by Eden Finley
Both Luce and Jay cock their heads at me.
“Trust me. It’ll be fun.”
I lean on the bar and yell over the music. “Hey, Gray.”
My brother’s friend grins and makes his way over to us. “What can I get you, Doc?”
“Three beers, and I want you to meet someone. This is Jay.” I pull Jay forward. “From Radioactive.”
Gray’s smile drops, and he glances between me and Jay. “No fucking way.”
I nod. “Way. Told you he’d jump offstage and fall at my feet.”
Jay puts his arm around me. “Marty here is just too irresistible.”
A growl comes from my other side, but Luce reins it in. That is until Jay cups my face and pulls my lips to his.
It takes a second to register what’s happening, but then it clicks.
Jay’s mouth is on mine.
Jay.
From Radioactive.
His tongue teases my lips, but I don’t open for him.
Because I’m in shock, because it wasn’t part of the plan, or because it feels … weird, I’m not sure.
How long have I fantasised about Jay kissing me? How long have I wanted this?
Now it’s actually happening, all I want is for it to stop.
And thankfully, it does.
He pulls back and nods to Gray. “Totally irresistible.”
Apparently, that’s too much for Luce to handle, and he steps in between us. “Okay, fun time’s over.” He turns to Jay. “That’s the only one you get.”
He throws up his hands in surrender and laughs. “You got it, boss.”
Luce’s arms hold me possessively. “Mine.”
My brow furrows as I look up at him. “Did you just claim me?”
“Yup.”
“I’m so confused,” Gray says.
I wave him off. “That really is Jay. But this is Luce.”
Gray nods. “Ah, the guy who won Marty.”
“Yup. That’d be me. Luckiest winner in the world.” And when Luce kisses me, it’s so much different than when Jay did it.
It’s warm and gentle yet filled with passion too.
“I’ll get your drinks,” Gray says and turns to the fridges to get us a Corona each.
I stand on my tiptoes so I come closer to Luce’s ear. “How long do you think we have to stay until we can go home and celebrate on our own?”
Luce’s eyes flick over my head, and he grins. “Not long at all.” He lifts his chin, and I follow his line of sight to where Jay’s already talking to a hot guy and flirting.
Good. Because if we don’t have much time together, I want to make every moment count.
10
Luce
Sweaty, breathing heavy, and losing my goddamn mind, I push in and out of Marty’s perfect body. “I could wax poetic about this ass.”
I have him facedown on my bed, his pants around his knees, his shirt riding up enough only to expose his lower back, and his ass in the air.
Marty mumbles something into the mattress, but I can’t make out what it is.
I pause, my cock still deep inside him. "What was that?"
He turns his head. “I said I’d dare you to write poetry about my ass, but I don’t want you to stop.”
“Maybe later I can write you a limerick.”
“How about now you keep fucking me?”
I pull out slowly and slam back in.
He grunts.
“Like this?” I ask and do it again.
As soon as he said he wanted me to fuck him tonight, it was a mad rush of tangled arms and legs until I could get him inside my place and on my bed.
“Faster.”
I do as he says.
“Harder,” he begs.
Gripping his hair, I close my fist through the short strands and tug.
“Oh, fuck.” Marty trembles beneath me. His ass pulses around my cock. “I’m … I’m …” He lets go, and I feel it in the way his body tenses and shudders.
“Nothing hotter than a guy coming hands-free.”
Marty takes in deep gulps of air, and I give him a second to recover.
“You all good?” I ask.
He nods. “Keep going. I want to feel you come inside me.”
I want to promise him that one day there’ll be nothing separating us, but for now, he’ll need to settle for the feeling of my cock throbbing inside his ass until I empty into the condom.
It only takes a few thrusts until I collapse on top of him.
When we’re both able to breathe normally again, I pull out of him slowly and roll onto my back. “I promise the next round will be slower.”
Marty doesn’t reply, and when I turn my head, I meet his warm gaze. He looks at me with a pensive expression.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just … I can’t get over how perfect you are for me.”
I hear the things he doesn’t say in that sentence. “I’ll be back at some point.”
“I know, but … Can we keep a pin in that?”
My arms pull him closer to me so his head is on my chest. “We can put a pin in it as long as we can.”
So, we do that. At some point, we get up and clean ourselves off and then fall back into bed.
I’m woken at fuck knows what time to Marty kissing my neck and looking to go again.
The next time I wake up, the sun is peeking through low-hanging clouds as dawn breaks, and it’s my turn to wake him up for sex.
He calls in sick to his lab.
We enjoy each other’s bodies. We talk music. We talk families. We talk shit and mock each other, and then make out until we’re horny and struggling to breathe.
We only have one more night together before I’m flying to the States with the band. Part of me wants the label to shut me down so I can come home and stay in my current job, but the thought of losing my passion for music again while doing that makes me hope that everything works out with Radioactive.
I don’t know what the future holds, but a bitter thirty-two-year-old shouldn’t be factoring in this guy I don’t even know. That’s insane.
But so is meeting someone and turning your entire life upside down because they inspire you that much just by existing. Marty makes me believe in shit I’d long gotten over—like the notion that things happen for a reason and people come into your life for a purpose.
If this does work out, and I chase the dream job I originally went into this industry for, I will owe everything to Marty.
I don’t want that to be all he is though. I want him to be more.
“We could do long distance,” I say while he lies in my arms.
“Putting that type of pressure on a three-day-old fling is relationship suicide.”
I know he’s right, but it doesn’t feel that way with him.
“You could come with me.”
Marty snorts. “Yes, with all my disposable income, that’s a brilliant plan.”
I don’t suggest I pay for him. I already know him well enough to know he’s too headstrong for that kind of thing.
“I kinda feel like I’m about to live your dream without you,” I say.
“I have no dream of managing a band. I don’t have enough patience to deal with divas or people. That’s why I work in a lab. With other lab rats. Where we barely have to speak, let alone be social.”
“I’m sure you’d be okay having to be social with Radioactive every day.”
“Hmm, true. But there’s that little annoying thing of money. In the sense that I need it, and you don’t get paid for being a groupie.”
“Well, no, because that would make you a hooker.”
Marty laughs.
“I wish there was a way we could make this work,” I whisper.
“Me too. But you’ll be back at some point, and then you can look me up. Until then, there’s Facebook and Skype if you want to talk. I’ll be available. You know all I have in my life is research and working on this stupid dissertation that’s stupid.”
> “How long do you have left until you get your PhD?”
“As long as it takes to create a stable molecular structure that can—”
“Okay, you already lost me. So … like, I’m guessing it’s not possible to do that in the next week or two?”
Marty laughs. “Doubtful. Even then I have to finish my dissertation which can take years. I’m not even close.”
“So maybe a month, then.”
Marty slaps my chest.
I sigh. I don’t want this to end.
“I don’t want to say goodbye,” I say, but seeing as I’m also mauling Marty’s face while saying it, I don’t think he hears me.
He pulls back. “It’s just a few days. You’ll need to come back for visa interviews, I’m assuming, so I’ll see you again. This isn’t the end.”
“When did you become so rational? I thought that was my job.”
“Since I’m trying to hold my shit together.”
We kiss again, standing in the entryway to my apartment, my luggage by the door and the whisper of goodbye on our lips.
Why does leaving him feel wrong?
Everything has happened so fast, it’s hard to believe the last week has been real at all.
But I’m really about to go meet Radioactive at the airport. I’m really about to hop a fourteen-hour flight to L.A., and I’m really about to leave this guy I really fucking care about already.
Anyone on the outside would think I was crazy—factoring in my ever-growing infatuation for Marty, but until they’ve ever met Marty Van Gent, they can’t know the type of charismatic and blunt charm the guy has.
“Go,” he says. “Or you’ll miss your flight. Not that I’d complain about that, but this is your dream.”
With that last reminder, I kiss him again and leave, staring after him long after my Uber turns the corner and I can’t actually see him anymore.
This is my dream job. It’s what I’ve always wanted and has been my goal forever. I just got sidetracked the last few years.
This is my chance.
I check in at the airport, go through security, and find the band waiting at the gate. “What are you guys already doing here? If you’re gonna be a rock band, I really need to talk to you about punctuality and how it’s not cool.”
Jay laughs. “Yeah, except when your label doesn’t give a fuck about you and you miss your flight? You’re paying for a new one. Not them.”
“Point taken. I’m going to make sure they start giving a fuck about you.” I scan the airport. “Seen Wayne anywhere?”
“He went back a few days ago after we fired him to beg to rep another band,” Benji says.
“Oh. So he’s not only not your manager anymore, but—”
“The label isn’t impressed with him,” Freya says.
Jay leans back in his seat. “I might’ve told them some of the shit he did.”
“Like …” I hold back from saying fucking him.
Jay nods. “When we spoke to the US guys, I found out he’s fucking married. To a woman. I might’ve gotten a little mad.”
Benji snorts. “I’d say. You threatened to walk completely which we don’t really have the luxury to do in our position.”
“Jesus,” I breathe. “You guys are having my work cut out for me, huh? Is this like some sort of initiation?”
“It was a calculated risk,” Jay says. “They were salivating over your idea, and Eleven needs an opening act. For the first time since signing with the label, we feel like we have an actual shot.” He pierces me with his deep brown eyes. “Because of you.”
“Fuck, no pressure.” I laugh.
Jay grins. “None at all.”
But I feel it like a weight bearing down on my chest. This is no longer just a possibility. Wayne is completely gone. They don’t have another manager lined up, and they liked my ideas. I have this job in the bag.
My first response is to want to call Marty and tell him, but then I realise that’d be like boasting to him how ecstatic I am about not coming home to him.
I can’t call him.
It’s probably best I don’t at all.
11
Marty
A week after Luce leaves, I get a message.
Seven days it took him to pluck up the courage to tell me he wasn’t coming back. His visa was being handled through the consulate in Sydney, and the label was only flying him home long enough for his interview, and then he had to get back on a plane and re-enter the US on a temporary visa until his sponsorship with the label came through. He rambled something about needing to leave the country to re-enter or something, but I didn’t really follow it.
All in all, it was a “Hey, sorry I haven’t had the decency to pick up a fucking phone and tell you I’m not coming home, like, ever, so, uh, you know, it was fun while it lasted. Have a nice life” text. Only, it was more sugar-coated and full of shit about coming to see me when the band is touring Aus.
Whatever.
It’s better he cut ties now.
Only, the sucky thing about it all is my love for Radioactive has now been tainted by Luce’s connection.
He got his dream and crushed mine in the process.
But it’s not Luce’s fault. Not at all. It’s me who can’t listen to a Radioactive song and not think of Luce.
It’s me who keeps playing that weekend I spent with him on a loop over and over and over again.
It’s me who wishes I’d never told him about the band.
All that it’s better to have loved and lost than not love at all crap surely isn’t accurate. If it was, I wouldn’t be hurting now.
Word in the Twittersphere is Radioactive have officially landed the supporting-act gig with Eleven.
The tour starts in two months, and they have that long to record and release their second official album.
Hopefully two months is long enough to forget about Luce so I can actually enjoy the new songs.
Spoiler: it isn’t.
My phone rings next to me, and I don’t even look at who’s calling. No one calls me but my mum, brother, or telemarketers.
No one else has called me, because apparently, they don’t have phones in America. I’m guessing.
“I’ll keep in touch,” he said. “We can still be friends,” he said. I’ll like your posts on Facebook but not reply to your messages until days later … Okay, he didn’t say that one, but he did it.
When he would eventually message me back, it’d be “Hey, sorry, been super busy. Hope life is treating you well.”
Yeah, well, I’m still bitter. How about that for treating me well?
“Hello?”
“Hey, Marty.”
I bolt up in bed. I know that voice. I’ve wanted to hear that voice for two months now. Since right after he left.
“I know I haven’t been in touch, and that might make me a dick.”
“A huge dick.”
Luce laughs. “Fuck, I’ve missed your snark. I have a good reason for being absent. I promise.”
“I’m listening …”
“I could give you a million excuses about working so hard on this album and working to gain followers for the band’s social media, and jumping into a job I’ve never done before, but … babe, I did it. We did it. The band fucking did it.”
“Did what?”
“We’re number one. With the song you showed me.”
“‘Hat Trick Heartbreak’? No way.”
“Way. And listen … I’ve been pulling some strings …”
“Strings?”
Luce hesitates, and I can practically hear his insecurity when he asks, “How do you feel about taking a gap year?”
“A …” My mouth drops open. “A gap year …”
“You said it yourself that you’ve been working towards your PhD since you were fifteen. You went from high school to doing an accelerated degree and master’s, and you’re only twenty-three.”
“Twenty-four now, thank you very much. You missed my birthday.”
/>
“I’m sorry. I hope this will make it up to you. I’m offering you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I want you to take it.”
“Take what? What are you offering?”
“I need an assistant for the tour. I already have one who’s staying in L.A. to make sure everything I need booked is good to go and everything sticks to plan, but I convinced the label I need someone with me on tour too. Someone to grab coffee for me and the band. Fetching all the shit for me I forgot. Someone who doesn’t leave my side …”
“A-and you want me to do it?”
“I want you to experience your favourite band the way you deserve to. I want you backstage with me. But most of all, I want to explore what we started months ago. I want more. I … I’ve missed you.”
“Then where was my phone call, asshole?”
“I’ve wanted to call. I …”
“You what?”
“I’ve been telling myself I need to make Radioactive a success for you. I thought leaving the possibility of us meant I had to make this work. And now I have, I want to make it work with you. The label will be paying your wage, and you won’t have to worry about money, and we could spend the next year getting to know each other properly.”
“What if I get over there and we hate each other?”
“Then I fire you. Or you can quit. I just … I want this to happen for us.”
“Gee, no pressure.”
Luce sighs. “It’s not a perfect plan. But really, what’s the worst-case scenario here? It doesn’t work out, you go home again and go back to your dissertation. Best-case scenario? You get to travel the fucking world with Radioactive and maybe, hopefully, fall in love. Uh, I should clarify with me. Not Jay.”
I laugh.
It sounds too awesome to be true. I mean, who the fuck does this? How would I explain to my mum, “Oh, that guy I met a few months back? He got me a job as an assistant for a fucking rock tour …” Hmm, well, pop tour. It’s with Eleven. Wait—
I groan. “I’ll have to put up with listening to Eleven every night? I don’t know if I can do that.”
“Even knowing Jay’s giving them one of his songs?”