Bang Theory

by Valente, Lili

  “All I really need is a shower,” Shep says, holding my hand as the ambulance backs down the drive and turns around.

  “Soon. Hopefully we won’t be at the hospital long.”

  But of course, we are. We spend hours waiting for treatment and talking to the police officers who stop by to take our statements, all while fielding texts and calls from worried people who love us.

  By the time we get back to my place, the sun is setting behind the trees by my apartment, turning the leaves still clinging to limbs a brilliant gold almost as lovely as Shep’s eyes.

  “Is it okay if I sleep over?” he asks. “I promise not to get kidnapped this time.”

  I take his hand as I step inside. “Yes. I insist you sleep over. Tonight and every night until you leave.”

  “Looks like you’ve got the confidence part of your equation down,” he says, smiling as I start for the stairs and the bedroom at the top of it.

  “I’ve got the love part down. Once you’ve got that, everything else seems to fall into place, doesn’t it?”

  “It does,” he agrees as we step into the bedroom, reaching for the bottom of his shirt and pulling it up and over his head.

  And then he shows me how much he loves me, with words and dirty deeds and a few not-so-dirty ones, too, and by the time we finally fall asleep, I know that everything is going to be okay.

  With someone who loves me this much, how could it not be?

  We’ll figure out how to make the distance and everything else work. Because we have to. Because this kind of love is worth it.

  I don’t need to test a hypothesis to know that’s the truth.

  This love isn’t a theory, it’s a verified fact, no summary report required.

  Epilogue

  Shep

  Two months later…

  There are a lot of not-sucky things about our new album rocketing up the charts.

  Sold out shows packed full of amped up fans? Solid perk.

  Scoring the cover of Rolling Stone for the second time? Also solid.

  But the best part of making money hand over fist is that I don’t feel even the slightest bit guilty about flying back to see Bridget every time I have two days off, or flying her out to meet up with the tour for a long weekend and renting our own camper van for the duration so we can spend as much time alone as possible, even when we’re on the road between shows.

  Every time I get to see my girl, I feel like the luckiest man in the world, but this particular visit is special.

  And a surprise.

  Bridget has no idea I’m coming home, a decision I begin to regret when I let myself into her apartment half an hour before she gets off work and find a giant purple dildo on her kitchen table.

  Though “giant” is really an understatement. It’s a massive beastly monster schlong the size of a well-endowed eggplant, with a bulbous head, twelve-inch shaft, and some sort of…extra attachment at the base near the control switch.

  “What the hell,” I mutter, gingerly plucking it from the table with two fingers to examine the second protrusion. From this angle, it’s immediately clear what the bonus baby peen is for.

  It’s for the back door, so to speak.

  Though, I can’t imagine how there would be room for both of these things inside the average woman—let alone my girl, who’s as petite down there as she is everywhere else.

  Or, at least, I assume she’s got a dainty back door.

  As yet, that’s remained uncharted territory for us. Primarily because the one time I brought up the possibility Bridget made a face like I’d suggested roasting puppies for dinner. She clearly had no interest in taking our enthusiastic exploration of each other that far.

  Or so I’d assumed…

  But maybe she was just worried I wouldn’t live up to her battery-operated boyfriend.

  And how could I? This thing is a mutant freak of nature. Even the owner of a world-record schlong would cower at the thought of whipping it out for a side-by-side with this thing, and I’m just a slightly above average man.

  An average man who thought he was keeping his woman happy, but who is now seriously rethinking his life choices. Maybe I should have responded to one of those penis enlargement emails, after all…

  I’m still sitting at the table, staring Mr. Eggplant, the Love and Confidence Destroyer, in his beady purple eye when Bridget lets herself in half an hour later. She turns to hang her purse on the hook beside the door, jumping in surprise when she sees me.

  “Oh my God! You scared me,” she says, but her gasp has already transformed to delighted laughter. She bounces across the room, clapping her hands. “You’re here! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I would have cleaned the apartment and made the chicken curry you like and painted you another picture of my boobs.”

  “Those are my favorite pictures in the whole world.” I open my arms in time to catch her as she tumbles into my lap, and then her lips are on mine and she’s kissing me like it’s been two months since we’ve seen each other instead of two weeks.

  I wrap her up and hold her close, devouring her with the same intensity because no matter how long I’m away from this woman, it’s too long—a day, an hour, the minute it takes her to finish up in the shower after I get out to dry off.

  Damn, I love the way she tastes, the way she feels, the way she makes my cells vibrate at a frequency I’ve only ever felt when I’m with her. I call it the happy channel, though it feels a little like being drunk, too. Drunk on love and desire and the freedom of knowing that no matter what happens in the rest of my life, this part of it is rock solid.

  Bridget is mine, and I’m hers, and if she wants to be ravaged by a giant monster peen, then damn it, I’ll buy a strap on and give her what she needs.

  “You should have told me about Mr. Eggplant,” I murmur against her lips.

  She smiles and kisses me again. “What?”

  “Mr. Eggplant. Your special friend.”

  She pulls back, brow knitted in confusion. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  I nod toward the table, and she turns, laughing as she connects the dots. “Oh, you mean Goliath? It’s insane, right? I can’t believe people really use things like that.”

  “Right.” I narrow my eyes on her face, but she only laughs again.

  “You think I’m lying?”

  “I think you have the right to enjoy whatever you enjoy,” I say. “And if you want to whip out the Goliath and get wild every once and a while, that’s fine with me. I could even…help you play sometime. If you wanted.”

  “Help me play,” she says in a wry tone as she grabs the toy by the base and holds it up between us. “You seriously think I want this dinosaur dong anywhere near my lady parts? Because I’m pretty sure it would break me.”

  I arch a brow. “You’re sure?”

  “My pussy is traumatized by the fact that we’re even talking about this. So you’d better drop it before she goes on strike and runs away to Canada, where they’re too civilized to allow things like Goliath to be sold on the open market.” She wags Mr. Eggplant back and forth, and his bulbous head bobs obscenely. “Seriously. This sucker is illegal in Canada. Apparently, too many people required an emergency room visit to have it removed.”

  My eyes widen. “Wow.”

  “Exactly. Goliath is a very bad boy.” She tosses it back onto the table where it lands with a heavy thud. “But apparently my potted-plant-damaged brain thought ordering a giant dildo was a good idea.”

  I laugh. “What? When did you order it?”

  “Right after I got hit with the plant, apparently. Sometime between the accident and when Theo found me semi-conscious on the sidewalk.” She rolls her eyes. “But Goliath is so popular that it was on backorder until two days ago. They sent me a few bottles of free lube to apologize for making me wait for so long. As if there’s enough lube in the world to make me give that thing a go.”

  “So why was it out of the package and on the kitchen table?” I
tease, positive at this point that she’s telling the truth and more than a little relieved about it.

  “Because Theo and I were sticking googly eyes on it and making it talk last night, of course. It was hysterical, you have to see,” she says, grinning as she hops off my lap and hurries over to grab her phone from her purse.

  We spend the next ten minutes watching videos and laughing our asses off as Goliath the Googly-Eyed Peen answers Theo’s admirably serious man-trouble questions. “We’re going to call it Go Ask Goliath,” Bridget says, still giggling as she shuts off her phone and sets it down beside the dildo. “We think we might make it a weekly thing and post the videos on YouTube or something.”

  “You absolutely should,” I say, patting her bottom. “It would be a crime to keep that to yourself. The world needs to see Goliath in action.”

  “Right? And we have such fun doing it. I was laughing so hard I didn’t think about how much I missed you for three whole hours.”

  I tuck her hair behind her ear, smoothing my fingers over the soft skin at the back of her neck. “I’ve been missing you, too. Nonstop.”

  “But it’s okay. Because just when I think I can’t stand another minute apart, here you are.” She shifts in my lap, curling her legs up and tucking her sock feet beneath my thigh. They are, as usual, freezing. And, as usual, I weirdly love being used for my body heat. “How long are you home?”

  “Three days.”

  “And then it’s only ten days before you’ll all be back in town for the holidays and we’ll have three whole weeks with no travel in it.” She sighs. “I can’t wait. I’ve already got Deborah on the schedule to cover reception so I can take tons of time off. I want to do nothing but hang out in bed with you and make cookies and then hang out in bed some more and then watch a Christmas movie.”

  “Also in bed,” I interject.

  “Of course.” She nods seriously. “That way we can bang during the boring parts.”

  “I’ve always wanted to make love to you during that really bad duet near the middle of A Muppet Christmas Carol.”

  Bridget presses a hand to her heart. “Aw, me too. And during the home invasion scene in Home Alone. The part where the bad guys are getting messed up always makes me cringe, but I bet it would be hot to bang to.”

  I grin. “Weirdo.”

  “Takes one to know one, Fuzzy.” She teases her fingers into my beard. “Is it my imagination or has this sucker grown at least two inches since I saw you last?”

  “It’s the flax seed in my oatmeal. Great for maintaining a thick, glossy coat.”

  “Are you a horse?” she asks, arching a brow.

  “Well, I’ve been told I’m fun to ride, so you could give it a try.”

  “I would love to.” She smiles as her arms slide around my neck. “But that’s going to have to wait…” She glances over my shoulder toward the clock in the kitchen. “Fifteen minutes. Theo’s coming by to grab the leftovers she forgot to get out of the fridge last night. She’s got her dance class and won’t have time to cook.”

  I sigh heavily and say, “Fine, fine,” feigning irritation even as my pulse picks up.

  Because I know Theo “forgot” her leftovers on purpose and what she’ll be delivering to Bridget’s front door in fifteen minutes. Being half a country away from my girl, I had to enlist an accomplice to pull off this plan, but Theo was happy to help.

  And she’s got a better poker face than I thought. Bridget truly seems to have no idea that something’s up.

  “Want to help me fold some laundry while we wait?” Bridget asks, wiggling her brows as she adds in a suggestive voice, “I didn’t have time this morning, so I should probably get those things out of the drier before they start to smell funky.”

  I hum beneath my breath and give her bottom a squeeze. “You’re confusing my brain with the sexy voice and unsexy words. I suddenly find myself desperate to help with household chores.”

  Her tongue sweeps out to dampen her lips. “Good. Because I’ve got a load of towels we need to put in next or we won’t have anything to dry off with after we’ve run our dirty bodies through the shower later.”

  “I like dirty,” I mumble against her neck as I kiss her. “So, so dirty.”

  “Then you’re going to love these towels. I used them to clean up the bottle of red wine Theo spilled last night while Goliath was making her laugh.” She slips off my lap, crooking her finger for me to join her as she backs across the kitchen toward the tiny laundry room beside the downstairs bathroom. “Come on, big boy. If you’re good, I’ll let you add the fabric softener.”

  I jump out of my chair with over-the-top enthusiasm, making Bridget laugh as she turns to run, beating me to the laundry room and grabbing a bottle of detergent that she throws at me when I reach the door.

  And then we start a load of laundry and fold another, and it’s the best time I’ve had all week, leaving me no doubt that I’ve made the right decision. I just hope Bridget’s as ready to take the next step as I am.

  Won’t be long before I’ll know for sure.

  We’ve just finished folding the last pair of pajama pants and tossed a jean skirt on the ironing pile to be dealt with later, when the doorbell rings.

  “There she is,” Bridget says, pressing up on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. “You get the door, and I’ll grab her food? I’m sure she’s going to be in a rush, but she’ll want to hug your neck and get the latest band gossip before she goes.”

  “Sure thing.” I start for the door, the butterflies in my stomach expanding to take up most of my chest, as well.

  I wipe my suddenly sweaty palm on my jeans and open the door, letting in a rush of bitter winter wind and revealing a bundled-up Theo holding a cake that’s nearly as tall as she is.

  I laugh as I ask in a hushed voice, “You think it’s big enough?”

  She pulls a face. “I think so, but if you want more layers, I can take it to my house and come back later.” She starts to back off the stoop, and I stop her by reaching for the cake.

  “No way, I’m already nervous as hell. Don’t make me wait, woman.”

  “She’s going to be thrilled, Shep,” Theo whispers as she hitches the shopping bag she’s carrying higher on her shoulder. “She puts on a good front, but she’s totally bummed when you’re apart. Don’t let her fool you.”

  “Well, hopefully that’s a thing of the past.” I step inside, nodding toward the kitchen. “Come in. Bridget’s grabbing your leftovers.”

  Theo shakes her head as she sets the grocery bag down just inside the door. “Nah, I don’t want to interrupt. Just tell Bridget—”

  “Tell me what?” Bridget swoops in, carrying two cardboard carryout containers from the Thai restaurant down the street. “Oh my God, that cake is gorgeous! What’s the special occasion?”

  “Just because,” Theo says, smiling brightly. “Gotta go. Talk soon!”

  Bridget frown-laughs. “What? But you just got here, and Shep has gossip. Cutter got thrown in the drunk tank again in Cincinnati, and Colin and Kirby got a ticket for public nudity. And you have to have some of this cake. At least let me cut you a piece to take with you.”

  “That’s okay.” Theo accepts the containers and scoots onto the porch. “I’ll catch up and grab some cake later. We’re fox trotting tonight, and I totally screwed it up last time. Going to get there early and practice.” She shoots me an encouraging smile. “You kids have fun. Love you both.”

  “Love you, too. And thank you for the beautiful sugar,” Bridget says, waving at Theo as she descends the steps. “Drive safe—it’s supposed to snow later.”

  “Will do,” Theo throws over her shoulder as she starts for the parking lot.

  Bridget shuts the door and turns to me with a cocked head. “Is it just me, or was she being weird?”

  “She’s always a little weird.”

  “Yes, but this was different weird.” Bridget glances down at the cake. “And this is way too much. It looks like a…” She trails off
as she drifts around to stand beside me, reading the words scrawled delicately down each of the three layers. “Happy Retirement, Shepherd.” Bridget glances sharply up at me. “What the hell is this about?”

  “Grab the grocery bag and bring it into the kitchen, and I’ll tell you,” I say, uneasy at that unpromising look.

  “No, Shep,” she says, shaking her head. “You can’t do this. I won’t let you.”

  I jerk my head toward the table. “Let me put the cake down and we can talk.”

  “No, we’re not talking. Because there’s nothing to talk about. You’re not quitting the band.”

  “You’re right. I’m not technically quitting the band. I’m taking an extended hiatus.” I rush on before she can respond. “Now, pick up the bag and bring it to the table before I drop this cake and all Theo’s work is ruined.”

  Bridget scowls but bends to snatch the brightly patterned reusable bag off the floor then follows me into the kitchen. “I can’t believe she was in on this. How would she feel if someone asked her to give up on her dreams? She would feel shitty, that’s how she would feel.”

  I set the cake down and turn back to Bridget, taking the bag from her and setting it on a chair. “I’m not giving up on my dreams.”

  “Damned straight you’re not. You’re going to call Colin and the rest of the guys and tell them you’ve changed your mind.”

  I pull out the champagne Theo so thoughtfully tucked into the bag with the other half of my surprise and set it on the table, praying I can convince Bridget that there’s cause for celebration. Taking a deep breath, I meet her gaze and say, “No, I’m not, babe. They’ve already signed a contract with the new drummer. He’s taking over for me in January. The next eight shows are going to be my last.”

  Tears spring into her eyes. “Shit, Shep. Why did you do this? Without even talking to me about it first? That’s not right.”

  “Baby, I—”

  “I would never ask you to choose between me and the band. That’s not who I am.”

  “I know it’s not,” I say, taking her hands and holding tight. “And this isn’t about you.” I shake my head. “I mean, it is about you, but I made this decision for me. Because I’m ready for a different kind of life. Because I want to devote time and attention to my new dream.” I give her fingers a squeeze before releasing them and reaching into the bag, pulling out a pale-blue polo with gold lettering on the pocket.