by Mia Josephs
Never again.
He knew himself well enough to know that one drink would send him down, even though alcohol had been far from his worse offender. His hands shook under the table, and he suddenly wished they’d been able to see this guy anywhere else.
“You okay?” Corinne asked, and Chris gave her a tight nod.
Her hand grasped his under the table and her eyes held him.
“You’re not okay.”
He let out a few slow breaths. “I’m glad you’re here.”
And some kind of understanding passed between them and her hold on him tightened.
Donovan looked younger than Chris would have guessed, perched on a stool by himself center stage. Maybe Donovan looked so young simply because Chris was older than he liked to think of himself. But still, was Donovan even twenty-one? If not, he wondered how he’d swung the gig. Maybe he was old enough to be playing at the bar, but his freckled face still seemed incredibly young.
When Donovan chuckled, the crowd laughed with him, and he ran a hand over hair that looked shockingly red under the lights, but probably wasn’t quite so brightly colored offstage. He adjusted the straps on his wrist before starting a song with a unique strumming pattern paired with using his guitar as almost a percussion instrument. From the back he could see the crowd gently moving to the beat he created alone with his guitar. Already Chris knew he was perfect for the show—if he was available.
“He’s good,” Corinne whispered.
He was, but Chris could barely focus on anything but breathing and his shaking hands.
Chris scooted in close to Corinne, needing her closer. His mom’s words echoed in his head along with those of his sponsor—was he using her? In that second, with her hand clutching his, he didn’t care. If she was next to him, he might remember all the reasons that drinking wasn’t a good idea.
“He is good,” Chris commented. Donovan was perfect. A little more mellow and folk-like than Chris was, which was exactly what they wanted. Complimentary, but not competing, and hopefully they’d pull in the same audience. People appreciated new talent, and since Chris had been around for a while, he, Max, Lita and the label all liked the idea of introducing someone new to the scene--as long as he could handle the tour schedule and large crowds.
After about six songs and a couple funny stories about lyrics, friends, and music, Chris knew he’d found his guy. If Donovan was interested.
Corinne nudged him and pointed to a girl with a high ponytail, almost lip synching the words, but not quite. “Look.”
“Think she knows him?” he asked, glad for another distraction.
“I’d bet more than that.” Corinne leaned toward him, but stopped, probably realizing they were in a public place.
In that second he wanted it. Her. He wanted her to be okay with who he was and what he did and to shrug off the cameras like he’d started to do. The chances, after whatever had happened to her, were slim. It hit him in that second that he could probably Google search her, but it was too much of an intrusion. He just hoped she felt comfortable sharing her whole story at some point. And sooner rather than later since he felt as if he’d been dying to know her story for ages.
He let himself touch her chin softly, his hand still faintly shaking. “Why don’t you ask her? Tell her we’d like to meet up after the show?”
Corinne nodded, let his hand go, and shuffled to the girl’s table. The girl jumped a little, and Chris was glad Corinne had gone alone.
His eyes floated toward the bar and need raked through him again.
No. His eyes closed. He definitely needed to stay focused on the music.
“Do you know Donovan?” Corinne asked as she took the seat next to the girl.
She nodded with a wide smile, her cheeks reddening.
“What’s that reaction?” Corinne teased.
The girl shrugged. “Known him since we were kids. He’s almost like an older brother to me.”
Corinne had seen the way the girl watched Donovan and she’d have given up her left foot if that girl thought of him as an older brother.
She held out her hand. “I’m Corinne.”
“Sierra.”
She had a strong shake, which made Corinne feel better. She never trusted anyone who didn’t know how to really shake hands.
“Nice to meet you. So…” Corinne glanced over her shoulder at Chris who gave her a quick nod. “I write music with Christian Meyer, and—”
Sierra leaned across the table toward Corinne. “The Christian Meyer? From Kincaid?”
Right. The famous guy. After meeting his mom and seeing the awkward school pictures, the lines there were getting blurry too. “That’s the one.”
“What… Why are you here?” Sierra sputtered.
“Chris and I are here—”
“Christian is here?” Sierra glanced around the room frantically.
Corinne jerked her head back. “Behind me.”
Sierra stared at him until Corinne bumped her arm to gain her attention again.
“Holy shit.”
“Do you think that you can keep it quiet we’re here, and maybe meet up with us after?” Corinne asked.
“Of course. Yeah. Of course. I can give you my number. Yeah.” Her words clambered over each other, and a part of Corinne realized how lucky she’d been that Max had found her at eighteen. Donovan was about twenty-two and playing small bars in a small town.
They exchanged numbers and Corinne left the table for Chris.
“So?” he asked as she sat.
Corinne bumped her arm against his but then didn’t move away. He felt too good. “She’ll send a text as soon as the show’s over.”
“Perfect.”
Corinne sucked in a breath as their eyes locked.
Yep.
She was in trouble.
There was no need for texts. Sierra came to their table to tell them he was playing his last song and maybe the easiest thing if Chris didn’t want to be recognized was to follow her backstage.
Chris was glad to get anywhere he couldn’t see the bar.
They stood and followed the slim girl through an exit door and then back into the building through the backstage door. The security guy at the back door waved them through after giving Sierra a smile and an appreciative look.
Chris could see why. Before Corinne, she would have caught his attention too. Messy brown hair piled on top of her head. Muscly and lean—a girl, much like Corinne, who actually worked out and didn’t looked like she starved to stay thin.
She guided them though a very short hallway where they leaned against the worn, brick wall.
“I can’t believe I’m standing here with Christian Meyer.” Sierra let out a nervous laugh at the same time that Chris heard Donovan thank the crowd.
Donovan was wiping the sweat off his forehead as he stepped into the small hallway, smiling as soon as he saw Sierra.
“Donovan Hall?” Chris asked.
“That’s me.” And then Donovan stopped for a moment. His eyes floated to Sierra who had that too-excited face Chris had seen many times, and then to him and then to her and to Corinne and back to Chris.
“I’m Christian Meyer, and I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Holy…” He rubbed his face. “I’m just… Let me get my guitar put away.” He pointed the way they’d just come. “The green-room here sucks, but we can at least lock the door.”
“Sounds great.”
Corinne was already next to Sierra, chatting behind him.
Donovan jogged ahead and pushed open a scratched metal door.
Chris gave him a nod as Donovan held open the door and the smell of smoke, urine and vomit accosted his nose. Yeah… reason number…a million that he was glad he was sober.
They sat on destroyed, black leather couches, no one yet speaking. Chris remembered being in Donovan’s shoes. Max had come backstage much like this to tell Chris he managed Kincaid and their lead guitarist had just quit. He hadn’t been able
to sleep for days after that meeting.
It felt good to be in this position. Better than good. Amazing.
Corinne slipped her hand through Chris’ arm and gave him a squeeze. “I’m glad I came. Again.”
Chris leaned toward her until their foreheads touched. “I like you with me. It makes everything better.”
She started to say something back, but jumped and put space between them again.
Sucked, but he understood.
“So…” Donovan clapped his hands together. “This is insane, and it’s fantastic to meet you and whatever you want, the answer is almost definitely a yes.”
“That’s great to hear,” Chris said. “Because it’s big.”
Sierra squealed, Donovan grinned, and Corinne was practically beaming next to him.
Yeah. This guy was cool. It might all work out perfectly.
THIRTEEN
“They were sweet, huh?” Corinne asked from the passenger’s seat of her truck.
“How old is Sierra? She seems young, or maybe I’m just older than I want to be.” Chris chuckled. “They both seem young.”
“She’s nineteen. He’s twenty-one. I’m not clear on how she got into the bar, but I didn’t ask.”
“Wow.” So young. Practically a kid.
“Older than I was when I moved to LA,” Corinne said. “I was seventeen.”
Seventeen. At seventeen he was sure he’d be the next big thing and did nothing but play the guitar. Corinne must have been somewhat the same. “That actually helps me understand you better.”
“How so?”
When something traumatic happens at that age, it’s probably much more likely to stick around. “Makes me understand better why you’re still affected...by whatever it is you went through in LA.”
“Anyone would be.”
He reached across the truck and grasped her hand, wishing she was in a place where she’d give him some details. “Anyone would be.”
“Do you think Donovan will be able to sort out his life to come on tour?” she asked as she leaned into him.
“I hope so.” Chris squeezed her hand again. “I also hope he pulls his head out of his ass and sees how crazy that girl is for him.”
Corinne snorted.
“What?”
“It’s more complicated than that. He lived with her family full time for his last two years of high school and part time for the two years before that. For him, she’s like a sister. And her brother is incredibly over-protective.”
“The guy he needs permission from to leave that outdoor shop he’s running, right?” Chris asked.
“That’s the guy.” Corinne sighed.
He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “So, he has even more of a reason not to piss him off.”
Corinne laughed and he wanted to capture it somehow. Keep it.
“It’s sad to me when something simple like that keeps people from being together.”
Corinne dropped his hand and leaned across the truck, softly pressing her lips against his neck. “I agree.”
“Ten more minutes to home…” Chris said as the rhythm he tapped out became more frantic. “Ten more…”
The house was dark and quiet as they slipped in, and Corinne let Chris wrap her hand in his and lead her up the hall.
“Sooo…” Chris trailed off in a whisper. “It would appear everyone is asleep.”
Corinne stopped at her room, pulling Chris to a stop next to her. His warmth few over her in a wave that left her weak. Her heart hammered in nerves but simple want erased that as she leaned against Chris, pushing him against the wall in the hallway. This was more of the old her, and she didn’t know how to reconcile the two. Only being backstage again and watching someone else play… It changed things for her. Brought back some of the good memories of the music and the shows instead of just the bad ones.
Instead of worrying about futures and broken hearts and impossible situations, she grasped his sides, really taking in the man that he was. Her lips trailed up his neck and she felt him begin to press into her leg as her lips found his mouth and her fingertips hooked themselves into the top of his pants.
“You’re making me crazy,” he whispered.
Corinne paused. “Then you should probably go.”
“I’m not ready for our night to be over,” he murmured into her neck.
“The problem is that I’m already very aware of how my body feels about you, and now that my heart is catching up, I’m just… I don’t think I’m ready to go back there. To being that close. To sleeping with you again. Do I sound crazy?”
Chris stepped back keeping one arm around her waist. “Let’s go out in the main room, okay?”
“Make out on the couch like horny teenagers?” she teased. “Hope that the lack of privacy keeps us from going too far?”
He tightened his arm around her. “Exactly that. Yes.”
The moment they sat on the couch, her lips were on his, but it wasn’t enough. She pulled him closer but the more they kissed the more she wanted. Skin. Hands. Lips. Everything. Corinne slid onto his lap, resting a leg on either side of his body.
Chris grasped her waist and leaned back slightly. “I’m afraid what’s happening now isn’t real. That I’m a nice distraction for you. I’m worried I’m not being given a chance because of what I am, instead of who I am.”
She placed a hand on his chest. “And this is who you are…”
“This is where I came from….” He looked around the room of the house he’d grown up in. “And it’s where I want to go.”
This was the man she wanted. Why did he have to have all the other famous musician guy stuff on top of it? “You’re sure.”
“I think I love you, Corinne. I’ve never felt that way before. I started to think I never would.”
She closed her eyes briefly. He didn’t love her. He couldn’t. Not yet. But still… “So… I’m sort of swooning a little.”
Chris shifted and Corinne slipped off his lap. He clasped her hand in his, and they stood, him leading her back up the long hallway to her room. Once she stepped inside, he followed her and slid the door shut behind him. Chris leaned into her. “Can I stay in here with you?”
She stepped around him, walked to the bed and sat. Chris paused for a moment before following. She reached up and slipped her fingers into the front of his jeans.
“This is different…” She swallowed, ready to give in to her body. “Than in California…”
“This is different than anything I’ve ever been a part of.” He leaned forward until his cheek touched hers. “And I don’t remember wanting something so much.”
She blinked slowly and tucked her fingers in further.
“Whatever you want, Corinne. I’m good with whatever you want.”
She knew he was. She knew that if she wanted him to just hold her all night, he would. Or that if she asked him to leave, he would.
“I’d like…” She smiled. “I’d like your clothes in a pile on the floor.”
Chris ripped his shirt off with a grin. “I’m totally okay with that.”
She laughed as he jumped around her and leapt onto the bed.
“There’s something sort of scandalous about doing this in my mother’s house.” He pulled her toward him and kissed across her collarbone.
She gasped twice as his hands slid up her shirt and his mouth continued to tease along her neck and jaw line.
“Sorry to be such a horrible influence.”
“I love it,” he whispered as he unclasped her bra and pushed off her shirt.
She took a moment to trace the tattooed designs on his arms, his chest, his back...
His hands slid over her, his mouth followed. Teasing. Touching. Tasting. Sending her body and mind to a place she never wanted to return from.
She lost herself in him just as quickly and easily as she had the first time. Taking in all the parts of him. Only now… Now it meant something, and she was finally, finally, starting to be okay with t
hat.
Corinne’s eyes flittered open and closed and Chris lazily traced patterns across her naked body loving every second of being with her this way. Lying together. Sober. Feeling everything passing between them, and feeling a perfect mix of newness, excitement, and home. Morning was going to come far too soon. “I can’t imagine this ever getting old,” he said. “Ever feeling like being with you is routine.”
“It happens.” Her smile widened, but her eyes stayed cast down. “Trust me.”
Not with him leaving so soon. They faced months of separation just as they’d begun. “Maybe after I get home from tour, we’ll go to Mexico.”
She blinked and now her dark eyes were on him. “Really.” The word came out flat, untrusting.
He slid his hands to hers, and wove their fingers together. “I’m serious. You, me, Jonah. Mexico. Or wherever you want.”
“Isn’t that a long time away to be planning?” she asked.
Chris pulled her hand to his mouth, slowly sliding his lips over her knuckles. “I don’t think you have any idea how I feel right now.”
“That’s…” Corinne stiffened, but he continued touching her, sliding his fingers over one hand and back up her toned arm. “We’re maybe just sort of getting started. People don’t jump in with both feet unless they’re ready to get their heart broken.”
“Maybe I’m ready to get my heart broken,” he said.
Corinne raised a brow and her mouth pulled up into the half-smile he was starting to love. He was starting to love a lot of things about her.
“I’d rather not get my heart broken.” He laughed a little. “I’d rather live out one of those happily-ever-after scenarios where you make waffles, and I make tea and help Jonah with paper airplanes and homework and we grow old together.”
Her eyes cast down again but she shifted in bed so their bodies rested against each other more fully. He took her nearness as a good sign, knowing enough about her to know that moving forward was going to be slow for her. Maybe it was supposed to be slow for him too.
“You’ve seen me at my worst,” Chris whispered. “And we still became friends.”