by Julie Cannon
She was older than the women I’m normally attracted to. She had a sophistication about her, a sense of confidence that only came with being completely comfortable inside her skin. And did she have beautiful skin. I couldn’t see much, but what I did see was tan and firm. More than once I caught her running around the block, and she visited the weight room in the clubhouse once a day.
I was coming in when she was coming out of the bathroom, and I froze right where I was. The green towel did little to cover more than her girl parts, and I reminded myself to get smaller towels next time. Beads of water glistened on her neck and shoulders, and I desperately wanted to lick them off. I wanted to lick other things I couldn’t see as well. She was barefoot, her hair up in a towel. She was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.
Our eyes locked, and I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. And did I want to. I wanted to walk to her, peeling my clothes off along the way. I wanted to kiss her red lips, the curve of her jaw, and the back of her knee. I wanted to use my hands and fingers and mouth to discover what made her giggle and what made her sigh with pleasure. I wanted our skin to touch, our bodies to move in the rhythm they were designed for. I wanted to bury myself deep inside her and hear her call my name. And judging by the look on her face and the way her breathing quickened, she wanted the same.
“Sorry,” I said, turning around and stepping back outside. Sorry! According to the way Kiersten was looking at me, I’d just blown the chance of a lifetime. What an idiot. I never miss an opportunity, NEVER.
I dropped down into one of the chairs on the deck. I leaned back, my head resting on the top of the chair. I was completely off my rocker. I had to be. I had a half-naked woman in my house, and I’d stammered and run away like a schoolgirl. She was willing, and I was out of my mind with lust, so why was I sitting out here watching the birds shit on the car?
Maybe I was just out of practice. Yeah, that was it, just out of practice. That was stupid. It hadn’t been that long, so no way was that it. I didn’t need to work at having a woman. It just came naturally. I’m sure the women came to me because of who I am, but I didn’t care. It worked for me, wink, wink, nod, nod. But Kiersten was different.
I admit that in the beginning I was charming and flirty, but I think that was just habit—or a preservation thing. I didn’t know any different, and I certainly had never met anyone like her, but then again, when I think about my life for the past few years, it was no wonder.
I admit I’d do her in a heartbeat, but I really enjoyed talking with her. I didn’t mind that she’d seen me with my face literally buried in my physics book. That surprised me because I was very careful to not let it slip or give any indication that I was getting my degree. I didn’t see judgment or pity in her eyes. In fact, I think I saw admiration, but I wasn’t sure.
She had a great sense of humor and introduced me to Humphrey Bogart, Clark Gable, and Joan Crawford. I admit Mommie Dearest hit a little too close to home, and I was glad when it was over. She picked up pinochle pretty quick and almost beat Mr. Justin. I’ve never beat Mr. Justin!
After dinner we’d sit on the deck and talk about nothing or everything or nothing at all. It was comfortable being around Kiersten, and my hands itched to touch her every time she was near. It was a long five days and a short five days at the same time. When it was time to head to the airport to join the band in Orlando, I was tempted to say to hell with it all and stay right where I was. That scared the bejesus out of me.
Chapter Thirty-eight
“Tobin, have you seen my pass?” I had turned over every scrap of paper on the table and opened every drawer in the coach. It was close to time for the sound check, and I wanted to touch base with Joanne Tyler, one of Tobin’s road crew. We’d talked for a few hours the other night about financial planning, and I wanted to follow up to see if she’d made any headway in aligning her personal finances.
We’d been back on the road for four days, and our relationship had changed. Well, we don’t really have a relationship, but after spending a few days away from the craziness of the tour and being “normal” people, we’d become more comfortable around each other.
“Did you look in the Jeep?”
“Yes, but it’s not there. I took it off before we left.” Earlier in the day we’d gone to a group home occupied by eight surly teenagers ranging from thirteen to seventeen. After a few minutes of trying to make conversation and a few songs, their truculent attitude had shifted to that of typical fans of their age group. Soon she had them singing along and even got two of the boys to get up and dance.
“What’s it like being a dyke?” one of the boys asked. Several others looked at him as if he’d just disclosed nuclear secrets.
“What’s it like being straight?” Tobin asked back.
The kid sitting next to the questioner jabbed him in the side with his elbow. “She got you there, bonehead.”
Tobin silenced the jostling boys with a look. “It was a legitimate question,” she said, giving the kid one of her dazzling smiles. He might not have thought so, but I certainly did. “I mean it’s just me. It’s no different than being straight.” That got a laugh from everybody.
“When did you know you were queer?” another boy asked.
“We prefer lesbian, not queer, and you need to be careful who you call a dyke. That offends some girls. They may take it as an insulting slur, because most of the time when it’s used, it is.”
Tobin answered a dozen more questions, but they were all about her tour and the bands she’d played with and what life on the road was like. She was engaging and didn’t talk down to these kids or treat them any different than she would have if they were just sitting around a rec center, not a home for seriously troubled kids.
“Here it is,” Tobin said, coming out of the bathroom. “It was on the counter.”
“I probably put it there to keep it from getting wet when I washed my hands.” After three weeks with Tobin I was suffering from complete inattention to anything that wasn’t the sexy woman herself.
She stepped closer, stopping a few feet in front of me and uncoiling the lanyard attached to a laminated colorful card. I caught a glance of the large green B as she moved even closer and raised the cord over my head. She settled it around my neck, like a medal. Her face was inches from mine. Her hands slid under my hair and lifted it, allowing the rope to lie against my skin. I detected a hint of cinnamon gum, but there was no mistaking the look of desire in her eyes.
My heart started pounding and I was suddenly giddy all over. My pulse raced, and the room started to tilt when her eyes drifted down to my lips. She was going to kiss me. Yep, no doubt about it as her mouth crept forward, filling the space between our lips.
Tobin’s hands were still in my hair, and she pulled me to her. When our lips met, a current shot through me all the way down to my toes. Her lips were as soft as I remembered them, her kiss as gentle and probing as when she’d first kissed me at the reunion. This time, however, there weren’t dozens of eyes watching us; we were alone. All alone. In her coach. With a big couch behind me and a bigger bed down the short hall. Privacy all around us.
All these things and more bounced through my brain as Tobin opened her lips against mine. As she deepened the kiss, instinct kicked in and I wrapped my arms around her neck, my turn to pull her closer. Tobin ran her hands through my hair and her tongue down the side of my neck. My head fell back, giving her full access to whatever she wanted. And whatever she wanted, I wanted.
“God, you feel good,” Tobin said as our bodies pressed together.
I was having a hard time standing upright and leaned into her for support. Tobin pushed me backward until the backs of my knees hit the couch. She guided me down to the wide cushion, with her following.
She kissed me again, this time long and so thoroughly I felt faint. I dragged my lips from hers and gulped in several deep breaths. My head started to clear until I felt her hand slide under my T-shirt. I concentrated on everything, wanting to
savor this moment. But when her palm circled my breast I couldn’t remember my own name. And when she expertly unhooked the front clasp I didn’t care.
My body arched into her touch. Words like wanton and eagerly and shamelessly came to mind to describe the way I was responding to her. When her finger grazed my nipple I couldn’t hold back a moan of desire.
My hands found their way under her shirt, and the feel of soft, warm skin made me sigh with pleasure. Tobin released my breast and reached behind her to grab my exploring hand and lift it above my head. My right arm was pinned under her so I was at a disadvantage. If that’s the way she wanted to play it, I’d let her. All the better if she wanted to be in charge. What did I know anyway? I figured when my time came I would simply do to her what she was doing to me.
I kept telling myself to just relax and enjoy this. My body wasn’t having a problem, so my mind should just go for it as well. So what if I was with Tobin Parks, female Lothario? Wait, what?
“What did you say?”
“Your skin tastes so good.”
Those few words jerked me out of my sexual haze and back to my senses. I’d heard those exact same words from the two babes in the elevator in Boston. I was just another woman for her. I wasn’t stupid enough to have to be in love to make love, but I had enough self-respect to not be another notch on her guitar strap.
“Get off me.” I freed both hands and pushed against her chest.
I pushed harder when she didn’t stop. “I said get…off…me,” with a final push knocking Tobin off the couch and onto the floor. I scrambled up and stood on shaking legs.
“What the fuck?” Tobin asked, obviously bewildered by the rapid change of events.
“I said get off me.”
“That’s not what your body was saying.” Tobin stood up, and I thought she was going to try to convince me of such.
“I’m not one of your girly groupies.” My face burned with humiliation. I was no better than that, practically throwing myself at her, allowing myself to be swept up in the moment.
“You seemed to be enjoying yourself,” she said, looking at my still-erect nipples. “We were just having a little fun, that’s all.”
“Well, I’m not interested in having ‘fun’ with you.”
She looked at me, disbelieving.
“If you think that just because you have to be on your best behavior that means you can get your fill with me, you can think again, and this arrangement,” I waved my hands around the interior of the coach, “will be over.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
“Don’t pull that righteous-indignation shit on me, Kiersten,” I said, tucking in my shirt. “Don’t lie to me and don’t lie to yourself. You were all over me and you know it. You wanted it just as much as I did.” I knew I’d hit the mark when her face blanched, then flushed bright red. “But don’t worry about it,” I said, my defenses falling firmly back in place.
Somehow the instant I kissed Kiersten I wanted it all. I wanted her sighing my name, wanted to feel her respond to me, not Tobin Parks, the superstar. I wanted to take my time and explore every inch of her, not just her breasts and pussy. I wanted to learn what made her tremble, find where she was ticklish, and make her lose control. I wanted her to touch me, and nobody touched me.
A knock on the door startled me. “Tobin?” Jake’s voice was muffled coming from the other side of the door. “Sound check is ready.”
“I’ll be right there,” I answered before turning back to Kiersten. I grabbed my hat and slammed the door behind me.
“You okay?” Jake asked warily. He’d seen my fits of anger, and he, as well as everyone on the crew, knew to stay out of the way. But this time I was mad at myself for letting my desire for a beautiful woman override my defenses.
I half-listened to Jake as we walked the fifty yards to the stage. I went through the standard sound check by routine, completely distracted by what had happened with Kiersten.
I hadn’t felt what I felt with her in a long, long time, maybe even years. Maybe even never. But Kiersten was different. From the first moment I met her it just felt different. Maybe it was because she was unlike any woman I’d ever met. Sure, she was older than me, but so what? It’s not like she could be my mother or something creepy like that.
So why did I treat her like all the others? Habit? Self-preservation?
“Tobin! Tobin!”
Jake’s voice penetrated my musings.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, climbing the few steps to join me on the stage.
“Sure, why?”
“You’ve been distracted since you came out of your coach. I had to call your name four times before you heard me.”
I realized why he was confused. I was always totally on when it came to anything to do with my music, even something as routine as the sound check. “Yeah, sure,” I replied, trying to get my head back where it belonged—onstage. This was my job, and I was due to clock in in three hours.
Four-and-a-half hours later it was over. At least the part when I was truly myself—playing my music. It didn’t matter if I was in front of tens of thousands of people or sitting alone on a park bench; music made me whole. It filled all the empty spaces and made me feel alive. The stress, craziness, and ugliness of the world floated away on the chords of my guitar. I didn’t need words to sing, just the escape of the music.
But tonight the show had felt flat. You couldn’t tell by the screaming fans, the thunderous applause, or the two encores they insisted on. The show went off exactly like it had been choreographed. I had no special effects, and other than a giant screen behind me for occasional videos, it was just me and my band. Some artists had lights, smoke, and a variety of other crowd-pleasing elements to their shows, but that wasn’t me. My music was my show, not the razzle-dazzle that often accompanied others.
Tonight I’d sung the same songs as I had the previous dozens of nights, said the same lines between songs, got the same reaction to the same jokes. But instead of being thrilled by the fact that these people were here to see me, it just felt like what it was: well-rehearsed. Too rehearsed. And act two of the play was about to begin.
I was hustled through the backstage crowd’s congratulations and accolades coming from those who had wished me well ninety minutes ago. Jake handed me a water bottle, and I downed the twenty ounces without stopping. He handed me another, and I repeated the action just as quickly. He exchanged the empty for a travel mug of warm tea with honey and four sugars. The water was for my dehydrated body, the tea for my voice. It was a routine I followed religiously after every show. I’d learned the hard way that an IV could easily take care of my body, but my vocal chords were much more sensitive and very particular about what they needed to recover.
Kiersten’s eyes were on me as I worked my way through the obligatory meet-and-greet and photo ops. I knew when she was anywhere near the stage during the show. She hadn’t been standing off to the side or in front of the stage, at least not the eighteen times I’d looked tonight. Her pass enabled her to have access to anything and go anywhere she wanted during the tour. But tonight she’d been conspicuously absent, and it was probably because of the fiasco of the kiss.
Chapter Forty
I was hustling to get back to the coach before anyone saw me, especially Tobin. I had intended to not go to her show tonight, my nerves too frazzled from the earlier kiss, but I couldn’t stay away. I needed to see her. Such a simple yet complicated need. I know, it made no sense but I was having serious trouble with restraint when it came to Tobin.
I had pushed her away when she whispered the same words to me that Bimbo One and Two had giggled that she’d said to them. It hit me in the gut that I was nobody special, and I do mean “no body” special. She probably used the same canned phrases and empty endearments on all the women. I did not want to be one of her women. So why in the hell did I slink around to see her show?
I heard raised voices, one of which was Tobin’s, coming from around the co
rner. I hurried to get away but stopped when I heard her say, “What in the fuck are you doing here?”
“You won’t return my calls.” It was a woman’s voice, and so far this did not sound good.
“Because I told you not to call me.”
“Well, that’s too bad, Miss Famous Music Star.” The voice was older, or at least it sounded older, but maybe I was imagining it.
“Go home,” Tobin said firmly. “I’ve given you enough.”
“You haven’t even begun to pay me back for how you’ve treated me,” the woman said. She was definitely not happy.
“I am not giving you another cent, Irene. I’m no longer your personal ATM machine. Now you can get your pathetic ass back on the bus or however the hell you got here, and get the fuck out of here.”
I didn’t wait around to hear the rest, nor did I want to be caught eavesdropping on what was obviously a private conversation. I hurried back the way I came, turning the opposite corner from where Tobin was with the mystery woman.
My mind was racing as fast as my heart. Who was Irene, and what did she have on Tobin that she was paying her? Was it to keep quiet? About what? It obviously wasn’t a love child or anything sordid like that. Was it drugs? Something she had done in her past that she didn’t want to get out? Something that could ruin her? Something that could blow back on to JOLT if we were her sponsor?
I was frozen to that spot thinking all this and didn’t hear Tobin until she rounded the corner and ran into me. I stumbled back a few steps, and she reached out and grabbed my arms. Even though I didn’t want her to touch me, I was glad I hadn’t landed on my ass in front of her. That would have been completely humiliating.
“Kiersten, are you okay?” Tobin asked, her face full of concern. Still holding my arms, she stepped back and looked me over. My body obviously didn’t get the memo that I was supposed to be angry at her and not go all aflutter and tingly when I was near her. That made me angrier—at myself.
