Good In Bed

by Bromberg, K

  “What is wrong with you?” Amy hissed, standing and leaning close to me, her face red with sudden anger. “You’re the one who’s upset here? You?” She made a derisive, dismissive sound.

  This was the closest I’d been to her in four and a half years, other than in my own memory and my own fantasies. She opened her mouth to say more, our bodies a foot apart. Her face twisted into a smirk and the next thing I knew —

  I was kissing her.

  Amy

  Wait — what?

  Sam’s hands were on my shoulders and he was kissing me. The witty, barbed comment that I’d planned to fire his way for four years had been on the tip of my tongue, but now completely dissolved and poured out of my head as his soft lips claimed mine.

  His hands snaked down my back, and I accepted the apology and the kiss that I’d waited too long for. It was soft at first, and then he pulled back just enough to come in once more, this time more insistent.

  From a welcome to an invitation, and then — to a reunion.

  The palms of his hands slid over my ribcage, and his fingers dug into me, pulling me closer. I shifted my legs and he took that as an opening, body pressed against mine, the hard muscles of a man’s fully formed torso pressing against my softer curves. I got my chance to run my hands up his back like Darla had with Trevor, except, this was exquisite and mine.

  Mine.

  Applause began, along with catcalls and hoots, then the distinct sound of metal on glass, like people chiming spoons against wine glasses at a wedding, the crowd’s call for more kissing. The same gesture as last week with my fake kiss with Liam, but this time I cheered right back in my heart.

  Ignoring it was impossible, and yet somehow we both shut it out.

  As our bodies communed with each other, time rolled back and we were starting over from that moment at the tournament where life had turned on a dime. We said four and a half years of conversation in each brush of our lips, every nip, every time his tongue touched my teeth, the heat of him pouring through his mouth into mine. Every stroke of his palm against the small of my back was another month forgiven, every gasp between our mouths a month redeemed.

  “Amy,” he whispered. As his lips explored my mouth and his tongue pierced my soul, everything linear dissolved in my head. I became something new.

  I was all being. I was all atoms, all skin, all hot flesh, all knowing. Sam, who had not said a word all this time, was now kissing me in the back of a bar and it was perfect. I was all his.

  I was all I ever wanted to be.

  Sam

  How did this happen?

  One minute I was standing in front of her, ready for the tongue lashing that I richly deserved, and the next minute I was pressed up against her, her hot little body melting into mine. Her hands ran up my back and mine sank into her hair, the lushness of her mouth like finding the God I had doubted, and seeing that an ordained world makes sense again.

  All the pieces fell into place as I took her mouth, as she parted her lips and let me say how sorry I was.

  Her hands on my hips, her body against mine, our torsos pressed against each other—it made me hard instantly, my body on fire in a way that no beat could replicate.

  There was no music I could play to find this, no macrobeat, no microbeat, nothing that was comparable to the state of being that I had gone to with her in my arms.

  The room exploded into a bunch of cheering, lewd comments and shouts about giving her more tongue, getting a room—words, words and more stupid words.

  None of it mattered.

  It was as if they didn’t exist.

  Four and a half years disappeared as her fingers trailed along my neck, her soft, pliant lips matching mine in fevered kisses. Blood pounded through me as every sense screamed her name.

  Amy. Amy. Amy.

  Someone cleared their throat. Amy pulled back and turned, I followed her, letting go of each other and dropping our hands.

  Liam. Of course, Liam.

  “So,” he said, eyes bouncing between the two of us, “I’ll leave you two alone. It seems you have a lot of catching up to do. With your tongues.” He smirked and shot Amy a meaningful look that I didn’t understand. “But we do have a set.” He thumbed the stage.

  The idea that I would spend the next hour and a half apart from her was like a solitary prison sentence. It would feel like years.

  I turned back to Amy, and my eyes zeroed in on hers, wide and startled and searching my face. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand in a gesture that made me feel like a king.

  “French kiss, French kiss!” the crowd chanted, clapping. Then another group across the room shouted, “Blow job, blow job!”

  Liam crossed his arms and cocked his pelvis, as if he were the ringleader of the boozy, hyped-up crowd. “I know which one I’d pick,” he muttered.

  “Go,” she said to me as we both tried to pretend Liam wasn’t there. “Play. That’s why I came here.”

  “To see me play?” I asked. The implied question was one I didn’t have to say.

  “You know why I came here, Sam.”

  Our eyes were riveted on each other and the blood kept pounding louder, and faster.

  Amy. Amy. Amy.

  “You’ll be here when I’m done?” I asked. It came out like a challenge and not a question, even though deep inside I was practically begging her to say yes.

  “It’s only ninety minutes. It’s not like you’re leaving for a tour of duty,” Liam muttered.

  “Shut up, Liam,” Amy and I said in unison.

  He snarled in mock horror and stalked off.

  I reached out and took her hand. “Thank you.”

  She frowned. “For what?”

  “I don’t deserve to have you be here when I’m done, so thank you.”

  That was the best apology I could choke out, although the kiss had felt like I’d apologized every day for a thousand years.

  I let go of her and ran back to the stage.

  Losing contact with her skin was bearable only with the drums to run to, my safe spot, like going home. As I settled into my seat and picked up the sticks, though, I looked through the crowd and saw no one but her.

  Now I had a new home. And she was sitting, alone, at a table, waiting for me to come.

  Amy

  Sam had just walked up and kissed me as if no break between us had ever happened, and now he was gone again, walking off to start the first set. My breasts felt raw, my skin flayed, my lips swollen and hungry for more of him.

  Four and a half years. Four and a half years of nothing and then, he walks up to me in a bar and just gives me a kiss.

  Had I imagined it? My mouth burned with all of the feelings that he transmitted in that kiss.

  Everything around the room was more acute, more alive, almost glowing, like the world had been turned up a notch on a dimmer switch.

  Didn’t everyone else see how life had changed with that one kiss?

  Liam grabbed his guitar and Sam settled himself behind his drums, his face in shadow so I couldn’t see if he was looking back at me. Trevor and the new bassist assembled themselves and got ready for their opening number while I stood there, utterly stunned.

  The opening notes of the song “Serendipity,” one of their older, slower rock ballads, carried through the bar as the cocktail waitress asked me if I wanted another drink. I nodded blindly, shaking off my personal alternate dimension and rejoining reality with everyone else.

  The music washed over me and I felt myself grin hugely, watching the people in the audience clapping along. I joined in the wild applause at the end of the song, and even considered trying Darla’s two-fingered whistle.

  Trevor got up on stage center and announced that he’d written a new song for his girlfriend, Darla. “Yeah,” he said, “I had a bit of an interesting experience back in May.” The guys onstage laughed.

  “Tell it, honey!” Darla shouted from the front row.

  He smiled at her, the kind of grin that goes
all the way through the eyes and into the heart. The kind of smile I wanted Sam to shine on me.

  Trevor paused and then reached a hand out. “You come up and tell it.”

  Darla took his hand and he lifted her up onto the stage. She seemed comfortable and sassy, and all that anger I had for her melted away.

  “I was driving down I-76 in Ohio,” she said. “I’m from Ohio, if you haven’t noticed fact that I have no accent. Unlike you people.” A few titters from the crowd. “So, I’m driving down the highway and I see this naked dude wearing nothing but a guitar.” More titters and a few hoots and cheers.

  This was new to me.

  “Yeah! He was wearing a guitar,” she explained, one hand jaunty on one hip, the other one holding the microphone as she smirked and split her attention between Trevor and the audience, “and only a guitar.” Someone let out a whistle. “So, I pulled over to give him a ride.”

  “You don’t pick up hitchhikers!” someone shouted.

  She waved them away. “I know. I know. But sometimes you gotta do things you’re not supposed to. So, I pick him up and he turns out to be Trevor Connor. Trevor fucking Connor,” she said.

  The audience was eating out of her hand, a few of the groupies nodding vigorously. “And he’s high as a kite.” More laughter.

  “When isn’t he?” someone called out.

  “And so, through a series of unfortunate events—”

  “Unfortunate?” Trevor said.

  “Alright. Unpredictable,” she corrected herself. “I found myself living a random act of crazy.”

  “Aw,” the crowd said, collectively charmed by the unexpected romance.

  “And then Joe Ross came along,” she added. The crowd cheered.

  “Where’s Joe?” someone shouted.

  She held up one finger. “I’ll get to that in a minute.” Her voice changed and choked up. “And then Joe Ross came along and I found myself surrounded by hot guys.” A bunch of the groupies whistled again. “Simmer down. Simmer down,” she said. “You can’t have them anymore, they’re mine now.”

  “They?” someone said.

  Darla shot Trevor a look.

  Trevor marched over and took over the microphone. “Thanks honey,” he said to Darla, giving her a pat on the ass as she jumped down offstage and back to her seat. “I wrote this song for Darla.”

  “What about Joe?”

  “Joe will be back—no worries,” Trevor assured them. “Now, who wants to hear a new song?”

  Instant explosion of frenzied cheers from the crowd.

  As the first chords of the new song started up, I watched Sam and wondered what it would be like to find a guy so in love with you that he would write you a song.

  Sam

  Your Mama told you to watch out for me

  Your God told you to walk away

  Your Daddy said nothing, for he was gone

  And you weren’t sure what to say

  The night you found me, wandering and lost

  Naked by the side of the road

  My guitar shattered, my body bereft

  You fought everything you were told

  And the chorus:

  When a naked soul finds you

  You don’t have a choice

  You have to stop and pause

  You can turn away and never look back

  But it will yank you back, because

  Random acts of crazy draw you in

  Random acts of kindness draw you in

  Random acts of love draw you in

  I went into the zone, which wasn’t hard. All you had to do was stick me on a seat in front of a drum set and leave me alone.

  I wondered how Trevor let those words out on stage. I was good with words in a debate and on paper for a class. But when I had something real to say—when someone looked me in the eye and expected the truth from me about how I felt? I might as well be translating to Aramaic after a single weekend with a Rosetta Stone DVD.

  We’d practiced the new song plenty of times, enough for me to drift on autopilot through the zone, but my mind stayed with Amy. Amy’s skin had burned a brand into mine and I could feel the heat, the want, and I could feel her ‘yes.’

  Maybe that ‘yes’ was what it took to find the words, to write a song about someone. Maybe the lyrics and the music together formed something powerful enough to express all these feelings that bottled up and created a pressure inside.

  Had Darla been Trevor’s revelation? Was there a moment when he touched her, when he looked at her, the first time they made love? I didn’t know. No one had ever made me feel like that.

  Not until this moment.

  Four and a half years of stupidity flowed over me. I’d squandered so much. Was there any chance I could get it back? Give it back to her?

  Normally, when I was in the zone, the song took over and all linear thought disappeared; I became part of everything in the room. With Amy on my mind, though, I couldn’t. My hands were the same, the sticks were the same, all the music, the beats, the measures, the same.

  I was changed. She had changed me.

  Amy’s acceptance of my kiss, my touch, my desire, made it so that the zone wasn’t enough anymore. As the song wound down without my ever becoming truly consumed by the music, I realized that I never would again.

  The only place where I would find that peace and that part of me was in her.

  Amy

  As the words came out:

  When a naked soul finds you

  You don’t have a choice

  You have to stop and pause

  You can turn away and never look back

  But it will yank you back, because

  Random acts of crazy draw you in

  Random acts of kindness draw you in

  Random acts of love draw you in

  ...I wondered about the story and now I wanted to go and grab Darla—and not by the hair like I’d wanted to earlier—and ask her what had happened. She was with Trevor and Joe?

  Something about Trevor being naked by the side of the road, and she found him, in the middle of Ohio? Surreal.

  As Sam played the song his body was like a powerful drug. I could watch him all night. His knees bounced up, thick thighs pressed against faded denim, and he rotated at the waist to hit all the notes in prefect syncopation. Sweat formed at the edges of his hair and his eyes were half-lidded as he moved, a kinetic force of heat, light, and domination.

  He owned those drums.

  I wondered what it was like to go to a place inside yourself, where your mind and your body knew exactly what to do, and how to do it. Isn’t that what I’d always read that making love is supposed to be? A sensuality between two people where everything else melts away, there is no past or future, and all that exists in that moment is the two of you.

  What was it like to reach that point?

  What would it be like to have Sam look at me, bodies entwined as he thrust into me, and know that I was part of him and he was part of me, and there was nothing else in the world? That certainty, that moment of knowingness, when I was everything to him and he was everything to me, and we just were and it was ageless, and timeless? Would I ever really have that?

  And if I did, would I ever want it to stop?

  Sam

  We finished the set and I looked out into the crowd—no Amy.

  Fuck.

  I’d done the wrong thing, hadn’t I? She said she’d stay, and then she left. I couldn’t blame her—back in high school, I told her I’d go to prom, and then I never talked to her again.

  I ghosted.

  Her chance now to return the favor.

  A creeping dread poured into my legs and arms, and my throat went dry.

  I’d really screwed this one up, hadn’t I?

  I got offstage and went back to grab some water, trying not to go into the tailspin that I so richly deserved. I stood there, chugging, doing anything with my body that would get my mind off of the fact that she’d left. I finished the bottle of wat
er, pitched it in the trash, and turned around to find Amy standing there.

  And suddenly, I was kissing her. It happened again. If you pressed me to describe the handful of seconds between not kissing her and kissing her, I couldn’t. You could waterboard me and I couldn’t remember it—it was that visceral, that swift, that all-consuming.

  She was more insistent, more turned on, and more game, and all that did was fuel me. My hands slid under her shirt, finding hot flesh that felt like the most beautiful texture in the world.

  Her hands snaked under my sweaty t-shirt. The cold air combined with her soft touch made me lose it. I couldn’t get enough of her. My mouth took hers, my hands were all over her, her breasts, her waist, her hips, her ass. She was filling me and I wanted to fill her.

  Trevor’s voice cut through the little world of Amy, and I pulled back, swallowing, a dry click in my throat.

  “Sam, come on. Gotta get back on stage. Next set.” I could hear the grin in his voice.

  She pulled back, her lips raw red, bruised from the intensity of our kisses.

  “Don’t leave,” I begged.

  “I won’t,” she promised.

  “Come backstage when the last song is almost done.”

  She nodded and swallowed. Her eyes bored into mine, and I felt an unfamiliar feeling inside: hope. It batted its wings like a butterfly coming out of a cocoon.

  Wings the exact color of Amy’s eyes.

  The rest of the performance went by like a blur, frenzied hands, fevered brain. It was one of the better sets I’d ever done, and yet, it felt rushed because all I wanted to do was get back to Amy.

  She found me at the end of the set. All I could do was stare at her. I was a sweaty mess, a live wire with buzzing arms and legs, and a heart that felt five sizes too big for my chest.

  Ending a performance is always a high. Having Amy here, on top of the high? There were no words for it. I could call it a supernova, or the most incredible moment ever, and all of those superlatives would make it sound great, but wouldn’t give it one one-thousandth of the emphasis that it deserved.