.”
“You’ve talked about balls a lot today, huh?” Ian chides.
Christian shrugs, frustrated. “It’s your life.” He sighs and heads for the exit. “Good luck tonight, guys. I’ll be in touch.”
We wait for Christian to leave. Then wait a few more seconds till he’s definitely out of earshot.
“Holy shit,” Dylan shouts, “Holy fucking shit.”
“I know,” Ian adds.
Jack leans back in his chair and kicks his feet up onto the table and digs out his phone.
“Who are you calling?” Ian asks.
“Nikki,” he answers.
“Don’t you think she already knows?”
“Doesn’t mean she can’t celebrate with us,” Jack says. “Want to go to breakfast? I feel like we’ve earned a little morning booze.”
Dylan nods. Ian gets up to follow them.
“Coming?” he asks me.
I shake my head no. “Got something to do.”
“You want to tell her the good news yourself?”
“Yeah, something like that,” I answer.
Ian and Dylan leave, but when Jack ends his call with Nikki, he hangs back.
“You okay, man?” he asks.
I nod.
“Really?”
“I guess,” I say flatly, “I mean, this is the dream.”
I lie. I’m not happy. I mean, I should be excited to headline. This is a huge step forward for Say Yes. But I’m not.
I don’t know what I am.
“I know what it is,” Jack says smugly, “You don’t want to talk about the tour.”
“Why wouldn’t I…”
“Because once the tour begins, you have to say goodbye to Aya,” he says casually, “And you don’t want to deal with that.”
“That’s not it.”
That’s totally it.
“Get back upstairs and talk to her,” he tells me as he heads out after the others. “Tell her you changed your mind about being temporary. Ask if she’ll try long-distance.”
“I can’t…”
“You’re not fucking proposing, Shawn,” he says, scowling in frustration. “You’re just telling her that you’re not done with her yet and finding out if she feels the same way.” And with that, he leaves me alone in the conference room and heads off to the hotel restaurant.
I take the elevator back upstairs, strip and get back in bed with Aya. She’s wrapped around a fluffy pillow like a koala bear.
She’s sound asleep. I can’t disturb her.
I do want to tell her about the tour. It is pretty fucking exciting.
But I don’t want to burden her with the bad part of that conversation. The part where I hurt her and risk never seeing her again. And I don’t want to think about the days to come where I’ll wake up and she won’t be in my bed.
I want to put that off as long as possible.
I wrap my arms around her, her back against my chest and hold her as I try and go back to sleep.
Aya and I sleep together for a few hours until she’s roped into some maid-of-honor duties, most of which involve keeping Cora company as she and Ian are trying to spend the day before the wedding apart.
We’ll see how well that goes.
I lie in bed, half-awake, perving on her while she gets dressed, brushes her hair and puts on a little makeup.
This is what you could come home to if you’d just fucking talk to her. Just fucking be honest with yourself.
I pretend to
be asleep as she tiptoes over to me to kiss me goodbye and take her by surprise, wrestling her back into bed with me.
She squeaks as I tackle her and hold her down, mussing up her clothes and ruining her lipstick with my kiss, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She giggles as I pull off, still hovering above with my hands under her head and my fingers tangled in her silky hair.
She smiles up at me. That smile fucking kills me.
She lets out a small sigh, happy and satisfied. And I want to stay right here forever.
After a long moment, she wriggles out from underneath me.
I flop back onto the mattress, making no effort to cover myself in one last-ditch effort to get her to say fuck everything and get back in bed with me. But, being the good maid-of-honor that she is, she diligently heads out for a day of whatever Cora has planned for the two of them.
I wipe her lipstick off of my mouth with my hand.
20
Aya
God, he’s a sight for sore eyes. Splayed out on his back. Thin silk sheet barely covering him from the waist down. My lipstick smeared over his mouth and neck.
Prying myself out from underneath him is the hardest thing I’ve done in awhile.
Cora and I treat ourselves to a boozy brunch, spotting Dylan, Jack and Nikki in the hotel restaurant, and then pick up our dresses. Hers is a beautiful champagne-colored lace number with a sweetheart neckline and fitted bodice. Mine is red, Cora’s favorite color, with a long skirt and a very low back. I definitely can’t wear the sexy new bra I bought for the occasion. I can’t even wear a bra at all, but I doubt Shawn will mind.
“Are you nervous?” I ask Cora as we sit down for a quick pick-me-up in a coffee shop, careful not to muss my fresh manicure on the tiny mug.
“Nervous my mom won’t get here in time. She’s super afraid to fly and she’s on the last possible flight. Nervous that some paparazzi will crash the whole thing and we’ll end up on TMZ again,” she answers, “But nervous about marrying Ian? No.”
That makes me smile. Cora had spent several years engaged to the wrong man and pursuing a career that she had no passion for. She was going through the motions, but she wasn’t really living.
Today, she’s like a new woman.
“What about you?” she asks, “Have you talked to Shawn yet?”
“I meant to,” I tell her, “But we got distracted.”
Cora smirks.
“How do you deal with dating someone who’s gone all the time?” I ask, “When we started… whatever this is, he said the reason he doesn’t do relationships is that the girls he dates can’t handle his life on the road. And he clearly isn’t giving that up any time soon.”
“I get that,” Cora says.
“It’s not that I’m jealous,” I continue, “I mean, I don’t love that women fucking throw themselves at him, but I know Shawn’s not the type to just dive between every pair of open legs.”
“Lovely imagery.”
“Thanks,” I tell her, “I trust Shawn not to cheat. It’s not that. I think I’ll just… miss him too much.”
Cora looks at me like she wants to say aaaww.
“I mean, he had to leave for that meeting downstairs and I watched him go and I seriously thought I was going to cry,” I tell her.
“Really?”
I nod. “I know how pathetic it sounds, but, in my defense, we were all snuggly and I’d come six or seven times throughout the night.”
“Whoa,” she says, impressed. “Go Shawn.”
I blush a little at the overshare and take another sip of my coffee. I pretend to read the dessert specials.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.
“Coming six times in one night? It was pretty great.”
“You know what I mean,” she says, not taking the bait.
“Not really,” I tell her, trying to change the subject quickly. “I’m too busy thinking about this chocolate cheesecake I’m reading about on the wall.”
Cora’s eyes widen. “Are you pregnant?” she blurts out.
I’m taken aback. “No. Of course not. Why would you think I was pregnant?”
“You talked about crying when Shawn left, so… hormones. And you hate cheesecake. Cravings. I put two and two together.”
“Well, Sherlock, I’m not pregnant. Yeah, Shawn and I have stopped using condoms, but I have an IUD. Plus, I thought that might be the case a few days ago when I woke up feeling crappy, so I took a test and it was definitely negative,” I tell her, slightly pissed. “I’m allowed to be emotional without being pregnant.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Cora changes the subject. “Did you hear the news?”
“What news?”
“The next tour? Say Yes is headlining.” She’s so excited, she looks like she’ll burst. “Co-headlining with My Hero, but still.”
She looks at me, waiting for me to get on board.
But I can’t.
Sure, I’m happy for Shawn on some level. But mostly I’m sad for myself.
“I’m surprised Shawn didn’t tell you,” Cora says.
“I’m not. I mean, I was asleep when he got back from that meeting and he was sort-of asleep when I left to meet you. And, quite frankly, every time we even get close to having a conversation about what happens when the tour starts up, we both chicken out and have sex instead,” I say.
Cora lets out a chuckle, but keeps her expression neutral.
“What do you want?” she asks.
“Huh?”
“If you could have this thing with Shawn work out exactly the way that you wanted, how would it go?” she clarifies, “Do you want to really be with him?”
Hmm… I think about it. Everything I want.
I picture Shawn in the crowd at my dance shows, being a supportive boyfriend. I picture myself watching Say Yes on stage playing a concert, knowing I’m going home with the scorching hot bassist after watching him do something he’s so passionate about.
I want to cook dinner together and watch TV and make out on the couch. I want to talk about nothing and everything. I picture curling into his arms as we lie in bed together and him kissing my forehead as I fall asleep.
I want to make him laugh. And blush.
And get his eyes rolling back as I ride him till he comes.
It’s a nice picture.
But I also think about the shitty parts.
Lying in bed at night. Alone. Because my significant other is rocking out in front of tens of thousands of screaming women who all want in his pants. It could be weeks at a time that I don’t get to see him. Months even.
Sure I’d visit him on tour. But is he really going to want to pry himself away from the parties and the fans to spend a little time with me? What if I turned up in his hotel room to surprise him only to find him stumbling through the door with another woman?
I shake the thought away.
No. I meant what I said earlier. I trust Shawn at his word. If he’d say that we’re together, then I’d trust him to be with only me.
Doesn’t mean he’d wouldn’t be frustrated or tempted, though.
And since he hasn’t said we’re together, it’s pretty clear that this isn’t permanent.
Which means that eventually, he’s going to be with someone else. Laughing. Blushing. Making out on the couch. Calling out her name as she rides him till he comes.
And that thought practically tears my guts out.
I have no idea how long I’ve been holding my breath in. I feel lightheaded.
“Aya, are you okay?” Cora asks, concerned.
I blink, remembering that I’m in a coffee shop in Las Vegas helping my best friend get married. Not in the middle of my own personal soap opera.
“Sure,” I answer.
“Bullshit.”
“No,” I concede, “I’m not okay.”
But I’m not crying like I expected to. I just feel heavy. And more confused than ever before.
“I’m sorry Cora,” I say. I get up f
rom the table and throw down some cash for the coffee. “I need to go talk to Shawn.”
“The guys are in sound check right now,” she informs me, “I don’t think we’ll be able to see them till after the show.”
Fuck.
“But I think you should go lie down. I know you didn’t get much sleep,” she says, not even trying to insinuate anything.
“Good idea.”
“I’ve got to go pick up my mom from the airport,” Cora says, giving me a hug. “Pray for me.”
I have to giggle. Cora’s mom is a sweet woman, but she gets overwhelmed easily. I tell her good luck as she leaves.
I retreat upstairs to my empty room, but instead of lying down, I head to the luxurious bathroom and straight for the whirlpool tub that I’d had my eye on since we arrived. I was hoping to use it with Shawn, but I think this might be just what I need to calm down.
I draw myself a hot bath complete with bubbles, low lights and scented candles.
It’s pretty romantic.
Too bad it’s just me.
I take off my clothes, turn on the jets, settle into the water, lean back and close my eyes. I contemplate getting up to find one of the complimentary eyeshades and a glass of wine, but decide I’d rather not be that much of a Cathy cartoon.
A frustrated sigh escapes my lips as my fingers drift down over my chest, down my stomach, and lower. I can’t help it. I’m wet and naked in this steamy bath and I fucking miss Shawn. I want him here with me.
I keep my eyes closed and go gently at first, circling my entrance, barely skimming my clit, but it’s not really doing anything for me. I already know how I’m going to touch myself. How fast. How hard. There are no surprises. Not like when Shawn touches me.
I let out a frustrated groan and slip under the water. I don’t know what the female equivalent of blue-balls is, but I have it right now. Bad.
While underwater, I hear something.
It’s garbled, but it’s definitely man’s voice.
Groaning.
Holy shit I hope that’s Shawn and not some pervy room attendant.
I surface to see Shawn leaning against the tile wall, eyes half closed, breathing hard and rubbing his hard-on over his jeans.
