River

by Shayne Ford

  A week passes by, and I’m back in New York.

  It’s Friday, and we’re doing promo interviews, back to back. Before the band heads out for the last interview, Ron coaxes me into a business dinner. It comes with a surprise.

  Alana Jones pitches her LA-based firm to run the band promotion campaign on the West Coast. Newly separated from her husband, she’s as fond of me as ever, and by fond I mean she’d like to fuck me.

  That’s hardly a surprise.

  She chased my balls the whole summer. It’s not the first time she works for us. She landed a contract with us before, and she had done a great job up to the point where her husband started to get all sorts of salacious ideas.

  Mainly, involving her and me.

  I’ve always suspected they were one of those couples that spice things up bringing other people into the mix. Hey, whatever floats their boat.

  She would’ve liked me into the mix, all right, it just happens that I’m not into that kind of threesomes, nor am I a fan of pussy headaches, so I decided it’s all for the best if we end our collaboration.

  The word is, she filed for divorce. Free and unattached, she needs another contract. Based on past results, Ron is willing to close a deal with her. Apparently, he can’t do it without my blessing.

  As we walk out of the room, a soft hand curls around my arm. I turn and meet her eyes. Sneaking behind her back, Ron smiles like a smart-ass and vanishes out the door.

  Tucking my hands into my pockets, I drag my eyes down on her.

  Without much introduction, she shoots me a languorous gaze, making everything so fucking predictable. It’s like watching a Lana Fox episode from the future.

  Quite the go-getter, she uses all her cards with the poise and charm of a sophisticated player.

  In her mid-thirties, she wiggles a fit body and wears a perfect smile that reaches her blue eyes. She tilts her head to the side and runs a long-fingered hand through her waving, dark hair.

  I can’t tell if there’s medically induced beauty in her features, but judging by the perfect symmetry of her face, it may as well be. She follows my gaze as I slip my eyes below her chin and examine her body.

  There’s certainly alteration in her bust, which is a size bigger than I remember. If she wouldn't wear the tailored skirt suit, that casts a subtle elegance on her, I’d swear she’s an escort girl.

  Even so, she looks like she could ditch the suit for a string thong and nipple tassels, and glide up and down a stripper pole.

  Folding my arms over my chest, I tilt my head to the side, waiting for her line.

  “Are you free tonight?”

  Shit. There is no line.

  Her eyes sparkle with mischief, a lot of promise flashing in her gaze. I run my eyes on her again. She’s far from minding it.

  Perking up her chest, she offers me a full view of her cleavage, her perfectly painted lips slightly pulling apart.

  I stare at those red lips, the image of them sliding down my cock filling a panoramic screen in my head. A smile plays on my lips as I’m toying with the idea.

  Yeah, she might do.

  “Not tonight. Sunday,” I say, twirling away from her, just as her lips purse into a sexy pout.

  She’d like to say something else, but I’m already pushing out the door. Hopefully, I make my mind by Sunday.

  Long strides put me out of the hotel.

  The cars wait for us at the entrance, the bodyguards holding back the screaming fans. I stop shortly for some pictures and autographs, and then I walk to one of the SUVs.

  The weather sucks.

  Snow mixed with rain, slush flooding the sidewalk, yet nothing seems to dampen the people’s mood.

  I shove my phone into my pocket when the pull of a stare draws my gaze to the entrance. I glance over my shoulder and freeze.

  Dressed in a long dark coat, her hair sprinkled with raindrops and snowflakes, her eyes burning as if she’s running a fever, Layla gives me a stare that puts a double knot in my stomach.

  I can’t take my eyes off her. I clench my teeth making sure I conceal my reaction. I ponder for a moment and torn, I walk away.

  As much as it pains me to admit I can’t do the clean cut that I want. I climb into the car and text Steve.

  Me: Get Layla in my room.

  I roll down the window and motion to him just as he walks out of the hotel.

  He cuts his eyes to her, links her arm and hauls her inside.

  14

  It feels like the longest interview I’ve ever had, mainly because I do most of the talking, and my mind is hardly there.

  As soon as we wrap it up, Liam, Lukas, and Jay slip out the door. Good move, especially because Jay is wasted.

  Ron lingers behind, shaking hands, making small talk. I glance at the digital clock hanging on the wall. It’s been an hour or so.

  I can no longer wait.

  I dig my hand into my pocket and search for my phone. I turn to stone. My key card is missing. A bad feeling creeps up on me.

  Where the fuck is it? It was in my jacket, and the jacket was on a chair. Wait a fucking minute.

  I motion to Ron, and he shoots me a questioning look, but I don’t have time to explain. I run out the door. I don’t wait for the elevator either.

  I call Steve as I fly down the stairs. He pulls the car at the back exit. Rushed, I jump in. It takes us half of the usual time to get back to the hotel.

  We jog up the stairs, and the moment we get to the door, I hear a thud. I bust the door open, the first glimpse of the room searing my eyes. Crushed against the wall, Layla fights Jay’s grip on her arms.

  “You’re feisty, huh? I bet you like to fuck hard,” he says, his words drilling holes in my brain.

  My mind goes dark.

  “You fucking piece of shit!” I roar as I lunge to him.

  I grab his neck, and pull him back, making him lose his balance. Latching my hands onto him, I grab him and propel him into a mirror.

  He falls on the floor, laughing like an ass.

  I swoop him up and shove my fist into his face. His head snaps back, blood spilling all over his face. Tumbling backward, he falls over a chair, his lips curling into a rictus.

  “What’s your fucking problem, River? Why is her pussy so fucking different? It’s not like we’ve never shared before,” he says, and I’m about to spit my teeth out.

  “You can’t keep your mouth shut, can you? You want me to fuck you up? I’ll fuck you up.”

  “Let him go, River! He’s drunk. He’s not fucking worth it,” Steve barks, shoving himself between us.

  “That’s right, River. Let me go. I’m not as good as you are. Even Steve knows that,” Jay mumbles, still chuckling.

  I’m gonna fucking kill him.

  I ponder for a second before I push Steve to the side, and send the second hook, this time with a swing. My knuckles crash onto Jay’s face, and that’s the end.

  He drops on the floor.

  “I don’t want to see his face again. Put him on the first flight back to Ohio as soon as he can walk. And keep Ron out of this.”

  Steve collects his body and walks out of the room.

  I take a few long breaths before I turn to Layla. Hunched on the edge of the couch, her face in her hands, she starts to whimper. I take a seat beside her and slide my fingers into her hair.

  A jolt goes through her body.

  “Easy, baby,” I say softly.“Did he hurt you?”

  Her eyes dip and my teeth clench. I tip her chin up, bringing her gaze back to me.

  “Did he do anything else?”

  As much as I try to control myself, my voice comes out broken.

  She shakes her head and breaks into tears, her arms snaking around me, her face pressed against my shoulder. I close my arms around her.

  “I’m so sorry, baby.”

  Gently, I lift her chin up, brush her hair over her shoulder and scan her skin for marks. She watches me with misty eyes, her lips shimmering with tears.

>   My fingers trail the side of her face. She tilts her head, craving my touch, and pain starts tearing my heart apart.

  “Why are you here, Layla?”

  Clouds hover over her eyes. That’s certainly not what she wanted to hear. She ponders for a moment before she speaks.

  “I can’t let go, River... I know you don’t want me back. And I think I know why, but I want to hear it from you...” she says.

  I look at her dumbstruck.

  I don’t know what scares me the most. The fact she’s more courageous than I am and willing to face the truth or the fact that I have to make sure I let her down easy and not hurt her more than I already did.

  I look down, evading her eyes.

  “Please, River... I need to hear it from you.”

  Her fingers gently touch my face. I take her hand and softly kiss her fingertips, and then I raise my eyes.

  “I can’t do this, Layla.”

  She tries to jerk her hand away, but I cuff her wrist and hold her still.

  She looks at me, her heart bleeding.

  “I can’t do us.”

  The time warps as my words sink into her. Her eyelids slide heavy over her sorrowful eyes, her body shrinking in pain. Her head whips to the side as if she just received a blow, and for a moment I have to look away.

  And then, I hear her voice again.

  Soft, drowning in tears.

  “I don’t understand. What’s so bad about me? Is there someone else?”

  “No, there isn’t...” I say, smiling, sad.

  “Then, why?”

  I take a long breath.

  “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you,” I finally say.

  And that’s the truth.

  She looks at me, a faint light glinting in her eyes, and I’m afraid it’s hope. Hope that she can change my mind.

  “Why are you saying that?”

  “Things happened in the past, and things have already happened to you since you know me, and we’re not even...”

  “No, no... Please, don’t say that...”

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Layla. I really don’t. And I don’t want the people around me to hurt you. ”

  “You said it’s my call. Why is it no longer my choice?”

  I can’t believe she turns the tables on me, but I have to give her the truth. I pause for a moment, and then I speak.

  “Because I care,” I say with a quiet voice.

  “You care?? How exactly do you care?” she bursts out, yanking her hand out of my grasp.

  Her eyes dart back and forth, anger pooling in her gaze.

  “Can you explain to me how exactly do you care??”

  I look at her, silent. Her chest starts heaving, panic rolling onto her face.

  “Why did you bring me here, River?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “I didn’t mean here, here.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t know then.”

  “You didn’t know what? You singled me out that night.”

  “I did, and it was stupid.”

  Her expression changes again. From angry and suspicious, to broken and despondent. She teeters on the cusp of crying again.

  “So that’s all there is. You just want me out of here,” she says, and I want to say something, but she keeps going.

  “And how do I go back, River?” she asks, her face washed with tears.

  I don’t know.

  I’m searching for that answer myself. How do we go back? I have no fucking idea, so I push up to my feet.

  “You’re just not ready, Layla, and I don’t want to break your heart,” I say, turning toward the door, ready to leave.

  “It’s too late for that... River. It’s fucking too late,” she says, and she starts crying.

  Tense, I stride out of the room, my heart screaming.

  I burst into Steve’s room.

  “Take her home. I wait until you come back, and then I leave,” I say, pacing around his room.

  He looks at me, perplex.

  “What happened?”

  I run a nervous hand through my hair and say nothing.

  “Leave where?” he finally asks, swallowing his surprise.

  “Home.”

  “Home? As in LA home? Tonight??”

  “Yes.”

  “You want me to set up a flight?”

  My hand shoots up.

  “I don’t want to fly.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m damn sure,” I say.

  He gives me a baffled look, and studies me for a moment before he walks out the door.

  Minutes later, my phone vibrates with a message.

  As soon as he confirms that they’re on their way, I go back to my room, pick up my stuff, and make a few phone calls.

  I knew that sooner or later it would come to that. I can’t stand to be here any longer. Not even one fucking minute.

  One hour later, Steve walks in and finds me in his room. Sadness lurks in his eyes. There’s nothing I can say to him to make things better.

  “So what exactly do you want to do?” he asks.

  “I need to take some time off...” I say.

  “Now?”

  “Yes, fucking now.”

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Yes. I’ll be fine,” I say, my voice streaming anger.

  He shoots me a concerned look, slowly raising an eyebrow.

  “I’m fine. Ron is gonna flip, but he’ll get used to it. I can’t deal with him right now. I’ll call if I need anyone. I’ll be in LA by Wednesday. Is Jay set to go?”

  “Yeah... He leaves tomorrow. He woke up from his stupor and regrets everything.”

  “Of course, he does... Fucking idiot.”

  A half hour later we shake hands, and I rush out the door.

  A rented car waits for me downstairs.

  Close to midnight, I head west, eating miles in a fucking haze. I drive all night and most of the day before I finally stop at a hotel along the way. After almost forty-eight hours, I finally get some sleep.

  It’s only later on, after another twelve hours of driving, when it finally hits me. As I stop at a diner in the middle of nowhere, and watch people eating, talking, cracking jokes, it dawns on me how much I miss being myself and my old life.

  I also understand why this is not the time to bring Layla into my life. I’m not happy right now. And there are things I need to fix before I take a chance on her.

  Once I get home, my head is clear, yet there’s not much I can do, so I do nothing. I go back to my old ways, the ones I know, and I’m comfortable with, even if they sting a little.

  For the next few days, I bury myself in my studio. On Friday night, I hit a local club.

  Half business, half pleasure, this should distract me for a few hours. The place is packed.

  I meet a lot of people I know, and some, I don’t know, like the blonde who’s in my space for way too long, not to be obvious. There’s a lot of fish to be caught, and she could cast her net somewhere else, but she’s hell bent on me.

  As I watch her doing her best, I can’t say I’m not entertained. From time to time, my eyes glaze over her and I scan the room. There are lots of musicians in the club, and subsequently, a lot of tail lurks around.

  My gaze bounces again as I catch commotion at the entrance. I can’t imagine it’s a brawl since every other person in the club is a bodyguard.

  Of course, it’s not.

  It’s a piece of fine ass. She looks like a model, but not the skinny kind you have to hand a sandwich to, before you fuck her just to hold her over.

  She’s too fresh to be a local talent, and by that I mean a stripper or a porn star. Her legs go up to her neck. Her breasts can stop traffic faster than a cop.

  She wears a hard-to-define item. It looks like a tunic or a top, and it’s probably a mini dress. Black lace, plunging neckline, small strap holding the front together.


  Knee high heel, cut out boots.

  Damn. She looks familiar. She’s hot and new on the scene, judging by the fact that half of the males in the club care to shift in their seats to get a glimpse of her.

  I’m about to do the same, like the chimp that I am, when she walks in a cone of light, and I see her better. And when I do, a quake begins to shake the ground.

  I can’t believe my fucking eyes. She makes a beeline for me while wiggling her ass for everybody in the room. It looks like Layla, sort of––unless I’m a fucking magnet for a look alike, yet she bears no resemblance to the girl I know.

  Riled up by the catcalls that accompany her sashaying across the club, I start shooting random glares. She slices her way through a group of people and gets right to me.

  As she edges closer, I soak her in. The blonde catches on. Curious, she glances over her shoulder, eager to find out what’s holding my attention. When she does, a frown sets on her brow.

  On cue, she pulls a hissy fit out of her ass.

  “Excuse me. I’m in the middle of something,” she shrieks as Layla stops in front of me, and shoves her to the side.

  A couple of bodyguards close in and my finger shoots up. They turn to stone.

  “Of course, you are,” Layla says, her eyes on me.

  I bite the inside of my cheek and purse my lips, stifling a smile.

  She tilts her head back and searches my eyes, her gaze flowing through me, starting a fire in my groin.

  I wish I could keep my face straight, and haul her little ass out of here. Instead, I watch her, mystified.

  She’s flushed, and turned on. I can’t imagine what she’s after, other than what lurks inside my mind right now. Attempting a comeback, the blonde utters words behind her back.

  “Are you done with him?”

  “No, I’m not done with him,” Layla says, her eyes locked with mine.

  My lips tilt with a lustful smile, my eyes dropping to her mouth. Swiftly, she picks up an ink marker from a table and pivots back to me.

  “Can I get an autograph?”

  She’s fucking with me, and it’s fine. I’m gonna roll with her. Without breaking my stare, I take the ink marker and raise my eyebrows, shooting her a questioning look.