Corsets and Quartets

by DeSimone, Mercy

  "Only if you make it that way, Cliff," Mark points out. "I'm not trying to pull her away from you, I'm just trying to keep something for myself. I want her to be happy, too. If being with you is something she needs, then I can respect that. But I can give her things that you can't, and I don't think I should have to step aside when you haven't proven yourself yet."

  "Then why don't you just step in, and I'll bow out?" Heath asks, focused on Mark. They’re like two dogs circling each other in the park. "Maybe I'll be there to pick up the pieces when you ghost her like you do all your other women."

  "Fuck you, Cliff. Why don't you ask her the consequences for both of us if you're too chickenshit to man up and deal?"

  "No. Mark we're not talking about that." I stop him.

  "Why not?" he objects.

  "What are the consequences?" Heath lifts a brow.

  "She—" Mark starts again.

  "I said stop! Heath needs to make his decision based on what he wants and can live with. There will be no emotional blackmail."

  My eyes meet Mark's, silently pleading for him to stop. The arrival of our waiter breaks the standoff, sliding plates in front of us and dropping more drinks.

  "This conversation is over. There's no need to discuss it further, the topic is dead. Why don't we all just eat and have a nice meal together," I offer with desperate cheer. "Heath, tell me about your day. How many furry friends did you make?"

  Mark chokes on his drink, coughing into his fist to stifle his laughter.

  "I didn't know you were into furries, Cliff. Are you compensating for your lack of hair?"

  "Dumbass. Better than the strippers you're so fond of."

  "I don't have a thing for strippers! The club has good music, and the chef is an old friend of mine from culinary school. At least I get out occasionally. Maybe you could learn some new moves."

  "His moves are just fine," I chime in defensively on his behalf, quelling their banter as they both stop to stare at me.

  "Yeah? Can he give good lotus?" Mark raises his brows.

  "I have no complaints." I pause. "Different, but just as intense."

  The two of us smile at one another before turning to Heath, who tries to sound casual. "I always try to follow the lady's lead. Personally, I'm partial to the Hot Press."

  Mark immediately picks up his phone to Google it, while I look at Heath steadily. "Lady's lead, huh?"

  "Well, you did climb on my lap that night." He grins. "Not that I objected by any means."

  "No, you were quite obliging as I remember," I say as Mark whistles.

  "Bro, that's a good one. I might have to try that."

  "Well, you'll just have to wait, won't you? I've already claimed it as my favorite move. Go find your own fantasy."

  "Don't worry, I have plenty to spare, and right now, they all include Josie. What about you?"

  Brown eyes meet green steadily as if locked in a silent battle, before Heath slowly nods.

  "We're going to need some rules."

  "What? No! We don't need rules," Mark protests.

  "Of course we do." I smile at Heath, surprise and relief flooding my body. "There are always rules. Everyone needs to read the fine print so there's no surprises."

  "Fine," Mark grumbles. "Hit me."

  Heath's sudden bark of laughter makes me smile in return as he asks, "Have you told Emma about this?"

  Groaning, I admit, "What do you think?"

  Heath laughs again. "I think you better be careful. Before we know it, she'll try to convince us we're living a Madison Shane story."

  "Who's Madison Shane?" Mark looks intrigued. "Is she a porn star?"

  "How do you know Madison Shane?" I ask in surprise.

  "Emma gave me a reading list. Did you know tentacles were a thing?"

  "Tentacles? Like calamari?" Mark asks.

  "Oh my God!" I groan, lifting my glass in surrender.

  Let the negotiations begin.

  Chapter 20

  Et Tu, Brutus?

  The adrenaline of fear and exhilaration finally subside as the sensation of being on a rollercoaster ends, like we've slid back into the station on shaky wheels.

  I always loved rollercoasters when I was younger. As an adult, I find that I can't stand the old wooden ones anymore, the ones that barely pin your ass to the seat and give you whiplash. Now I can only tolerate the smoother, high-tech versions that leave your feet dangling through death defying climbs and drops. For me, the adrenaline rush is the same, but somehow, I'm more confident in my chances of walking away unbroken.

  That's how it feels negotiating time and temperament with two men determined to monopolize my affections and make an impression. The fact that it's cloaked in civilized conversation doesn't erase the underlying insistence of each to get their way. When the whiplash of acting like a passenger rather than the one in the driver's seat becomes too much, I finally trigger the emergency brake.

  "Enough." Silence greets my words. Maybe it's the quiet determination that convinces them more than yelling would, because clearly, they haven't run out of words.

  "I'm flattered by your desire to spend as much time with me as possible, but no one is being realistic, so let's cut to the chase. We all have lives. The rules are meant to keep us from stepping on anyone else's feelings, not to bind us to a strict timetable. Mark," I shift to give him my full focus, "we have all the time in the world. You need to focus on the restaurant and your opportunity with the network. We still have your culinary class coming up. There's plenty of things that have to come first. The last thing I want is for you to think you need to force time with me to keep me invested."

  "I'm not—"

  "Stop. It's ok, just leave it alone." I squeeze his hand briefly before turning toward Heath. "Your first priority is Tracey, which is as it should be. We can work with Lori's schedule to find time for us. Your time with Tracey is limited, and she needs her dad more now than ever."

  Heath's grateful look warms me as he realizes that I'm not asking him to choose me over time with his daughter. Or that I'll use that as an excuse to tip the balance to Mark. The tightness around his mouth eases, and his shoulders drop. I wonder if he even realizes how much he holds his tension in his upper body—something that we share.

  "I want to spend time with both of you, but I also have to stay focused on my own goals. I need to finish my book and prepare for Quill next month. I'm determined not to blow this chance to get some exposure, even though it scares me shitless." I take a deep breath, and then continue, "We all have jobs and outside pressures. Let's set up a schedule and see if we can manage some one on one time at least once a week to start. If someone misses a night, then so be it. If we can't navigate under those terms, we'll never make it with more togetherness."

  I wait for them to nod, wondering if they're going to continue their silent aggression, then I sigh in relief as they both finally relax their posture and smile. Yay, Josie, I silently cheer myself, let's chalk one up for the home team.

  "You know, it probably wouldn't be a bad idea for us all to have brunch or dinner together once a month. Sort of as a gut check. Remember, if anyone wants out at any point, we should talk about it as a group. If we're going in that way, we owe it to each other to leave the same way. Agreed?"

  The grudging agreement isn't as enthusiastic as I had hoped for, but at least I'm getting consensus, if not commitment. I can work with that. After all, as the one now playing to both sides, I have the burden of control. Who says I'm not a masochist? A random thought pops into my head, surprising me, when I realize that maybe I've made some assumptions.

  "Ummm, guys, this is just us right?"

  Their puzzled looks give me some relief, but it's probably best to lay it all on the table.

  "While I realize it probably sounds a bit hypocritical, I want to know that you're only with me during this experiment. We've all agreed to condoms and safe sex, but honestly, I'm not certain I could handle knowing that you're seeing someone else in addition to me,
as twisted as that seems."

  "Hold on, we said no such thing. Not even strippers?" Mark asks, trying to keep a serious expression before he cracks. "Bunny will be crushed!"

  "Bunny, huh? Who's playing with the furries now?" Heath asks, shaking his head ruefully while making tsking noises. "Poor Bunny, I hope you let her down easy."

  "Hey, I'm serious! It hasn't escaped me that I will be benefiting sexually on two fronts while you're both going to be in somewhat of a holding position at least half the time." Seriously, how had I not considered the ramifications for them? "I know it must seem somewhat selfish of me to place those restrictions, but…" I trail off uncertainly.

  Mark's look is practically devilish as he reassures me. "Last time I looked, you had a front and a back. When you're ready to consider taking advantage of both…"

  My mouth drops open in discomfort as I realize what he's implying, until I close it with a snap and stare at him mutely.

  "As for Cliff, don't worry. He's been holding his position a lot since Lori left. He's gotten used to it." Mark's laughter at Heath's expense necessitates him ducking quickly to escape the ice that flies across the table from Heath's drink.

  "Very funny." He glares at Mark before turning to me. "It's just us, and we'll deal."

  At last I can relax fully, until a faraway look enters Heath's eyes as he gazes at Mark consideringly.

  "Although, he's not wrong…about your many sides."

  My face flames as I reach for my water glass when both of them turn to me and smile. Okay then, best not to ask questions you don't necessarily want the answer to, as it just brings up even more questions. The idea alone makes me uncomfortable…and incredibly hot, because the images that suddenly spring to my mind are beyond dirty and irresistable.

  Negotiations complete.

  I'm not only satisfied by what we've accomplished, but relieved. It could all still go bad, but at least for once, I'm brave enough to let myself enjoy what's being offered. Being a shrinking flower has certainly never gotten me anywhere, although I'm going to have to consider long and hard what I think was just offered. Baby steps.

  Maybe age isn't such a burden when all the considerations of marriage and children become more a question of want versus expectation. There's so much less pressure to put everything in a spotlight based on some biological timeline. Instead, I get to look at this from the standpoint of who brings me value in terms of, well, lust and desire for a start. That's so much more exciting than worrying about who wants to put a ring on my finger. I'll buy my own damn diamond if I want one, thank you very much. I can also buy myself an orgasm with my BOB. But at the end of the day, it's a lot more fun when it comes for free, wrapped up in a sexy package. Or two.

  As we pull out our phones and start syncing up calendars and dates, a buzz starts building in the corner of the room. A small group of people are gathered in a circle, including some twenty-something girls squealing with excitement. As the circle finally breaks, a figure emerges from the midst of the crowd, shaking hands and angling toward the door.

  Following my stare, Mark breaks off his conversation with Heath, then waves at the figure trying to make his escape.

  "Is that Simon Westcott?" I ask, a bit awestruck. "I heard some buzz that he was living here in the city, but I thought it was just a rumor."

  "Who's Simon Westcott?" Heath asks, also staring now as someone grabs Simon to shake his hand.

  "You know, he used to play bass for Driveshaft before they folded." My eyes run critically up and down his lean body encased in tight jeans and a Radiohead t-shirt. The careless curls and sexy stubble frame a square jaw and some of the sexiest lips I've ever seen on a guy—full but not pouty, with a slight natural sneer.

  Damn! He's one bad boy wet dream in photos. In the flesh, it's like a furnace blast of in your face sexuality. It's a good thing I'm not one of those people impressed by celebrities, I congratulate myself, even as I shift in my chair and cross my legs tightly, as if to affirm that fact.

  "What is he doing on this side of the pond?" I ask, taking a casual sip of water to ease my suddenly dry mouth.

  "He needed to get out of England. The tabloids have been hounding him since they lost their lead singer in that plane crash two years ago. And we think our paparazzi are bad. Hey, Simon!"

  Standing from his seat at our table, Mark calls and waves to Simon, who heads toward us with a look of relief.

  Shaking hands, Mark grabs a chair and pulls it to the table, inviting him to join us, while frowning at the squealing girls now pouting in the corner.

  "Still causing a scene, I see." Mark laughs.

  A long groan escapes as Simon looks furtively around us, finally relaxing when he realizes his fans have backed off, at least for the time being. Judging by their disgruntled expressions, I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't find a few of them lying in wait outside when he leaves. Maybe we need to offer him an escort.

  "Thanks for saving me, mate. I swear, I don't know where they come from. I've been pretty lucky with no one recognizing me lately. I don't know what tipped them off this time."

  "Perhaps it's the fact that the DJ started playing your music when you walked in," I offer with a grin. "They were already priming them for you subliminally. You might want to ask them not to do that if you're truly trying to keep a low profile."

  His tired gaze perks a bit as it meets mine, before a lazy grin slowly stretches across his face. "Well, you would think my not announcing myself should be the first clue. And who might you be, luv?"

  "Simon, meet Josie and Cliff. Guys, this is Simon. He lives in my building."

  "Really? Not that I don't love your building, but I would have expected you to live somewhere a bit more high brow," I tease Simon.

  "My dad was a pipefitter. There's no high brow in my blood, luv," he replies in a serious tone, his eyes taking in my outfit and sweeping across my face before capturing my eyes with his.

  I can't contain my smile at the absurdity. Pipe fitter or not, this man was many a young girl's—or cougar's—fantasy come to life. The ink alone was known to send girls to their knees, literally—if you could believe what you read in the tabloids.

  Driveshaft's exploits for drugs and partying were front page fodder for years before the accident. Although in all fairness, you didn't hear much buzz about bad behavior from Simon. Mostly, his reputation was more about the revolving door of ex-models and society girls whose hearts were considered disposable.

  "So, what are you lot doing tonight?" Simon asks, summoning the waiter for a drink as we debate the merits of dessert or just coffee.

  "Oh, just dinner and catching up a bit." Mark grins at me and Heath. "We were comparing calendars—" Mark breaks off as I kick his ankle under the table, looking away innocently at his pained grunt.

  "What brings you to our city, Simon?" Heath diverts the attention away from Mark's lack of filter. "How long are you planning to be here?"

  "Indefinitely, for now. I liked it when we toured here a couple years ago. It reminded me a bit of home. Good size, but not crowded like New York, yet close enough to get there quickly for session work if needed." He sighs. "Right now, I'm just looking for some peace and quiet."

  The sadness in his voice tugs at my heartstrings. No matter what the tabloids say, I'm sure he must have been close to his bandmates. It's awful to think of losing a friend, especially when it also kills a career.

  "Well, welcome. Philly is a friendly city. You just need to give yourself some time to find a few people to hang with and explore. For the most part, people don't tend to get too caught up in spotting celebrities here, unless you're deliberately trying to put yourself in the spotlight. Then all bets are off." I laugh as Simon shudders at the notion. "Although, I imagine at your level, you're used to having groupies follow you around."

  "I thought I'd be rid of them by now." Finally abandoning the manly posturing, he slouches in his chair before waving between the guys to offer generously, "Unless either of you need a goo
d shag. It's pretty easy to point them someone else's way."

  Oh, hell no! That's not happening on my watch! As if moving without my volition, I find both of my hands briefly grasping Simon and Mark by the shoulder.

  "Sadly, they're both experiencing technical difficulties right now," I say pleasantly, with a quelling glance at my guys before, to their amusement, changing the subject quickly. "How did you and Mark meet?" I ask curiously.

  "My dog jumped him in the elevator late one night," Simon laughs. "It seems he liked the smell of whatever Mark was bringing home from the restaurant. We introduced ourselves, and Mark invited me up for a pint, and Brutus for a late night snack. I'm a bit of a night owl by habit."

  "What kind of dog is Brutus?" Heath asks with interest. Now we're in his wheelhouse.

  "A Great Pyrenees. The apartment isn't the best atmosphere for a boy his size, but I couldn't bear to leave him behind. He's used to being on a tour bus, so I thought he'd be okay."

  Wiping his fist across his chin, I'm captivated by the tattoos across his knuckles as I try to read the letters. ‘GREAT’? Interesting. That's a bit narcissistic. Glancing surreptitiously, I try to see the other hand, where more letters appear. ‘VIBEZ.’ Great vibez? Awww… Who would have thought his bad boy persona cloaked a sense of positivity?

  "He's been looking a little off the last week or so. I should probably have him looked at, but I haven't found a Doolittle here."

  "A Doolittle?" Mark asks.

  I can't quite contain my grin. "Heath is a Doolittle. He can help you out with Brutus."

  Now Simon looks confused. "Who's Heath? Does he have a place around here?"

  "I'm Heath, and my place is a couple miles outside the city."

  "I thought Mark said you were Cliff?"

  "He is," Mark interrupts. "Only Josie calls him Heath because she's got some fantasy about men in tights."

  "I do not! I would never want to see either of you in tights. Now pantaloons and a waistcoat are a different matter."